Msaliti looked sick. I gave him the ring.

Shaba now had both the true ring, the Tahari ring, and the false ring, that which Kurii had intended to be delivered to the Sardar in lieu of the true ring.

"How do you know it is not the true ring?" asked Msaliti.

"Surely you have been taught to identify the true ring?" I asked.

I thought swiftly.

"No," said Msaliti.

The copy of the true ring was well done. At the edge of the silver plate, that held in the ring's bezel, there was indeed a minute scratch. It was similar to, but it was not the identical marring which I recalled from the Tahari. The jeweler who had duplicated the ring for Shaba had failed slightly in that particular. There was a slight difference in the depth of the scratches, and one small difference in the angulation.

"This resembles the true ring closely," I told Msaliti. "It is large, and of gold, and, in its bezel, has a rectangular silver plate. On the back of the ring, when you turn it, there is a circular, depressible switch."

"Yes, yes," said Msaliti.

"But look here," I said. "See this scratch?"

"Yes," he said.

"The true ring, according to my information, possesses no such identifying marks," I said. "It is supposedly perfect in its appearance. Had it been thusly marred I would have been informed of this. Such a sign would make identification simple."

"You are a fool," said Msaliti. "Doubtless Shaba scratched it."

"Would you yourself treat so valuable an object with harshness?" I asked.

Msaliti turned the ring about. He looked at me. Then he depressed the switch. Nothing happened. He howled with rage, the ring clutched in his fist.

"You were tricked!" he cried.

"We have been tricked," I corrected him.

"Shaba then has the perfect ring," he said.

"True," I said. Shaba had the perfect ring, which was the false ring. He also had the true Tahari ring, which the ring in Msaliti's hand so ingeniously resembled.

"You must put men upon Schendi's Street of Coins," I said. "Shaba must not be permitted to cash the notes he carries."

"Surely he must realize that could be done," said Msaliti. "He is not mad. How does he expect to get his gold?"

"He is quite intelligent, even brilliant," I mused. "Doubtless he has anticipated such a move. Yet it must be made."

"It will be made," said Msaliti, angrily.

"How then. I wonder," said I, "does he intend to obtain the gold?"

Msaliti looked at me, in fury.

"He must have a plan," I said.

"I am leaving," said Msaliti.

"Surely you will wish to don your disguise," I said.

"I do not need it longer," he said.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"I must move swiftly," he said. "There are many instructions to be issued. There must be an apprehension of Shaba."

"How may I be of assistance?" I asked.

"I will handle matters from here on out," he said. "Do not trouble yourself about them."

He threw a brocaded aba about his shoulders and, angrily, strode from the room.

"'Wait!" I called.

He had left the room.

Angrily I followed him. As soon as I had passed through the anteroom and stepped across the threshold, to the street outside, I felt my arms pinioned behind me. A dozen or more men were there waiting, beside the building, on either side of the door. Some seven or eight were askaris, including the two huge fellows whom I had seen yesterday, black giants in skins and feathers, with golden armlets. Another five or six were guardsmen of Schendi. There was also an officer there of the merchant council of Schendi.

"Is this he?" asked the officer of the merchant council.

"That is he," said Msaliti turning about. "He claims to be Tarl of Teletus but he will be unable to substantiate that identity."

"What is going on here?" I shouted. I struggled, trying to free myself of the four men who held me. Then I felt two daggers pressed through the fabric of my tunic.

I ceased struggling, feeling the points in my flesh. Both could be driven home before I could hurl my captors from me.

My hands were taken behind me and tied.

"These men were waiting for me," I said to Msaliti.

"Of course," said be.

"I see that you were determined, in any event," I said, "to be the one who would return the ring to our superiors."

"Of course," said Msaliti. "I will then stand higher in their favor."

"But what of me?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Who can tell what may have happened to you?" he asked.

"You are an officer of Schendi," I said to the man in charge of the guardsmen. "I demand to be released."

"Here is the paper," said Msaliti to the officer.

The officer took the paper and looked it over. Then he looked at me. "You are the one who calls himself Tarl of Teletus?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

The officer placed the paper inside his robes. "There is no place in Schendi," he said, "for criminal vagabonds."

"Look in my wallet," I said. "You will see that I am not a vagabond."

The wallet was cut from my belt. The officer shook out gold pieces and silver tarsks into his hand.

"You see?" I asked.

"He arrived in Schendi," said Msaliti, "in the garb of a metal worker. You see him now in the garb of a leather worker." Msaliti smiled. "What metal worker or leather worker," he asked, "carries such funds?"

"He is obviously a thief, doubtless a fugitive," said the officer.

"The work levy imposed on Schendi is due to leave in the morning," said Msaliti. "Perhaps this fellow could take the place of a good citizen of Schendi in that levy?"

"Would you find that acceptable?" asked the officer.

Msaliti looked at me. "Yes," he said.

"Splendid," said the officer. "Put ropes on the sleen's neck."

Two leash ropes were knotted on my neck.

"This is not justice," I said.

"These are hard times," said the officer. "And Schendi fights for her life."

He then lifted his hand to Msaliti and withdrew, taking his, guardsmen with him.

"Where am I to be taken?" I asked Msaliti.

"To the interior," he said.

"You had the cooperation of the council of Schendi," I said. "Someone in a high place must have ordered this."

"Yes," said Msaliti.

"Who?" I asked.

"I," said Msaliti. I looked at him, puzzled.

"Surely you know who I am?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"I am Msaliti," he said.

"And he?" I asked. "Who might he be?"

"Why, I," smiled Msaliti.

"And you?" I asked.

"I thought it was known to all," he said. "I am the high wazir of Bila Huruma."

16

Kisu

"Get back!" I shouted, striking at it with the shovel. The edge of the shovel struck, cutting, at the side of its snout. It hissed. The noise is incredibly loud, or seems so, when one is close to it. I saw the pointed tongue. The jaws distended, more than a yard in height, with the rows of backward-leaning fangs.

I had managed to get my foot on the lower jaw and, with the shovel, pry up the jaw, releasing the hold on the lacerated leg of Ayari, who, bleeding, scrambled back. I had felt the draw of his chain against my own collar.

I thrust the shovel out again, against the upper teeth, thrusting back, shouting.

Other men, too, to the right of Ayari and to my left, screamed, and struck at it with their shovels.

Eyes blazing it backed away, twisting, small legs, with the stubby, clawed feet, stabbing at the water. Its gigantic tail thrashed, striking a man, hurling him back a dozen feet. The water was to my thighs. I pushed back again, with the shovel. The transparent eyelids on the beast, under the scaly eyelids, closed and opened. It hissed more, its tongue sopping at the blood of Ayari in its mouth.