"I will not kill you," I said.

"Give me your sword, Warrior," said she, "and I will throw myself upon it." "No," I said.

"Ah yes," she said, "a warrior is unwilling to have the blood of a woman on his sword."

"You are young," I said, "- beautiful and much alive. Put the Cities of Dust from your mind."

She laughed bitterly.

"Why did you buy me?" she asked. "Surely you wish to exact your vengeance? Have you forgotten it was I who put you in a yoke, who whipped you, who condemned you to the Amusements, who would have given you to the tarn? That it was I who betrayed you and sent you to the mines of Tharna?" "No," I said, my eyes hard. "I have not forgotten."

"Nor have I," she said proudly, making it clear that she would ask me for nothing, and expect nothing of me, not even her life.

She stood bravely before me, yet so helpless, so much at my mercy. She might have stood thus before a larl in the Voltai. It was important to her to die well. I admired her for this, and found her in her hopelessness and defiance very beautiful. Her lower lip trembled, ever so slightly. Almost imperceptibly she bit it to control its movement, lest I should see. I found her magnificent. There was a tiny drop of blood on her lips. I shook my head to drive away the thought that I wanted with my tongue to taste the blood on her lips, to kiss it from her mouth.

I said simply, "I do not wish to harm you."

She looked at me, not comprehending.

"Why did you buy me?" she asked.

"I bought you to free you," I said.

"You did not then know I was Tatrix of Tharna," she sneered.

"No," I said.

"Now that you know," she asked, what will you do with me? Will it be the oil of tharlarions? Will you throw me to leech plants? Will you stake me out for your tarn, use me to bait a sleen trap?"

I laughed at her, and she looked at me, bewildered.

"Well?" she demanded.

"You have given me much to think about," I admitted.

"What will you do with me?" she demanded.

"I will free you," I said.

She stepped back in disbelief. Her blue eyes seemed filled with wonder, and then they glistened with tears. Her shoulders shook with sobs. I put my arms around her slender shoulders and to my amazement she who had worn the golden mask of Tharna, she who had been Tatrix of that great city, put her head upon my chest and wept. "No," she said, "I am worthy only of being a slave."

"That is not true," I said. "Remember once you told a man not to beat me. Remember once you said it was hard to be first in Tharna. Remember that once you looked upon a field of talenders and I was too dull and foolish to speak to you."

She stood within my arms, her tear-filled eyes lifted to mine. "Why did you return me to Tharna?" she asked.

"To barter you for the freedom of my friends," I said.

"And not for the silver and jewels of Tharna?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She stepped back. "Am I not beautiful?"

I regarded her.

"You are indeed beautiful," I said. "- so beautiful that a thousand warriors might give their lives to see your face, so beautiful that a hundred cities might come to ruin on your behalf."

"Would I not please — a beast?" she asked.

"It would be a victory for a man to have you on his chain," I said. "And yet, Warrior," she said, "you would not have kept me — you threatened to put me on the block and sell me to another."

I was silent.

"Why would you not keep me for your own?"

It was a bold question, strange to come from this girl, once Tatrix of Tharna. "My love is Talena," I said, "daughter of Marlenus who was once Ubar of Ar."

"A man may have many slave girls," she sniffed. "Surely in your Pleasure Gardens — wherever they may be — many beautiful captives wear your collar?" "No," I said.

"You are a strange warrior…"

I shrugged.

She stood boldly before me. "Do you not want me?"

"To see you is to want you," I admitted.

"Then take me," she challenged. "I am yours."

I looked down at the rug, wondering how to speak to her.

"I don" t understand," I said.

"Beasts are fools!" she exclaimed.

After this incredible outburst she went to the side of the tent, and held one of the hangings with her fist, thrusting her face against it. She turned, still clutching the hanging in her fist. Her eyes were filled with tears, but angry. "You returned me to Tharna," she said, almost as if making an accusation.

"For the love of my friends," I said.

"And honour!" she said.

"Perhaps honour too," I admitted.

"I hate your honour!" she cried.

"Some things," I said, "are more compelling than even the beauty of a woman."

"I hate you," she said.

"I" m sorry."

Lara laughed, a small, sad laugh, and sat down on the rug at the side of the tent, tucking her knees under her chin. "I don" t hate you, you know," she said.

"I know."

"But I did — I did hate you. When I was Tatrix of Tharna I hated you. I hated you so."

I was silent. I knew she had spoken the truth. I had sensed those virulent feelings with which she had unaccountably, to my mind regarded me. "Do you know, Warrior," she asked, "why I — now only a miserable slave — hated you so?"

"No," I said.

"Because when I first saw you I knew you from a thousand forbidden dreams." Her eyes sought me out. She spoke softly. "In these dreams I had been proud in my palace surrounded by my council and warriors and then, shattering the roof like glass, a great tarn descended, bearing a helmeted warrior. He scattered my council and defeated my armies and took me and stripped me and bound me naked across the saddle of his bird and then, with a great cry, he carried me to his city, and there I, once proud Tatrix of Tharna, wore his brand and collar."

"Do not fear these dreams," I said.

"And in his city," said the girl, her eyes bright, "he put bells upon my ankles and dressed me in dancing silk. I had no choice you understand. i must do as he wished. And when I could dance no more he took me in his arms and like a beast forced me to serve his pleasure."

"It was a cruel dream," I said.

She laughed, and her face burned with shame. "No," she said, "it was not a cruel dream."

"I don" t understand," I said.

"In his arms I learned what Tharna could not teach. In his arms I learned to share the flaming splendour of his passion. In his arms I learned mountains and flowers and the cry of wild tarns and the touch of a larl" s claw. For the first time in my life my senses were kindled — for the first time I could feel the movements of clothing on my body, for the first time I noticed how an eye opens and what, truly, is the feel of a hand" s touch — and I knew then that I was no more nor less than he or any other living creature and I loved him!"

I said nothing.

"I would not," she said, "have given up his collar for all the gold and silver in Tharna, not for all the stones of her grey walls."

"But you were not free in this dream," I said.

"Was I free in Tharna?" she asked.

I stared down at the intricate pattern on the rug, not speaking. "Of course," she said, "as one who wore the mask of Tharna I put this dream from me. I hated it. It terrified me. It suggested to me that I, even the Tatrix, might share the unworthy nature of the beast." She smiled. "When I saw you, Warrior, I thought that you might be the warrior of this dream. So it was I hated you and wanted to destroy you because you threatened me and all that I was, and at the same time I hated you I feared you, and I desired you."

I looked up, surprised.

"Yes," she said. "I desired you." Her head fell and her voice became almost inaudible. "Though I was Tatrix of Tharna," she said, "I wanted to lie at your feet on the scarlet rug. I wanted to be bound with yellow cords." I recalled that she had said something of a rug and cords in the council chamber of Tharna, when she had seemed consumed with rage, when it seemed she wanted to lash the flesh from my bones.