Osric started toward one of the buildings, then turned back. He held out a hand to Blade. «You may not think it, sir, but I am your friend. It is enough for me that you are friend to Juna, whom I worship. And she is also your friend. Remember that, sir. This will be our last word in private, so hear me well: you have been brought here at Juna's command and for your own protection. She has not forsaken you. Bide patiently and wait for her to work out matters in her own way. It will be to your advantage. Above all you must trust Juna.»

Osric glanced around, then stepped closer to the cart and lowered his voice. «Juna has loved me in the pastand cast me aside. This was when I went with messages to Thyme. Now all that is over and I bear no malice. It is you whom Juna wants now, and I will aid her in this all I can. But it will not be easy.»

Blade glowered at the dainty officer and shrugged his big shoulders. He did not trust either of them, but he forebore the saying of it. He nodded and said, «As an exlover of the goddess, Osric, I can understand that you should want to help me. That makes a deal of sense.»

Osric.shrugged in his turn and ignored the sarcasm. «We have a saying in Patmos-when love is dead friendship begins. Farewell, sir. I must go now and obtain a signature for you. You are free to come and go as you choose.» '

It was true. Blade leaped from the cart and strolled a bit. He was sure that he could have walked out the gate and no one would have tried to stop him. So he did not walk out the gate. There would be time enough for that when he had thought 'matters through and knew what he was going to do.

He found a bench near a group of men who were playing what looked like chess, except that all the pieces were of black stone and carved to represent various flowers. He had watched for less than a minute when he knew something else, something not mentioned by Osric. These men, these prisoners in their neat white clothes, were penthe eaters. It was apparent in their vacuous stares and slow, drugged movements. Penthe. Blade nodded in realization-they either took the stuff voluntarily or it was administered to them. His smile was grim. That was why there were no prison walls. These poor fellows-once their minds were captured there was no need to chain their bodies.

For nearly an hour Blade sat on his bench, brooding and observing, before anyone came for him. He reached one-sure conclusion-this was a political prison. The men around him, his fellow prisoners, did not have a criminal look about them. All of them, — without exception, had the look of intellectuals, of quietists, and most of them were elderly. He guessed that many of them had been in this place for years and that most would not leave it alivewould not want to leave it. This model prison was home to them now, all the security they had, and it was doubt-

ful if many, in their penthe ridden brains, remembered the offense that had brought them here in the first place.

Blade spat and knew how careful he must be. Juna was playing some sly game of her own and Osric was her creature. He scowled. He had no doubt that she had admitted the officer to her bed, now and again, as payment. But what plans had she for Blade? He could not guess and he did not have time to wait or to speculate-he must somehow gain an audience with the Pearl of Patmos, with Izmia, with the old woman who was grandmother to Juna. For it was there the real power must lie. But how to accomplish this, and with what speed, he did not at the moment have any idea.

He was still deep in thought when one of the Gray People came for him. He was a fat little man dressed in the customary gray breeches and blouse, but wearing a chain of office and looking more alert than the other serfs Blade had seen. For so he thought of them by now. Serfs. Slaves kept in order and obedience by good treatment and the drug.

The fat man bowed low. «Welcome, sire. I am come to serve you. I am 00610. If you will come with me I will arrange a bath and fresh clothing. Then a 'meal and, if it pleases you, a woman for company. We have many to choose from today, sire. A new troop of women has just been brought in from the countryside.»

«I wish no woman,» growled Blade. He followed the fat little man along a path of crushed stone. «You say you are 00610? You have no name?»

The man turned to give Blade a cherubic smile. «Oh, no, sir! None of the Gray People have names. Numbers only. A number is as good as a name, sir, in the long run. And much more convenient. Makes it easier to keep files and records, you see. This way, sir, to the bath.»

Blade wondered which came first-the penthe or the numbers? Not that it mattered much. The dehumanizing factor was the same. He supposed they were bred to specification, the Gray People, and allotted tasks according to their intelligence. He speculated on how long this had been going on. His guess was for centuries. His guess was also that the ruling class of Patmos had outsmarted itself; they lived a placid and sybaritic existence, supported by serfs, and they no longer bred warriors if, indeed, they ever had. They lived for music and flowers and other sensual pleasures, an assured and comfortable existence from cradle to grave. Sooner or later such a life schema would have to be fatal, to prove its own undoing.

Blade grinned like a wolf. It would be sooner-Hectoris, the barbarian, was all but at the gates.,

He was bathed in a steaming perfumed pool and given a prison uniform. Much search was required before a kilt and singlet could be found to fit him. He took the largest red sandals they had.

When he was offered a sumptuous meal he would not eat. This visibly dismayed the little fat man who, for short, Blade had taken to calling 610.

The dining hall was cool and spacious, and the meal tempting, for Blade was ravenous, but he would not touch it. 610 wrung his chubby hands. «But you must eat, sire. You must! It is a rule. Every prisoner must eat such a meal when he first arrives.»

Blade laughed at him. «You are the warder, no? Then summon your guards and force feed me. Why do you hesitate? I am only a prisoner like the others.»

There was 'more hand wringing. «But I cannot do that, sire. Violence is also against the rules. Not that the matter ever arises-we do not need violence or coercion. We never have-«

Blade crossed his mammoth arms and stared the little man down. «Until now,» he said cheerfully. «Now, if you expect me to eat, you need it.»

He added, «You had best bring a dozen of your best men, little. 610, for you are going to need them.»

Blade stalked toward the door. He did not trust himself if he were forced to smell the food much longer. Penthe or not, he would be tempted to gulp it down.

610, moaning and complaining, came along to show Blade to his room. He took some audible comfort in the thought that Blade would be even hungrier by the time of the evening meal and would cease to be a problem. As they walked down a long corridor, past open windows where flowers bloomed on the sills, Blade said, «I would have a room to myself, 610. I am very tired and would sleep long. I also require shears and a razor, for when I awaken.I wish to trim my hair and beard.»

610 smiled eagerly. «I will send a barber at once. It just so happens that we have a new girl who is skilled

«No girl,» Blade said harshly. A woman, in certain circumstances, could be as deadly as the penthe. At the moment he wanted only to be alone, to sleep and then, his brain refreshed, to think. Think how to gain audience with the Pearl of Patmos-and how best to use that audience when he had gained it.

«You cannot be alone,» said 610 sulkily. «That is also against the rules. All newcomers must share a room with another newcomer. And that, sire, is a rule I cannot break even for you.»

610 indicated the stone floor of the corridor and, with a pettish smile, said, «Of course I cannot force you to share a room. If you prefer the hard floor to a luxurious bed so be it. That is your privilege as a prisoner, sire. I am only a poor Gray Person and a warder.»