"I heard—" He paused and cleared his throat. "I heard a rumor that you'd survived Sabra. That you'd declared . . ."

"Elaii-ali-ma," I supplied, when he faltered. "You've been selling drink and women to sword-dancers for years. You know very well what elaii-ali-ma means."

He did. "Forsworn."

"And subject to any punishment a sword-dancer—one who's still true to his oaths, mind you—cares to give me." I shrugged. "So you might get to keep my one-third of the profits, if it comes to that. One of these days."

"They'll kill you, Tiger."

"Maybe," I agreed. "Maybe not."

His gaze was on my mutilated hands, which I did not trouble to hide. "This is worse," Fouad said hollowly. "Worse than anything Sabra might have done."

"Possibly. But that does not absolve you of your responsibility." He had the grace to wince. "She intended me to die, Fouad. This way, fingers or no fingers, I have some say in the matter."

Fouad was not convinced. "They'll kill you."

I gave him my friendliest grin. "Or die trying."

"Why?" Del demanded later in the inn's tiny room high under the eaves. An equally tiny window—a lopsided square chopped into thick mudbrick—tinted the room a sallow sepia as the sun went down, glinting off the brass buckles of our belongings.

I knew better than to ask to what she referred. "Financial security." I stripped out of my burnous.

Stretched out on the rope-and-wood bed atop its thin pallet and even thinner blanket, she watched as I, dhoti-clad, began to methodically undertake the forms I found beneficial to my strength, flexibility, and endurance. For most of my life I'd de-pended on a natural wellspring of sheer physical strength, power, and speed, with no need to work at keeping any of them. They simply were. Now I needed more.

"You just didn't want to kill him."

She sounded so disgusted a brief gust of laughter was expelled as I bent from one side to the other. "Fouad's a friend."

"A friend who betrayed you."

"At Sabra's insistence." I felt the joints of my spine stretch and pop. "She was a little hard to turn down when she got a bug up her butt. Hoolies, even I was going to do what she wanted." Die in the circle, facing Abbu Bensir.

"But you had a choice."

I clasped hands behind my head and pushed it forward against resistance. "Sure I did. I forswore all my oaths as a seventh-level sword-dancer. I don't think cantina keepers have any oaths. Though I suppose there could be some secret society dedicated to all the arcane secrets of selling liquor and hiring wine-girls."

Del had been leaning on one elbow. Now she shoved herself upright. "Speaking of wine-girls, you made reference to me—"

I cut her off before we could take that route. "Certainly not."

"Certainly, yes," she said dryly. "You also mentioned something about Fouad selling wine-girls to sword-dancers."

"Well, I suppose 'rented' would be a more accurate term."

"And I assume you 'rented' your share?"

"Nah," I replied off-handedly. "None of them ever charged me."

After a moment of stunned silence, Del said something highly explicit in uplander.

I changed the subject hastily. "Do you really want to kill Fouad?"

"No. But I do want to know why you've encumbered us with a two-thirds ownership of a cantina." She paused, considering. "Unless you figure it entitles you to free aqivi."

"Well, it does. Might save me a little money." I shrugged prodigiously, repeatedly, loosening the muscles running from neck to shoulders. "It's not an encumbrance, bascha. All we have to do is drop in four times a year and pick up our share of the profits."

Fortunately Fouad had been prevailed upon to give us an advance, since, having arranged for horse boarding, human lodging, and some food, we now needed money to pay for it all.

"But why, Tiger? You've never indicated any interest in owning property before. A cantina?"

"I like cantinas."

"Well, yes; you spend enough time in them . . . but why own one?"

"I told you. Financial security." I stopped loosening up and faced her. "I doubt I'll be taking on any jobs as a sword-dancer any time soon. I'm kind of proscribed from that."

Del was perplexed. "You told me you wanted to rebuild your shodo's place. Alimat. And take on students."

"I do. But that presupposes there will be students to teach and that they'll have money to pay me. We need to buy things, bascha. Fouad's cantina will at least cover expenses." I gave her a quizzical look. "Isn't that the responsible thing to do?"

"Of course it's the responsible thing to do," she agreed. "It's just very unlike you to be responsible."

I scowled. "Short of killing him, and he wouldn't be around to suffer or feel remorse if I did that, it's also about the direst punishment I could think of for Fouad. He's a pinch-coin."

"Is there anyone else you want to punish? Are we likely to wind up owning a weaver's shop, a vegetable plot, or a flower cart?"

"I doubt it. None of those people has ever drugged my wine and set me up to be taken by a spoiled, bloodthirsty, murderous little bitch bent on seeing me killed in the circle." I rolled my neck, feeling tension loosen. "What color of curtains were you thinking, bascha?"

Del made a sound of derision. "As if any cantina would boast curtains in the windows. Likely some drunkard would set them on fire the first fight he got into. And we, now partners with your faithful friend Fouad, would have to bear two-thirds of the cost of damages."

I hadn't thought about that.

"I knew it," Del said in deep disgust. "Men. All they ever think about are the profits. Not about all the work that goes into such things."

Well, no. "That's why we have Fouad," I said brightly. "He'll take care of all that."

Del scowled. "1 still say it was foolish to go to Fouad's. Word will be out by morning, just like in Haziz."

"It won't be Fouad who spreads it."

"Of course it will be Fouad—"

"No."

"Why, because you're his partner now?"

"Because we really were friends, bascha. And because he feels guilty."

"As well he should!"

"You don't know you wouldn't have done what he did, faced with Sabra."

After a moment, Del declared, "I find that observation incredibly offensive."

I grinned at her, continuing to work out the tension in my body; going to Fouad's had kept me on edge, regardless of what I admitted. "You didn't face Sabra." Not in the same way, at any rate. By the time Del and Sabra were in close proximity, Sabra was unconscious and tied to a saddle.

"I'd have killed her," Del said shortly.

A sudden and very intriguing image rose before my eyes: Del and Sabra. One small and dark, one tall and fair. Two dangerous, deadly women. Except Del was far more honest when she killed: she did it herself.

"Word will get out," I said, "but it won't be Fouad."

"Such a trustworthy soul," Del said dryly.

"Let me see your wrist."

Obligingly, Del extended an arm. I shut my hand upon the wrist and squeezed. Tightly. Very tightly.

After a moment, she asked, "Are you purposely attempting to break my wrist?" She wiggled fingers. "Let go, Tiger."

Smiling, I let go.

Del sighed. "Point taken." "I should hope so."

"But it will still be different," she cautioned. "More difficult." "I agree, bascha."

And it was very likely, I knew, I'd discover how different tomorrow. Because word was bound to get out. The Sandtiger is back. Yes. He was.