"Why?" I asked.

"You are my captain," he said, puzzled. "Remain here," I told him, gently. He drew the sword I had had given him.

"Test me!" he demanded.

"put away", I said, "the tools of men."

"Defend yourself!" be cried.

My blade leaped from its sheath and I parried his blow. He had come to me much more swiftly than I had expected.

Men gathered about. "It is sport," said one of them.

I moved the blade toward the boy and he parried it. I was impressed, for I had intended to touch him that time.

Then, moving about, on the pitching deck, in the sleet, we matched blades. After an Ehn or two I replaced my blade in its sheath. "At four times," I said, "I could have killed you."

He dropped his blade, and looked at me agonized.

"But," I said, "You have learned your lessons well. I have fought with warriors who were less swift than you."

He grinned. Some of the seamen pounded their left shoulders with their right fists.

The boy, Fish, was a favorite with them. How else, I asked myself, had he been able to take an oat on the long. boat in the canals when I had gone to the hall of the Council of Captains, or been able to board the Dorna, or taken his place in the longboat that had ferried me to the round ship? I, too, was not unfond of the boy. I saw in him, in this boy, wearing a collar, branded, clad in the garment of a kitchen slave, as most others would not, a young Ubar. "You may not come with me," I told him. "You are too young to die." "At what age," asked he, "is a man ready for death?"

"To go where I am to go," I told him, "and do what I must do, is the action of a fool."

He grinned. I saw a tear in his eye.

"Yes," said he, "Captain."

"It is the action of a fool!" I told him.

"Each man," said the boy, "has the right, does he not, to perform, if he wishes, the act of a fool?"

"Yes," I said, "each man may, if he wishes, choose such acts."

"Then," said he, "Captain, the bird having rested, let us be on our way." "Bring a woolen cloak for a young fool," I told a seaman. "And, too, bring a belt and scabbard."

"Yes, Captain," cried the man.

"Do you think you can cling," asked I, "to a knotted rope for hours." "Of course, Captain," said he.

In a few moments the tarn spread his wings before the black wind and, caught in the blast, was hurled before the Dorna, and began, in dizzying circles, to climb in the wind and slee't. The boy, his feet braced on a knot in the swaying rope, his hands clenched on its fibers, swung below me. Far below I saw the Dorna, lifting and failing in the troughs of the waves, and, separated from her, tlae ships of the fleet, round ships and tarn ships, storm sails set, oars dipping, flying before the storm.

I did not see any of the ships of Cos or Tyros.

Terence of Treve, mercenary captain of the tamsmen, had refused to return to Port Kar before the return of the fleet. The environs of Port Kar might now be filled with tarnsmen, other mercenaries, but in the hire of the re- bellious Ubars, and Claudius, regent of Henrius Sevarius. "We men of Treve are brave," had said be, "but we are not mad."

The bird was buffeted by the storm, but it was a strong bird. I did not know the width of the storm, but I hoped its front- would be only a few pasangs. The bird could not fly a direct line to Port Kar, because of the wind, and we managed an oblique path, cutting away from the fleet. From time to time the bird, tiring, its wings wet, cold, coated with sleet, would drop sickeningly downward, but then again it would beat its way on the level, half driven by the wind, half flying.

The boy, Fish, cold, numb, wet, his hair and clothing iced with sleet, clung to the rope dangling beneath the bird.

Once the bird fell so low that the boy's feet and the bottom of the rope on which he stood splashed a path in the — churning waters, and then the bird, responding to my fierce pressures on the one-strap, beat its way up again and again flew, but then only yards over the black, rear- ing waves, the roaring sea.

And then the sleet became only pelting rain, and the rain became only a cruel wind, and then the cruelty of the wind yielded to only the cold rushing air at the fringe of the'storm's garment.

And Thassa beneath us was suddenly streaked with the cold sunlight of Se'Kara, and the bird was across and through the storm. In the, distance we could see rocky beaches, and grass and brushland beyond, and beyond that, a woodland, with Tur and Ka-la-na trees.

We took the shuddering bird down among the trees. Fish leaped free as I let the bird hover, then alight. I unsaddled it and let it shake the water from its wings and body. Then I threw over it the admiral's cloak. The boy and I built a fire, over which we might dry our clothes and by which we might warm ourselves. "We will return to Port Kar after the fall of darkness," I told him. "Of course," he said.

The boy, Fish, and I now stood in the dimly lit great hall of my house, where, the night before, had been celebrated the feast of my victory.

The only light in the huge high-roofed hall was furnished by a single brazier, whose coals, through the iron basket, now glowed redly.

Our footsteps sounded hollow on the tiles of the hall. We had left the tam outside on the promenade fronting on the lakelike courtyard.

We had encountered no tamsmen over the city.

The city itself was much darkened.

We had flown over the city, seeing below us the dark- ened buildings, the reflection of the three moons of Gor Bickering in the dark canals.

Then we had come to my holding and now we stood, together, side by side, in the apparently deserted, almost darkened great hall of my holding.

Our blades were unsheathed, those of an admiral of the fleet and a slave boy. We looked about ourselves.

We had encountered no one in the passageways, or the rooms into which we had come, making our way to.the great hall.

We heard a muffled noise, coming from a comer of the almost darkened hall. There, kneeling on the tiles, back to back, their wrists bound behind their backs to a slave ring, were two girls. We saw their eyes, wild, over their gags. They shook their heads.

They wore the miserable garments of kitchen slaves.

They were the girl Vina, and Telima.

Fish would have rushed forward, but my hand restrained him.

Not speaking, I motioned that he should take his place at the side of the entryway to the great hall, where he might not be seen.

I strode irritably to the two girls. I did not release them. They had permitted themselves to be taken, to be used as bait. Vina was very young, but Telirna should have known better, and yet she, too, the proud Telima, knelt helplessly at the ring, her wrists bound behind her back, securely and expertly gagged, a young and beautiful woman, yet fastened as helplessly to a slave ring as a young girl.

I gave her head a shake. "Stupid wench," I said.

She was trying to tell me that there were men about, to attack me.

"The mouths of rence girls," I said, "are said to be as large as the delta itself."

She could make only tiny, protesting, futile noises.

I examined the gag. Heavy leather strips were bound tightly across her mouth, doubtless holding a heavy packing within, probably rep-cloth. Such a gag would not be pleasant to wear. It had been well done.

"At last," I commented, "someone has discovered a way to keep rence girls quiet."

There were tears in Telima's eyes. She squirmed in futility,'in fear, in fury. I patted her on the head condescendingly.

She looked at me in rage and exasperation.

I turned away from the girls, but stood before them.

I spoke loudly. "Now," I said, "let us release these, wenches."

In that instant I heard, from down the passageway, a sharp whistle, and the sound of running feet, those of several men. I saw torches being carried. "At him!" cried Lysias, helmeted, the helmet bearing the crest of steen hair, marking it as that of a captain. Lysias himself, however, did not engage me. Several men rushed forward, some of them with torches.