“Of course,” I said. “But now, appearances kept, you free me to continue my work.”

“Precisely,” said Ibn Saran.

From within his cloak Hamid produced a chisel and hammer.

“Open the collar,” I told him, “rather than merely break the links. It will take more time, but it will be more comfortable.”

“Someone will hear!” said Ibn Saran.

“I am confident,” I told him, “none will hear.” I smiled. “It is late.”

I had a special reason for wishing to delay my escape some quarter of an Ahn.

“Open the collar,” said Ibn Saran, angrily.

“It is a lovely moonlight night,” I observed. “It will thus, in my escape, make it easier for me to see my way.

Ibn Saran’s eyes flashed. “Yes,” he said.

“I am pleased,” I said, “to learn that you labor in the service of Priest-Kings.”

Ibn Saran inclined his head.

“Will my escape not require an explanation?” I asked.

“The guard was bribed,” said Ibn Saran. “Then you, in treachery, in your escape, slew him.”

“We will leave the body here, with the tools,” said Hamid.

“You are thorough,” I admitted.

I eased my neck from the collar, it scraping the sides of my neck. It hung against the stones, on the two chains. It caused me great pain to stand. I moved my arms and legs. I wondered how far I was supposed to get. If it were true that a saddled kaiila, my own, awaited, I gathered the strike would be made in the desert, probably just outside the oasis.

It must be well planned. It must be, in their opinion, foolproof, far surer than the likelihood, which would be high, of my reaching Klima in penal caravan.

I left the cell. On a table outside was clothing. I donned it. It was my own. I checked the wallet. It contained even the gems which I had placed there, after removing them from my interior belt, when I had been negotiating with Suleiman.

“Weapons?” I asked.

“The scimitar, at the saddle,” said Ibn Saran.

“I see,” I said. “And water?”

“At the saddle,” he said.

“It seems,” I said, “that it is twice I owe you my life. You have saved me this afternoon from the beast’s attack, and tonight you free me, rescuing me from the brine pits of Klima. I am indebted to you, it seems.”

“You would do as much for me,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

His eyes clouded.

“Hurry,” said Hamid. “The guard will be soon changed.”

I climbed the stairs. I strode through the outer rooms, and out the portal, onto the sand.

“Be less bold. Be more careful,” said Ibn Saran.

“No one is watching,” I assured him. I smiled. “It, is late,” I said.

I saw the kaiila. It was my own. It was saddled: water bags were at its flanks; a scimitar sheath, with weapon, on straps, hung at a saddle ring on the right. I checked the girth straps, the kaiila rein. They were in order. I hoped that the beast had not been drugged. I lifted my hand near its eye; it blinked, even to the third lid, the transparent lid; very lightly I touched its flank; the skin shook, twitching, beneath the finger.

“What are you doing?” asked Ibn Saran.

“T am greeting my kaiila,” I said.

The reflexes of the beast seemed fit. I doubted then that it had been drugged.

If it had been drugged with a quick-acting agent, the quarter of an Ahn I had purchased, delaying my escape, in demanding that the collar be removed, rather than the links broken, would have given the drug time to be evident in the behavior of the beast. I doubted that a slow drug would have been used, because time would be significant in these matters. Ibn Saran would not have cared to risk giving me an Ahn’s start on a fast kaiila. I was pleased that the animal had not, apparently, been drugged.

It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Ibn Saran, as he proclaimed, was indeed an agent for Priest-Kings. Perhaps Hamid, too, was such an agent.

If so, my dalliance, increasing their risks, had jeopardized their lives.

I mounted.

“May your water bags be never empty,” said Ibn Saran. “May you always have water.” He put his hand on the bulging water bag, which hung behind the saddle, on the left side of the beast, balanced by another on the right. One drinks alternately from the bags, to maintain the weight distribution. Such weight, of course, slows the kaiila, but, in the desert, one must have much water.

“May your water bags be never empty,” I said. “May you always have water.”

“Ride north,” said Ibn Saran.

“My thanks,” I said, and, kicking the beast in the flanks, sand scattered back from its claws, I pressed the beast to the north.

As soon as I was out of earshot of Ibn Saran and Hamid, and among tile walls of the oasis buildings, I reined in, I looked back and noted, high, lofting in the moonlight night, an arrow, with a silver pennon attached to it. It climbed more and more slowly to the height of its are, seemed to pause, and then, gracefully, turned and looped down, faster and faster, the moonlight sparkling on the fluttering, silvered pennon.

I examined the paws of the kailla. I found that for which I searched inserted in the right forepaw of the animal. I removed from its paw the tiny, rounded ball of wax, held in place by threads: within the wax, which would soon, in the riding and pounding, and by the heat of the animal’s body, disintegrate, concealed. I found a needle; I smelled it; it was smeared with kanda, a deadly toxin, prepared from the ground roots of the kanda bush. I wiped the needle, with a ripping from my shirt sleeve, cleaning it, and discarded needle and cloth in a refuse pile.

I sampled the water in the two water bags. It was, as I expected, heavily salted. It was not drinkable.

I removed the scimitar from its sheath. It was not mine. I examined the blade and found the flaw, neatly filed, under the hilt, concealed by the guard. I tapped the blade into the sand: it fell from the hilt, which I retained in my hand, concealed both blade and hilt in the refuse pile.

I drew the kaiila back into the shadows. Two men rode by, Ibn Saran and Hamid.

I poured the salt water into the sand. It was late. I decided I would seek an inn for the night. It was late.

8 I Become Guest of Hassan the Bandit

I did not sleep as well as I might have that night, for from time to time, clouds of riders, with bows and lances, swept through the streets of Nine Wells, returning from one sortie into the desert or another. For better than fifty pasangs about the terrain was apparently combed, again and again, but yielding not even a trail.

I did, however, get several hours of uninterrupted sleep toward morning, when, worn, exhausted, thirsty, slack in their saddles, the bulk of the search parties returned to Nine Wells.

I patronized an unimportant, rather poor sort of establishment, whose proprietor, I suspected, would have had better things to do than attend trials at the chamber of justice. Fortunately this was true. He was, however, informed on the public news. “The assassin fled last night, into the desert,” he told me, “escaping!”

“Incredible,” I said. My response was appropriate, for I, for one, did not believe it.

I had arisen about the ninth hour, which, on Gor, is the hour before noon.

The kaiila I fed in the stable, where he occupied a rear stall, I watered it, too, deeply.

While at breakfast I sent a stableboy on small errands. When I finished breakfast the lad, a sprightly young fellow, had returned.

In my new burnoose and sash, a rather ostentatious yellow and purple, befitting, however, a local merchant, or peddler, who wishes to call attention to himself, I myself went about the shops, making purchases. I obtained a new scimitar. I did not need a sheath and belt. I obtained, too, a set of kaiila bells, and two sacks of pressed-date bricks. These are long, 134 rectangular bricks, weighing about a stone apiece, or, in Earth weight, about four pounds.