Before them was spread a strange and barbaric panorama, one which assaulted every sense. Lean, dark figures twisted in rhyth­mic movement, as the sound of wooden drums and reed pipes mingled beneath a bloody moon. Maibang, their dark wiry guide with the quick eyes and the ready tongue, had said that this was originally an Anglican church. No living man remembered clearly the day that the forest creatures arose and slew the missionaries; but since that day, no sane man came within a spear's cast of those vine-mottled walls. So much blood had soaked the ground that the very souls of the priests cried out in agony at any foot­fall.

The church, crumbled and in jungle-moist disrepair, was small, not much more than living quarters for the long dead occupants. Services were held in a roofless chapel, an open area covered with ancient and rotted mats, where two hundred at a time might kneel together in prayer.

The roofless chapel now hosted a ring of frenetic dancers. An­other ten or twelve natives, scattered in an outside ring, swayed silently to the beat without moving their feet. In the middle of the area was a frame of timbers lashed in the form of a vertical "X".

"If she isn't out here, then she's got to be inside the church building itself-" Dark Star's breath caught in her throat, and she pulled her companions back further into the bushes.

The figure that came out of the building was a strange one. He looked more beast than man. His nails were talon-long and sharp, his canines were filed to points, his hair was a shattered wasp's-nest of mud and sticks. He glared around the clearing, looking right past them, and spoke sharply and hurriedly to the dancers. They took handfuls of grain from little leather pouches at their waists and began to sow it.

Griffin nudged Fortunato. "Most of their attention is focussed in front of the building. Shall we try the rear?"

Fortunato's grin split the stained blackness of his face. "What about it, Star? Will we need a distraction?"

"Only to get out alive. Now listen, both of you. We need to work our way around to the other side of the church, and we have got to do it quietly. Follow me." She shifted the rifle from behind her shoulder and held it across her chest as she crouched. She ran lightly through the bushes. At intervals of five meters Griffin and Fortunato followed.

They made it to the other side of the clearing and stopped, sur­veying. Dark Star nodded, and they scurried across the fifteen me­ters of clearing to the back of the church. The rear wall was half again as tall as she. "Boost me," she whispered to Griffin. He bent and linked fingers for her to step into, and straightened up. The Thief caught the edge of the roof and pulled herself up until she had both elbows resting on it. With a final push from Griffin, she was up.

Fortunato helped Griffin up, and the big man returned the favor. Fortunato was panting heavily. Dark Star sent him a dirty look, and he tried to quiet it down.

Years of rain and weather had reduced a once sturdy roof of thatch and timbers to rotted weakness. They were able to crawl along the main supports without much risk, but the tilt of the roof made it a tricky business. The sound of the music and stamping feet drowned any noise they were making. If they didn't shake down too much dust on the people within, they would be all right.

Dark Star shinnied up the slanted center beam, bracing her feet in the thatch. Griffin and Fortunato followed. She halted a couple of meters from the top, drew her knife, and slit a peephole in the woven straw. She had to saw at some of the stronger fibers, but accomplished her task without noise. Griffin followed suit.

The room below them was dimly lit, but in the flickering light of a single torch it was possible to make out four figures. Two men stood with arms folded, bracketing a woman who lay bound on a pallet. Above her loomed the mud-haired man who had directed the dancers. At this range they could make out slitted cheeks stained with fresh blood: self-inflicted ritual wounds, prob­ably rubbed with dirt or manure to create permanent scars.

The girl was blond, and her clothes, now tatters, had once been expensive and beautiful. Griffin couldn't see her face clearly, but her body was small and sweetly shaped.

Dark Star's toe nudged Griffin's ear, and he glanced up. She

gestured, cutting the air with her knife. Griffin made a circle of forefinger and thumb. He liked the idea; the thatch roof seemed to be made of two sturdy mats joined at the center beam. If they slit it where it met the beam, they would be able to drop through onto their enemies.

Quietly, they cut. The moonlight made their task easy, and only the pulsating sound of the drums promised doom. Once, one of the guards below glanced up, and they stopped cutting until he turned away. Griffin looked back at Fortunato, who kept the watch for them. The Thief rubbed at the charcoal around his eyes and waved back dutifully.

Dark Star was preparing to peel the roof back when the door of the chapel opened, and several warriors filed in. The girl moaned as they hoisted her to their shoulders. They carried her out.

Griffin heard the lady Thief curse venomously. He understood how she felt. So close.

Two guards remained in the room after the others left. Griffin tapped Dark Star on the foot. He pointed down. "All right," she whispered, "give it a-"

A patch of air in front of her face glowed red. "Gary," she said, breaking character, "your blade is still live. Sheath it and unlock the handle."

Griffin looked at her blankly before he remembered the admo­nitions given to him by the referees in Gaming Central.

1) No live blades during personal combat. All edged weapons have detachable blades, with simple holo projectors in their hilts. All sheath sensors must confirm lock-down before combat se­quences can begin.

2) No physical contact allowed, and no blows may be aimed at joints, groin, face or neck except with hologram blades.

3) Minor infractions will necessitate halting of the Game and awarding of penalty points. Major infractions will automatically terminate the Game.

Alex pushed his poniard into its holder until he heard it click. Then he twisted the hilt a half-turn, and it came free. An eight­inch glowing blade projected from it, and he passed a finger warily through the field. The red glow before Dark Star's face dissolved, and she gave him the go-ahead.

But the Griffin's own face felt like it was glowing in the dark. Jesus, a Dream Park Security Chief had been that close to slicing

up two actors! Great publicity there, 0 Griffin!... hell with it. Griffin ripped the roof open and dropped into the room.

The guards were taken unawares. He landed almost on top of one; his knife plunged bloodlessly into his back half a dozen times. The native collapsed. The second one tripped over the corpse of the first, and as he flailed to the ground Griffin cut his throat neatly.

The big Thief shook his head. "Swordfodder," he muttered.

Dark Star dropped from the roof, followed by Fortunato, who nearly twisted his ankle. She looked around at the damage, and gave him a grudging nod of approval. "Pretty smooth for a first-timer. What do you do for an encore?"

He ignored her and moved quietly to the door. "We don't have much time. They're getting ready to do it now."

She peeked out at the wooden frame, where the European girl was being anointed with a mash of crushed grain and pig blood.

"Fortunato," Dark Star said, pulling the blackfaced Thief to her, "do you think you can hit a man's throat at fifteen meters?"

"I can try. My Wessler-Grahm is seventy-nine for dexterity, and beyond that it's up to the computer. The gun might be better."