I went over to the edge of the pier, some hundred yards or so away, to where the Palms of Schendi, was moored. Longshoremen, bales and crates on their shoulders, were filling her hold. They were being supervised by the second officer. It was now grayishly light, a few Ehn past dawn. I could not yet see the golden rim of Tor-tu-Gor, Light Upon the Home Stone, rising in the east over the city.

"Are you bound for Schendi?" I called to the officer.

"Yes," said he, looking up from his lading list.

"I would take passage with you," I said.

"We do not carry passengers," said he.

"I can pay as much as a silver tarsk," I said. It did not seem well to suggest that I could afford more. If worse came to worse I could book passage on another vessel. It would not be wise to hire a ship, for this would surely provoke suspicion. Similarly, it would not be wise to take one of my own ships, say, the Dorna or the Tesephone, south. They might be recognized. Gorean seamen recognize ships with the same ease that they recognize faces. This is common, of course, among seamen anywhere.

"We do not carry passengers," said the second officer.

I shrugged, and turned away. I would prefer, of course, to have passage on this ship, for it would be on this ship that the girl, when apprehended, would be transported. I did not wish to risk losing track of her.

I looked up to the stern castle of' the Palms of Schendi. There I saw her captain, Ulafi, engaged in conversation with one whom I took to be the first officer. They did not look at me.

I stood there for a few moments, regarding the lines of the Palms of Schendi. She was a medium-class round ship, with a keel-to-beam ratio of about six to one; that of the long ship is usually about eight to one. She had ten oars to a side, two rudders, and two, permanent, lateen-rigged masts. Most Gorean ships were double ruddered. The masts of round ships are usually permanently fixed; those of long ships, usually single-masted, are removed before battle; most Gorean ships are lateen-rigged; this permits sailing closer to the wind. The long, triangular sail, incidentally, is very beautiful.

I turned away from the ship. I did not wish to be observed looking at it too closely. I wore the garb of the metal workers.

According to the tide tables the first tide would be full at six Ehn past the seventh Ahn.

I wondered if Ulafi would sail without the blond-haired barbarian. I did not think so. I hoped that he had not put out a silver tarsk for her simply because she had struck his fancy. That would indeed be infuriating. I was certain that he would wait until she was regained. If he missed the tide, however, I did not think he would be pleased.

There seemed to be something going on now at the post of the wharf praetor, so I returned to that area.

"It is she!" said the fellow in the torn tunic with the blood behind his ear, pointing at the small, dark-haired girl. She stood before the high desk of the praetor, her wrists tied be-hind her back. Beside her, his hands, too, bound behind him, stood the fellow who had been her accomplice. They were fastened together by the neck, by a guardsman's neck strap. The girl, interestingly, was stripped, the brief, brown tunic having been taken from her. I had not removed it. I had only thrust it up, over her hips. It did not seem likely to me that the guardsman, either, would have removed it, as she was, I presumed, a free woman. Yet it was gone, and she was naked.

"We found them both trussed like vulos," laughed a guardsman.

"Who could do such a thing?" asked a man.

"It was not guardsmen," said a guardsman. "We would have brought them in."

"It seems they picked the wrong fellow to waylay," said a man.

"It is she," said the fellow with the blood behind his ear. "She is the one who diverted me, while her fellow, he, I suppose, struck me." He pointed then to the man.

The girl shook her head; negatively. It seemed she wanted to speak.

"What do you have in your mouth, Girl?" asked the praetor.

One of the guardsmen opened her mouth, not gently, and retrieved the coin, a rather large one, a tarsk bit. Ten such coins make a copper tarsk. A hundred copper tarsks make a silver tarsk.

The praetor placed the coin on his desk, the surface of which was some seven feet high, below the low, solid wooden bar The height of the praetor's desk, he on the high stool behind it, permits him to see a goodly way up and down the wharves. Also, of course, one standing before the desk must look up to see the praetor, which, psychologically, tends to induce a feeling of fear for the power of the law. The wooden bar before the desk's front edge makes it impossible to see what evidence or papers the praetor has at his disposal as he considers your case. Thus, you do not know for certain how much he knows. Similarly, you cannot tell what he writes on your papers.

"Give me back my coin!" said the girl.

"Be silent," said a guardsman.

"She is the one who cooperated in the attack upon you?" asked the praetor, indicating the bound girl.

"Yes," said the man with blood behind his ear.

"No!" cried the girl. "I have never seen him before in my life!"

"I see," said the praetor. He apparently was not unfamiliar with the girl.

"Ha!" snorted the man who had accused her.

"How did you come to be helpless and tied beside the canal?" inquired the praetor.

The girl looked about, wildly. "We were set upon by brigands, robbed, and left tied," she said.

There was laughter.

"You must believe me," she said. "I am a free woman!"

"Examine the pouch of the man," said the praetor.

It was opened by a guardsman, who sifted his hands through coins.

The girl looked, startled, at the pouch. She had apparently not understood that it had contained as much as it did. Her small hands pulled futilely, angrily, at the binding fiber which restrained them.

"It seems that the fellow who robbed you," smiled the praetor, "neglected to take your pouch."

The bound man said nothing. He glared sullenly downward.

"He also left you a tarsk bit," said the praetor, to the girl.

"It was all I could save," she said, lamely.

There was more laughter.

"I was not robbed," said the bound man. "But I was unaccountably, from behind, struck down. I was then tied to this little she-urt. Her guilt is well known, I gather, on the wharves. Clearly enemies have intended to unjustly link me to her guilt."

"Turgus!" she cried.

"I have never seen her before in my life," he said.

"Turgus!" she cried. "No, Turgus!"

"Did you see me strike you?" asked the fellow who had been addressed as Turgus.

"No," said the fellow who had been struck. "No, I did not."

"It was not I," said the bound man. "Unbind me," said he then to the praetor. "Set me free, for I am innocent. It is clear I am the victim of a plot."

"He told me what to do!" she said. "He told me what to do!"

"Who are you, you little slut?" asked the bound man. "It is obvious," he said, to the praetor, "that this she-urt, whoever she is, wishes to implicate me in her guilt, that it will go easier on her."

"I assure you," smiled the praetor, "it will not go easier on her."

"My thanks, Officer," said the man.

The girl, crying out with rage, tried to kick at the man tied beside her. A guardsman struck her on the right thigh with the butt of his spear and she cried out in pain.

"If you should attempt to do that again, my dear," said the praetor, "your ankles will be tied, and you will hear the rest of the proceedings while lying on your belly before the tribunal."

"Yes, Officer," she said.

"What is your name?" asked the praetor of the girl.

"Sasi," she said.

"Lady Sasi?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "I am free!

There was laughter. She looked about, angrily, bound, I did not think she would need be worried much longer about her freedom.