“I think Djoh would have said as much or as little as he chose, no matter what I did with him,” Karee replied after a moment. “I think he will do the same today.”

“Listen to her, Chief Djimmi Marshul,” Djoh said hoarsely. “She speaks the truth. You spend your time in the hope of learning what I either will not tell or do not know. You take my strength and in the end my life. From yourselves, you take honor.”

“What is a Dirtman, to know of honor?” snapped the man with the iron. “Perhaps you want this up your arse?”

“I know more of honor than anyone who would do that to a captive!” Djoh practically shouted. “The more so, when you could take from my mind anything you want to know!”

Karee and Djimmi exchanged looks. It was no surprise that Djoh did not know all the aspects of his mindspeak. Among those who called it “witch power,” he would have had small chance to learn. Yet such abilities as his were rare even when carefully trained.

It made Djoh an even greater mystery than before. And you did not become War chief of Clan Marshul by thinking you knew everything. Mysteries like Djoh are to be kept alive and answered, not killed to no purpose.

“This Dirtman has the honor of a warrior,” Djimmi said. “End the questioning, return him to his tent, and let him be healed.”

“Honor in a Dirtman!” The man with the irons squalled like a mating prairiecat.

“Yes, honor!” shouted Karee. “The chief is right. Some among them know as much of it as you do!” “Oh, there was one who refused you?” snapped the questioner. “Was that honor, or was he a eunuch—” In the next moment only Djimmi’s grip on Karee’s shoulder kept Clan Marshul from losing a warrior and gaining a blood feud. Then he pushed Karee roughly away from the pit and leaped down into it. Buhrl, the man with the iron, was young enough to be his son, but Djimmi Marshul had fought and beaten three such with his bare hands not two years ago. The man dropped the iron on his own foot, yelped, and stepped back, hands raised to placate his wrathful chief.

“I think it is your tongue that will meet the iron, the next time it wags to so little purpose,” Djimmi said. “Now—go to your tent and let your face not be seen beyond it this day. Otherwise I shall let Karee have you and see if your kin think your blood is worth a feud.”

Djimmi did not take his eyes off the man until he was out of sight. By then Karee was kneeling beside Djoh, speaking soothingly as she would have to a fretful baby while she smeared lard on his burns.

Djoh saw and heard neither Karee ministering to him nor Chief Djimmi contemplating him with a frowning face. He had at last fainted.

II

Djoh set both feet firmly on the tent floor. They hurt, but not so much that the thought of standing made him cringe.

Karee knelt beside him, so that he could put an arm around her waist. It was a fine and supple waist to embrace, even though he was careful to touch her as lightly as he could. It had been years since he had touched such a woman at all; Marthuh’s waist had long since vanished.

Karee slipped an arm around Djoh’s shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“If I’m not, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Standing proved easier than Djoh expected, though not less painful. His game leg was particularly sensitive. It would be some time before his feet could bear much weight without protesting ferociously.

Keeping his balance was another matter. Without Karee’s support, he would surely have fallen. She seemed to sense this and turned to stare anxiously. The motion brought her face almost close enough to kiss—a thought Djoh fought out of existence, though not before he saw Karee blushing. He seemed to have some power to mask his thoughts, but only when he and another were not touching.

Karee’s face was returning to its normal tanned hue when Djimmi Marshul loomed at the entrance to the tent. There was no other word for his appearance. His legs were bowed from a lifetime in the saddle, but he still rose a head taller than Djoh. As for strength and

prowess, Djoh suspected that for all his years, the chief could distribute Djoh’s body in pieces to the four corners of the camp without raising a weapon or working up a good sweat.

Best to give him no excuse to do so, such as fondling one of his clanswomen.

Djoh pulled away from Karee. Too hastily; he lost his balance and sprawled on the sleeping pallet. Karee nearly fell with him. Djimmi laughed.

“You are the first man I have ever seen trying to escape our Karee.”

“It would hardly be honorable for me to—”

“Djoh of Blue Springs, perhaps you should think that the chief of Clan Marshul may know something of honor. Indeed, that is why I have come here.” He made a gesture of dismissal at Karee, who withdrew with evident reluctance.

“Djoh, you have twice shown a warrior’s courage. It is my thought that you have earned the rights of a warrior. You may move freely within the camp. You may ask for what healing you need. You may have a message sent to your kin, that you live and heal.”

“I appreciate that, Chief Djimmi. But I am not sure your messenger would be safe.”

The chief smiled. “I feared as much. Few of the Dirtmen know honor. Well, we shall do what we can without throwing away a warrior.”

Djoh nodded. “I don’t want to doubt your word, Chief Djimmi. But—what do you want from me?” “Your word of honor not to try escaping or doing any injury to Clan Marshul by word or deed, as long as you abide with us.”

That’s better than I got from Blue Springs, and I hadn’t lifted a finger against any living creature there. Without the chief of the Sacred Caterpillars being both honest and shrewd, I wouldn’t have lived long enough to lose my family, wife, home, and craft.

Come on, Djoh. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and answer the man.

“By my word of honor, I shall remain in the camp until given the right to leave it. I shall say and do nothing to harm Clan Marshul, its folk, beasts, and goods.” He remembered the oaths he had used with the prairiecat Iron Claw; they seemed to be common usage among the clan riders.

“This I also swear, by Sacred Sun and by my hope of going to Wind.”

Djimmi grinned. He had few teeth left, but those remaining were strong and white. Then the grin faded.

“Djoh, I will ask one more thing of you. Consider, if you will answer some questions about yourself. Not about your town or your people or their war strength. Only questions about yourself, that may not be my affair but can certainly do no harm to Blue Springs.” “What kind of questions?”

“Your parents’ names. Your age. Where in Blue Springs you were born. When you learned that you had the power of the mindspeak. Trifles like that.”

The chief’s mind was so well shielded that Djoh could not have entered it without being not merely noticed but repelled. The shielding did not hide from Djoh a strong sense that these questions were anything but trifles, to the leader of Clan Marshul.

“I shall consider your request. Is that enough for today?” Djoh’s feet were beginning to feel as though they had been returned to the pit of fire.

“More than enough. Now I shall cease to weary you, and leave you with Karee. If she wearies you, it will doubtless be in a more agreeable manner than mine.” From the flush on Karee’s face when she returned, she had clearly heard Djimmi’s parting remarks. Nor was her mind shielded; she might have been shouting aloud that she rejoiced in his company.

Djoh thought it best only to smile and press her hand to his cheek. Whatever might come of waiting, it would be better than what might come of haste. Moreover, despite the mutual attraction between him and Karee, he was undeniably married to Marthuh—and it did not matter to the law that the marriage had become a sham.