I then slipped back from the wooden slats, moved back on the roof and, quietly, lowered myself to the first roof, a low one, and, from there, down to the street.

I spun about.

I faced the short, stabbing spears of the two huge blacks. They had slipped out the front door, to receive me.

The door opened again and, in the light, I saw the' face of be who had been called Kunguni. "Come in," said he, "we have been expecting you."

I straightened up. "I bear in my tunic," I said, "two letters, which should make my business clear to you."

"Move carefully," suggested he who had been called Kunguni.

Slowly, watching the points of the two stabbing spears, I drew forth the two letters. I had not carried with me, of course, either the ring or the notes.

I handed the two letters to the man at the door. He glanced at them.

"One of them," I said, "is for a man named Msaliti."

"I am Msaliti," said the man who had been called Kunguni. "Come in," he said.

I followed him into the building, through the small anteroom and into the larger room, which I had seen through the wooden grille in the ceiling. The two large fellows, in skins and feathers, with golden armlets, entered behind me.

Inside I saw, to one side, the blindfolded, whipped slave. She had revealed eagerly, helplessly, sobbing, all she knew. She still knelt beautifully, in the position of the pleasure slave. She had not been given permission to break position. The other girl, the dark-haired girl with the whip, seemed startled at my entrance. She had not expected me. The men, I understood, had not taken her into their confidence. I did not greet her. She was the sort of woman who is best greeted by throwing her upon her back and raping her.

I looked at the man who sat, cross-legged, behind the table. lie was a large, tall man. He had long, thin hands, with delicate fingers. His face seemed refined, but his eyes were hard, and piercing. I did not think he was of the warriors but I had little doubt he was familiar with the uses of steel. I had seldom seen a face which, at once, suggested such sensitivity, but, at the same time, reflected such intelligence and uncompromising will. Following the lines of his cheekbones there was a stitching of tribal tattooing. He wore a robe of green and brown, with slashes of black. Against the background of jungle growth, blending with plants and shadows, it would be difficult to detect. He also wore a low, round, flat-topped cap of similar material. On the first finger of his left hand he wore a fang ring, which, I had little doubt, would contain a poison, probably that of the deadly kanda plant.

The second letter which I had handed Msaliti lay now on the table before the man.

"That letter," I said, "is for Shaba, the geographer of Anango."

He picked up the letter. "I am Shaba," he said, "the geographer of Anango."

12

Business Is Discussed In Schendi; I Acquire A New Girl

"I have come to negotiate for the ring," I said.

"Do you have the false ring, and the notes with you? asked Shaba.

"No," I said.

"Are they in Schendi?" asked Shaba.

"Perhaps," I said. "Do you have the ring with you?

"Perhaps," smiled Shaba.

I did not doubt that he had the ring with him. Such an artifact would be far too valuable to leave lying about. Having the ring with him, too, of course, he was terribly dangerous.

"Do you come to us as an agent on behalf of Bejar, a captain of Port Kar?" inquired Shaba.

"Perhaps," I said.

"No," said Shaba. "You do not, for you know of the ring's value and Bejar would know nothing of it." He looked at me. "A similar argument would demonstrate," he said, "that you are not a simple speculator, interested in the resale of the notes."

I shrugged. "You could always wait, in such a case, for their cancellation and reissue," I said.

"Yes," he said, "providing they would be reissued, and we had months in which to daily."

"You have a project afoot?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Shaba.

"And you wish to move ahead on it quickly?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"It is perhaps imperative for you to move quickly?" I asked.

"I think so," said Shaba. He smiled.

"'What is your project?" I asked.

Msaliti was looking at him, curiously.

"It is personal business," said Shaba.

"I see," I said.

"Since," said Shaba, "you come neither from Bejar nor as a simple speculator, I think we may infer that you come to us from one of two sources. You come to us either from Kurii-or from Priest-Kings."

I glanced uneasily at the two large fellows, those with the shields and stabbing spears, who stood near us.

"Do not fear," said Msaliti, "my askaris do not speak Gorean." The word 'askari' is an inland word, which may be translated roughly as 'soldier' or 'guardsman.

"Regardless from which camp I come," I said, "you have what we wish, the ring."

"The ring," said Msaliti, "may not be returned to Priest-Kings. It must go to Kurii."

"I will bring with me, when I return, of course," I said, "the false ring that it may be borne to the Sardar."

"He is with us," said Msaliti. "No agent of Priest-Kings would wish the ring conveyed to the Sardar."

This confirmed in my mind the soundness of the speculation of Samos that the false ring involved some serious threat or danger.

"You will then, of course," I said, to Shaba, "as an agent of Priest-Kings, bear the ring to the Sardar."

"Do you not think it is a little late for that now?" inquired Shaba.

"We must try,"

"That is the plan," said Msaliti, earnestly.

"You must carry out your part of the bargain," said the dark-haired girl.

Shaba looked at her.

"Be silent," said Msaliti, angrily, to her, She drew back, angry.

"You do not look like one who would serve Kurii," said Shaba to me, smiling.

"You do not look like one who would betray Priest-Kings," I said to him.

"Ah," he said, leaning back. "How difficult and subtle are the natures of men," he mused.

"How did you find us here?" asked the girl.

"He followed you, of course, you little fool," said Msaliti "Why do you think you were kept another night at the tavern of Pembe?"

"You could have told me," she said.

Msaliti did not respond to her.

"How did you know I was on the roof?" I asked. The askaris had been waiting for me.

"It is an old Schendi trick," said Shaba. "Look, up there. Do you see those tiny strings, those little threads?"

"Yes," I said. There were several, about a foot in length, dangling from the ceiling. At the end of each there was a tiny round object.

"It is not uncommon for burglars to enter houses through these grilles," said Shaba. "Those are dried peas on threads. They are inserted under certain boards and in certain cracks in the ceiling. When the roof is stepped on the tiny movements in the ceiling boards, and the pressures, release the peas. It is then known that someone is on or has been on the roof."

"It gives a silent warning," I said.

"Yes," he said. "The house owner may then, if he wishes, warn the intruder away or, if he wishes, fall upon him when he enters the house."

"What if the dwellers in the house are asleep?" I asked.

"Small bells are attached to the grille slats," said Shaba, "which dangle down, near the ears of the sleepers. If one attempts to cut the strings or draw the bells up, of course, a noise is made, one usually sufficient to waken the occupants of the house."

"That is clever," I said.

"Actually," said Shaba, "you did extremely well. Only a few of the threads have been dislodged. Your step was light. Indeed, none were dislodged apparently until you withdrew from the roof."