The silver-masked women leaned forward in their chairs. Only the Tatrix herself and Dorna the Proud sat straight. Although the room was cool I noted that Thorn, Captain of Tharna, was sweating. His hands clenched and unclenched.

"What more do you know?" demanded the Tatrix.

Ost looked about himself as well as he could, his eyes bulging with terror. "Do you know the warrior who brought you the letters and gold?" she demanded.

"Him I do not know," said Ost.

"Let me," begged Thorn, "bloody the yoke." He drew his sword. "Let me end this wretch here!"

"No," said Lara. "What more then do you know, Serpent?" she asked the miserable conspirator.

"I know," said Ost, "that the leader of the conspiracy is a high person in Tharna — one who wears the silver mask, a woman."

"Unthinkable!" cried Lara, rising to her feet. "None who wear the silver mask could be disloyal to Tharna!"

"Yet it is so," sniveled Ost.

"Who is the traitress?" demanded Lara.

"I do not know her name," said Ost.

Thorn laughed.

"But," said Ost, hopefully, "I once spoke with her and I might recognise her voice if I were but allowed to live."

Thorn laughed again. "It is a trick to buy his life."

"What think you, Dorna the Proud?" asked Lara of she who was Second in Tharna.

But instead of answering, Dorna the Proud seemed strangely silent. She extended her silver-gloved hand, palm facing her body and chopped brutally down with it, as though it might have been a blade.

"Mercy, Great Dorna!" screamed Ost.

Dorna repeated the gesture, slowly, cruelly.

But the hands of Lara were extended, palms up, and she lifted them slightly; it was a gracious gesture that spoke of mercy.

"Thank you, Beloved Tatrix," whimpered Ost, his eyes bursting with tears, "Thank you!"

"Tell me, Serpent," said Lara, "did the warrior steal the coins from you?" "No, no," blubbered Ost.

"Did you give them to him?" she demanded.

"I did," he said. "I did."

"And did he accept them?" she asked.

"He did," said Ost.

"You pressed the coins upon me and ran," I said. "I had no choice." "He accepted the coins," muttered Ost, looking at me malevolently, determined apparently that I would share whatever fate lay in store for him.

"I had no choice," I said calmly.

Ost shot a venomous look in my direction.

"If I were a conspirator," I said, "if I were in league with this man, why would he have charged me with the theft of the coins, why would he have had me arrested?"

Ost blanched. His tiny, rodentlike mind scurried from thought to thought, but his mouth only moved uncontrollably, silently.

Thorn spoke. "Ost knew himself to be suspected of plotting against the throne."

Ost looked puzzled.

"Thus," said Thorn, "to make it seem he had not given the money to this warrior, or assassin as the case may be, he pretended it had been stolen from him. In that way he might at one time appear free from guilt and destroy the man who knew of his complicity."

"That is true," exclaimed Ost gratefully, eager to take his cue from so powerful a figure as Thorn.

"How is it that Ost gave you the coins, Warrior?" asked the Tatrix. "Ost gave them to me," I said, "… as a gift."

Thorn threw back his head and laughed.

"Ost never gave anything away in his life," roared Thorn, wiping his mouth, struggling to regain his composure.

There was even a slight sound of amusement from the silver- masked figures who sat upon the steps to the throne.

Ost himself snickered.

But the mask of the Tatrix glittered upon Ost, and his snicker died in his thin throat. The Tatrix arose from her throne, and pointed her finger at the wretched conspirator. Her voice was cold as she spoke to the guardsman who had brought him to the chamber. "To the mines with him," she said. "No, Beloved Tatrix, no!" cried Ost. Terror, like a trapped cat, seemed to scratch behind his eyes, and he began to shake in his yoke like a diseased animal. Scornfully the guardsman lifted him to his feet and dragged him stumbling and whimpering from the room. I gathered the sentence to the mines was equivalent to a sentence of death.

"You are cruel," I said to the Tatrix.

"A Tatrix must be cruel," said Dorna.

"That," I said, "I would hear from the mouth of the Tatrix herself." Dorna stiffened at the rebuff.

After a time the Tatrix, who had resumed her throne, spoke. Her voice was quiet. "Sometimes, Stranger," she said, "it is hard to be First in Tharna." I had not expected that answer.

I wondered what sort of woman was the Tatrix of Tharna, what lay concealed behind that mask of gold. For a moment I felt sorry for the golden creature before whose throne I knelt.

"As for you," said Lara, her mask glittering down upon me, "you admit that you did not steal the coins from Ost, and in this admission you admit that he gave them to you."

"He thrust them in my hand," I said, "and ran." I looked at the Tatrix. "I came to Tharna to obtain a tarn. I had no money. With Ost" s coins I could have purchased one and continued my journey. Should I have thrown them away?"

"These coins," said Lara, holding the tiny sack in her hand, gloved in gold, "were to buy my death."

"So few coins?" I asked skeptically.

"Obviously the full sum would follow upon the accomplishment of the deed," she said.

"The coins were a gift," I said. "Or so I thought."

"I do not believe you," she said.

I was silent.

"What full sum did Ost offer you?" she asked.

"I refused to be a party to his schemes," I said.

"What full sum did Ost offer you?" repeated the Tatrix.

"He spoke," I said, "of a tarn, a thousand golden tarn disks and provisions for a long journey."

"Golden tarn disks — unlike those of silver — are scarce in Tharna," said the Tatrix. "Someone is apparently willing to pay highly for my death." "Not your death," I said.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Your abduction," I said.

The Tatrix stiffened suddenly, her entire body trembling with fury. She rose, seemingly beside herself with rage.

"Bloody the yoke," urged Dorna.

Thorn stepped forward, his blade raised.

"No," screamed the Tatrix, and, to the astonishment of all, herself descended the broad steps of the dais.

Shaking with fury she stood before me, over me, in her golden robes and mask. "Give me the whip!" she cried. "Give it to me!" The man with the wrist straps hastily knelt before her, lifting it to her hands. She snapped it cruelly in the air, and its report was sharp and vicious.

"So," she said to me, both hands clenched on the butt of the whip, "you would have me before you on the scarlet rug bound with yellow cords, would you?"

I did not understand her meaning.

"You would have me in a camisk and collar would you?" she hissed hysterically.

The women of the silver masks recoiled, shuddering. There were exclamations of anger, of horror.

"I am a woman of Tharna," she screamed, "First in Tharna! First!" Then, beside herself with rage, holding the whip in both hands, she lashed madly at me. "It is the kiss of the whip for you!" she screamed. Again and again she struck me, yet through it all I managed to stay on my knees, not to fall.

My senses reeled, my body, tortured by the weight of the silver yoke, now wrapped in the flames of the whip, shook with uncontrollable agony. Then, when the Tatrix had exhausted herself, by some effort I find it hard to comprehend, I managed to stand on my feet, bloody, wearing the yoke, my flesh in tatters — and look down upon her.

She turned and fled to the dais. She ran up the steps and turned only when she stood at last before her throne. She pointed her hand imperiously at me, that hand wearing its glove of gold, now spattered with my blood, wet and dark from the sweat of her hand.