«Yes,» said Horun quickly. «An unruly and bad-tempered slave my queen. He tried to escape while I was killing the snake. I had him beaten by the soldiers. I can have him beaten again if you wish.»

But Roxala was not listening to Horun. Her eyes roamed up and down Blade's body, noting his muscles, other parts of him, and his bloody and battered appearance. Then they moved away from him to the body of the snake lying beyond in the grass. And then she burst out laughing, pointing first at Horun, then at the snake, then at Blade.

«You killed that monster, little captain? You killed it? You couldn't kill a kitten if you had a whole squad of soldiers at your back. No, you could kill a kitten. It's little and helpless and weak, and you like stamping on the little and the helpless and the weak. But that snake wasn't any of these things. You killed it? Richard Blade of the English killed it. The signs are all over him. Smell them, Horun, if you can smell anything through that perfume you bathe in.»

«But-«and then Horun stopped. His brains weren't the best, but apparently they were good enough to keep him from the folly of arguing with Queen Roxala.

The queen grinned. «That's better, Horun. Keep your mouth shut, and then you won't have a chance to put your foot in it. You'd look even sillier than you do now, standing around on one foot.» She turned her gaze onto Blade. «Well, Richard Blade of the English. I wanted to see what kind of fighting man you were. But I think you have already proved that you are a good one. I wish very much I could have seen you kill that snake. Now you are going to come with me. I will see that you get bathed and cared for.»

«Your Majesty,» exploded Horun, «this is a fresh-caught slave and a terrible warrior. He's not safe yet! Are you-?»

«Are you going to teach me my business, Horun? If you are, perhaps you have some lessons coming also. And Blade is not a slave. Not for long, at any rate. He is a warrior. I will have him entered in the Caste of Warriors. I have never had a free warrior to head my team of arena men because there were none of mine worthy to be more than slaves. But now I have a man.» Roxala said the last word as though it were a title of honor. The way she looked at him left Blade in no doubt that it had a good many other implications as well.

«Ho, slaves!» Roxala's voice carried all over the courtyard like the blast of a trumpet. A dozen slaves practically tumbled over each other running to answer her call. She pointed at Blade and said, «Take this warrior Richard Blade of the English and have him bathed. I will send the surgeon to him later.» She spun about and strode away, still without bothering to fasten her gown. Obviously in her eyes the slaves were not human enough to require any modesty before them.

As the slaves gathered around Blade, Horun pushed through their ranks and shoved his glaring face into Blade's. «The queen is going to do well by you, it seems. A warrior, yet. But remember, warriors can die just like slaves. I hope I get a chance to remind you of that, boy. How I hope so!»

Blade smiled blandly into Horun's flushed face. «Don't hope too much, little captain. But don't worry. If I ever want a few minutes' easy amusement for myself and the queen, I'll look you up.» He turned his back on Horun and let the slaves escort him away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Queen Roxala's bath would not have been out of place in a luxury apartment in London. The sunken marble tub was almost large enough to be used as a swimming pool. Thick gold-colored woolen rugs covered the floor. Blade sank into them up to his ankles as the slaves led him to the bath. He waited while a relay of slave girls clad only in short trunks poured hot water from gilded bronze buckets into the bath. Then he let himself be guided down the steps until the water was lapping around his chin. He lay back, floating luxuriantly, feeling the water sting as it cleaned his scrapes and abrasions and soothed his aching muscles.

Looking up at the ceiling, he saw that it was covered in mosaic tiles. At first he could not make out any patterns in the swirl of steam-fogged colors above. Then gradually he realized he was looking at a spectacular, vivid, and explicit series of erotic illustrations. He noticed that most of the women on the ceiling, no matter what their poses, were full-figured and dark-haired. They weren't exactly portraits of the queen, but as far as body type they all might have been sisters. A new variation on decadence, thought Blade. Have your erotic fantasies done so you can look at them while you take your bath. He wondered if Roxala picked what she would do with her next partner from this sexual catalogue in tile while she bathed.

Several of the slave girls now dove into the water with him, carrying sponges, soaps, and pots of soothing ointments. They clustered around him, working away industriously to scour and annoint him. It was as thorough a job as the slaves in the cellar had done. What kept Blade from enjoying it more was the complete lack of any life or spirit in the faces of the girls. They seemed completely unaware of his maleness or their own near-nudity. Their joyless attentions to him once more made him feel like a prize steer being groomed for showing.

To see if he could put a little life into the proceedings, he gently patted one of the girls in the appropriate place. She gasped and spun around to stare at him. It was as though he had jabbed her with a red-hot iron. Her eyes were filled, not with anger or indignation, but with raw fear. Were the girls afraid of him-or was it just that Queen Roxala had a «hands off» rule for her chosen studs?

Before Blade could ask any of the girls, the surgeon came in. He was at least seventy and stooped with age and rheumatism. Moreover, he was ugly, not only by nature but as a result of a series of scars that furrowed his cheeks and neck.

«You are Richard Blade, warrior of the English and soon to be warrior of Rulam?» The man's voice was high and quavering.

«I am.»

«I am to examine you for your fitness in all things. Please lie down upon the floor.» As Blade did so, the surgeon opened a leather bag, and with his gnarled hands began removing instruments from it.

In spite of his age, the surgeon's hands were skilled and swift in their movements. The surgeon went over Blade from head to toe, examining his abrasions and bruises with particular care. He also paid particular attention to Blade's genitals, examining them with such care that Blade began to wonder about the surgeon's sexual preferences.

Finally the surgeon stood up. «You are a very fine physical specimen,» he said. Then he added, with the first trace of expression Blade had heard in his voice, «Possibly even good enough to meet our queen's requirements for more than a few months. For your sake, I hope so.» The surgeon bent over until his thin-lipped mouth was close to Blade's ear. «And for your sake, remember that Queen Roxala is eaten up by jealousy. When she picks a man or a woman, that man or woman is hers until she tires of them and has them killed.»

«Woman?»

«Queen Roxala has a-wide-taste in pleasures, Blade.» The surgeon's thin mouth hardened. «Once she caught me with a girl she had picked for her own. I got these.» He pointed at his scars. «I would have been castrated if the girl hadn't persuaded the queen that she had seduced me. So Roxala had the girl tortured to death. Whips were the mildest part of it. Be careful, Blade. When the queen is well satisfied, it is easier for all of us.»

Blade nodded, keeping his face expressionless. He was beginning to dislike the Rulami nearly as much as he did the Kandans. He couldn't hope to see the Zungans storm over the walls of this city. But if the Rulami ever sent an army south to try to overcome the Zungans, he would be very happy to see the bodies of its soldiers littering the plain all the way to the horizon.