"Cernus is a clever man," said I. "But what if the fans of the races should learn of his true allegiance, that his true faction is that of the Yellows?"

"They will not learn," said Vancius.

"The Steels," I said, "threaten the Yellows."

"They will not win the great race," said Vancius, "the Ubar's Race."

The Ubar's Race is the final and climactic race of the Love Feast.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Menicius of Port Kar rides for the Yellows," said Vanicius.

"You have great respect for him," I said.

Vancius laughed. "As I have great respect for the banded ost," said he.

I smiled. The banded ost is a variety of ost, a small, customarily brilliantly orange Gorean reptile. It is exceedingly poisonous. The banded ost is yellowish orange and is marked with black rings.

"Menicius has been instructed to win the great race," said Vancius. "And he will do so, even it be necessary to kill."

I said nothing for a time. Then, curious, I asked, "What of Gladius of Cos?"

"He will be warned not to ride," said Vancius.

"And if he does?" I asked.

"He will die," said Vancius.

"Who is Gladius of Cos?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Vancius.

Within the helmet I smiled. That secret, at least, had been well kept.

"We have let it be known in the taverns of Ar," said Vancius, "that Gladius of Cos, should he dare to ride, will die. I do not think he will appear at the Stadium of Tarns."

This angered me. Should I not take my saddle this afternoon there would be few in Ar but would suppose that I had succumbed to fear.

"What is wrong?" asked Vancius.

"Nothing," I said.

There was a distant roar again from the crowd in the tiers far above.

"Murmillius again!" cried Vancius. "What a man! That is his fifth opponent downed this afternoon!"

"What of the girls sold at the Curulean?" I asked. "Those who brought top price?"

"By now," said Vancius, "they are doubtless well-thonged in tarn baskets and on their way to the pleasures of Port Kar."

I heard a distant trumpet, the warning trumpet.

"It will soon be time," said Vancius.

There was a bit of a scuffle some feet away, the sound of a girl, and then another.

"You can't enter here," called a guard.

"I must see Vancius!" cried the voice of a girl.

"Who is it?" queried Vancius, puzzled, irritated.

The voice struck me as familiar, as being one I had heard somewhere before.

"Beloved Vancius!" I heard.

"Who are you?" Vancius was asking.

Inside the blind helmet I could see nothing. I pulled at the manacles.

I heard light, bare feet run into the room. "Vancius!" I heard a girl cry. I could not place the voice.

Then, unmistakably, I heard her run to Vancius and, apparently to his surprise, consternation, but not displeasure, she flung herself into his arms. I heard their words not plainly, his question, her asseverations of passion, mixed in the meetings of their mouths. I gathered it was a slave girl, many of whom are extraordinarily passionate, who had seen him, followed him, and was now desperately importuning him for his touch.

"Vancius, I am yours!" I heard.

"Yes, yes!" I heard him say.

I then heard a heavy sound, as though someone had been struck heavily from behind.

"Now, Vancius," I heard, "you are mine!"

I tried to tear the steel helmet from my head with my manacled wrists. I fought the heavy chain that bound me to the stone table on which I sat. "Who is there?" I whispered.

I heard the girl's voice again. "Take dear Vancius," she was saying, "bind his wrists and ankles, and put him in a slave hood, one with a gag. I may use him for my pleasure later."

"Who is there!" I demanded.

"What of the other guard?" asked a girl's voice.

"Bind him as well," said the first girl.

"May I have him?" asked the second girl.

I felt a man's hands then fumbling with the steel hood I wore.

"Who is there!" I demanded.

I heard the key move in the lock, and felt air as the helmet was lifted.

"Ho-Tu!" I cried.

"Be quiet," said Ho-Tu. "There are other men of Cernus about."

"It was said you had gone to Tor to buy slaves!" I said.

"This is scarcely the time to go to Tor and buy slaves," smiled Ho-Tu.

"You did not go?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Ho-Tu.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

Ho-Tu grinned.

"Your life is in danger," I told him.

"We are all in danger," said Ho-Tu. "Great danger."

I looked beyond him, to see a long-legged, black-haired girl, her hands on her hips, regarding me.

"It is you!" she laughed.

"And it is you!" I said.

It was the leader of the girls of the Street of Pots. I saw two of her girls behind her.

"What are you all doing here?" I demanded.

"It is on this day," said she, "that Ar will be free or slave."

"I do not understand," I stammered.

There was the sound of another trumpet, the second.

"There is no time!" said Ho-Tu. "Bring the other helmet!"

One of the girls presented Ho-Tu with another helmet. It seemed identical to the one I had worn. Then I saw that it was perforated.

"It is such a helmet," said Ho-Tu, "that your opponents, the finest swordsmen in the Taurentians will wear."

He fitted it over my head.

"I like it better," I said grimly, "than the former one."

One of the girls had found the key to the chain that bound me by the waist to the stone table. She sprang open the lock. Another girl, from the body of the unconscious, now hooded and bound Vancius, found the key to my manacles. She handed it to Ho-Tu. Ho-Tu wore the garb of one of the guards of the House of Cernus. He now took up the discarded helmet of Vancius and drew it on. He unbuckled his own sword belt and buckled it about me. He drew the sword. I smiled. It was my own, carried even at the siege of Ar, so many long years ago.

"Thank you," said I, "Ho-Tu."

He resheathed the blade in my scabbard.

He was now buckling about his waist the sword and belt of Vancius.

Within the helmet I saw him grin.

We heard then the third trumpet, signaling the beginning of the sport.

"They are waiting for you," said Ho-Tu, grinning, "Warrior."

"Do not yet lock the helmet," said the leader of the girls of the Street of Pots.

"They are waiting for him," protested Ho-Tu.

"Let them wait," said she.

She then lifted the helmet from my head and kissed me.

"Hurry!" said Ho-Tu.

I returned her kiss.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Phais," she said.

"It is a beautiful name," I said.

She smiled.

"Truly beautiful," I said.

"If you wish," she said, "come again to the Street of Pots."

"If I do," I said, "I think that I shall bring an army with me."

She smiled. "We would like that," she said.

"Hurry! Hurry!" cried Ho-Tu.

He set the helmet over my head, and Phais locked it, putting the key in my belt.

I heard the crowd crying far off.

I heard the snapping of a whip. It was Ho-Tu. "Hurry! Hurry!" he said.

Then, pretending to grope with my manacled hands, deliberately stumbling and scraping, smiling, I left the room. Ho-Tu came behind me, fiercely cracking the whip, crying our, "Hurry, Lazy Slave! Hurry!"

I heard men in the tunnel laugh.

At the entrance to the Stadium of Blades the blaze of the sun off the white sand momentarily blinded me. I felt Ho-Tu remove the manacles with the key stolen from Vancius.

"Hurry!" I heard a stadium attendant call. I did not look directly at the man, fearing that perhaps he might note the nature of the helmet I wore. The man was one of those slaves who, garbed in black, armed with iron hooks, drag the dead, human or beast, from the sand.

The trumpet of beginning blared again, frantically.