"Many use it for perfume." Seena Thoth was not interested in the wine. She left her own untouched as she sat facing her guest, her eyes roving over the hard planes of his face, the firm yet sensuous mouth. He seemed different from the ragged savage she had seen kill a man with his bare hands. "You have traveled far?"

"Yes, My Lady." He wondered why he had been detained for her pleasure. To satisfy her curiosity, of course, but what else? "I have been traveling most of my life. Ever since I left my home planet."

"Earth?"

"Yes." He caught her smile. "I told the truth, My Lady."

"The physician does not think so." She was not really interested in his planet of origin. "You risked your life when you fought Emmened's creature," she said abruptly. "What made you do it?"

"The prize, My Lady."

"A thing so small?" Her doubt was genuine. "To risk your life?"

"Wealth is relative," explained Dumarest patiently. It was obvious that she had never known the desperation of poverty. "It is not a pleasant thing to be stranded on a world such as this."

"But surely better to be stranded than to be dead? Moidor was a trained fighter of men. He killed the others as I would snap a twig." Her eyes grew speculative. "Are you also a trained fighter of men?"

"No, My Lady."

"Then you must have a secret skill. How else did you succeed when the others failed?"

"The others made mistakes." Dumarest looked at her with critical eyes. She was as beautiful as the goblet, as exciting as the wine. The jewels she had braided in the ebony of her hair must have cost a hundred High passages, the ring on her finger the same. He grew thoughtful as he studied the ring. "They thought it was a game and tried to win according to the rules. That was their mistake. It killed them. In combat there are no rules."

"Is that why you kicked at his knee?" She smiled, remembering. "I wondered why you had done that."

"It is hard for a man, no matter how strong or well-trained, to stand on a broken leg. It gave me an advantage the others did not have." Dumarest sipped more of his wine. He could have told her of his other great advantage over the men who had died: they had been conditioned under the benediction-light to respect the Supreme Ethic; they had entered the fight psychologically unable to kill. Instead he said, "Have you ever killed, My Lady?"

"No."

"Or caused the death of others?"

"No." She remembered a tortured face staring at an empty sky; blood on a cone of polished glass. "No!"

He sensed her trouble and picked up her goblet of wine. "You are not drinking. My Lady."

She waved aside the goblet. "Tell me what it is to kill," she demanded. "Do dreams come to haunt your sleep? Do you regret having taken a life?" lie sipped wine, watching her over the rim of the goblet.

"Tell me," she ordered, "what it is like to hold a living creature in your hands and—"

"To kill it?" Dumarest turned and set down his glass. The base made a small sound as it hit the surface of the inlaid table. "It is a matter of survival. You kill because you have no choice. Having no choice makes it unnecessary to regret the inevitable."

He heard the sudden intake of breath and wondered if he had guessed wrongly. If she had wanted him to supply the vicarious thrill of blood and pain then he had failed. But she hadn't seemed like so many of her class, a depraved animal craving sexual stimulation— and liable to take an unpleasant revenge if she didn't get it. Then he saw her smile.

"You are right," she said gratefully. "The necessity of killing must be dictated by the needs of survival. I'm glad to hear you say it."

He knew better than to ask why or question what ghost he had laid to rest. She had wanted to meet a man who had risked his life for what she considered to be a trifle. She had expected nothing, an alleviation of boredom at the most, but Dumarest had surprised her with the impact of his personality. She found herself strangely reluctant to let him go.

He could have told her why. Despite her wealth and culture she had lived all her life in the narrow strata of a single society. He had trod a hundred worlds, lived a varied life, seen a thousand things of interest. Seena was like the handler on his ship. Her walls were invisible but they existed just the same.

"You must have more wine," she decided. "Not that cold stuff from Woten but a warmer vintage from the slopes of Segalia on Kund." She rose to fetch the flagon and fresh glasses. "Have you ever been to Kund?"

"No, My Lady." He watched the grace of her movements across the floor, wondering why she hadn't called a servant to fetch the wine. As she poured he watched her hands.

"Here!" She handed him a glass with her ringed hand. He took it, then looked sharply into her face. Her eyes were bright, her breathing rapid. "We'll drink a toast," she said. "In celebration of your victory. To the dead—they won't bother us!"

Deliberately he set down the untouched wine.

"You don't like the toast?" She looked at the wine and then at his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Your ring, My Lady. It reminded me of something."

"So?"

"You asked if I'd ever been to Kund," he said evenly. "I haven't, but I've been to Quail. They too have a matriarchy."

She sat down, watching him.

"I had a very good friend on Quail. He attracted the attention of some rich and idle women. One of them wanted to have some fun and so she invited him to her house. She had her fun and then decided to have more. She accused him of rape." He looked steadily into her eyes. "Can you guess at the penalty for rape on a world like Quail?"

"Kund also protects its women."

"Naturally. The man of course, had no defense. The accusation was enough and they found what they regarded as conclusive evidence. So they removed his eyelids, his nose, lips, ears and tongue. They also made quite certain that he could never again be accused of the same crime. The woman attended the place of punishment."

"As was her right as the victim." Seena looked uncomfortable.

"I wonder." Dumarest reached out and took her hand into his own. He touched the ring with the tip of one finger. "She wore a ring exactly like this. I saw it at the trial. Later I learned that they are made by the artisans of the Kullambar Sea. They are hollow and a slight pressure will release a little of their contents. Sometimes it is poison. The women of Quail get a great deal of sport from them. Sometimes they fill them with a powerful aphrodisiac."

He smiled and released her hand and, somehow, knocked over his wine.

In a room heavy with the scent of spice and rich with the brilliant tapestries spun by the spider-folk of a distant star, an old woman spoke softly to her mirror.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall—who is the fairest of us all?"

Once it had been Gloria's pleasure to have the mechanism respond in terms of the purest flattery to the fragment of verse half-learned as a child. Now the sonic lock no longer pandered to her conceit. The surface clouded as the scanners sought their target. It cleared to show the diminished figures of Dumarest and her ward. He was telling her the story of his friend.

Gloria thinned her lips as she heard it, wondering if Seena recognized the implied insult. Probably not. The girl needed the help of no drugs to find herself a lover but she couldn't blame the man for his caution. She knew of the harridans of Quail and their spiteful ways. It was natural for him to be suspicious. She nodded as he spilled the wine.

"A clever man, My Lady."

Dyne stood behind her, the scarlet of his robe subdued against the vivid tapestries. He had thrown back his cowl and his shaved head glowed in the soft lighting. Gloria shrugged.

"Clever, but safe."

"Are you certain of that, My Lady?"