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Duhrra had been about the camp, ears cocked, picking up all the scuttlebutt that forever circulates
where fighting-men congregate. I wanted to know about this girl, this Lady of the Stars. There was
precious little to know. The men speculated on the mysterious occupant of the palankeen and the great
tent, of course, in the scabrous way of warriors. The story that had gained the most currency said that
she was a Zairian, from Sanurkazz, and had been taken in a swifter by a squadron commanded by
Gafard. He had found her in the aft state cabin and from that moment on no other man had seen her face.
"In a swifter?" I said. "Passing strange, for a woman to be in a swifter in action."
"It is known."
"Aye. It is known. And is that all?"
"None know her name, none know her face. Four men trusted men have been flayed alive by
Gafard s orders for trying."
The majority of the personal bodyguard maintained by Gafard about the tent were not apims. That
would greatly reduce the dangers, of course, although no sane man trusted a woman to the protection of
some races of diffs. Gafard chose wisely.
The moment came to which I had been looking forward with an interest that had led me to keep Blue
Cloud always in perfect condition, a bag of provisions knotted to his harness, to sleep lightly and to have
the edges and points of all my weapons honed razor-sharp.
The summons reached me carried by one of Gafard s aides. I went with him to the campaign tent in
which Gafard dictated his orders and kept his official being. Only when he had discharged his duties
would he dress and anoint himself and go to the great tent where the Lady of the Stars awaited him.
Among his retinue I had, as I have said, made no real enemies apart from his second in command. This
was a certain man called Grogor. He was a renegade, also. The situation was obvious. Grogor feared
lest I, the new friend of Gafard s, might oust him from his position. I had been at pains to tell the fellow
that I had no intentions of doing any such thing. He had not believed me.
Now Grogor, a bulky, sweaty man, but a good fighter, motioned me into the campaign tent. Gafard sat
at a folding table affixing his seal to orders and messages. He looked up and waved me to sit at the side
and wait.
His stylor, a slave with privileges as a man who could read and write, was, as was common, a Relt. The
Relt gathered up all the papers and their canvas envelopes in his thin arms and, bowing, backed out. The
flap of the tent dropped. Gafard lifted his head and looked at me. I had not been called to ride with him
since the episode of the lairgodont and the hunt.
"You have been wondering why I have been cold to you in the last few days, Gadak?"
It needed no quick intelligence to understand why. I said, "Yes, gernu."
He put his hands together and studied them, not looking at me as he spoke.
"I owe you my gratitude. I do not think I would care to live if my beloved no longer lived and walked at
my side."
"I can understand that."
He looked up, his head lifting like the vicious head of a striking lairgodont itself.
"Ah! So you are like all the rest "
There was no way out of this save by boldness.
"I saw the face of the Lady of the Stars. Yes, it is true. You have had men flayed for less. But when a
lairgodont rips at one, and the green veil is already torn away, there is not much choice."
He still stared at me. He measured his words. "Have you ever seen a more beautiful woman in all the
world?"
I have been asked that question and most often by silly women seeking to gain power over me
many times, as you know.
Every time, every single time, the answer was automatic, instant, not needing thought. No woman in two
worlds is as perfect as my Delia, my Delia of Delphond. Yet. . .
I hesitated.
He thought I feared, perhaps, to speak the truth, hesitated for the reason directly opposite to the truth.
Often, although my own feelings needed no thought to arrive at the truth, that none could compare with
my Delia, I had temporized most particularly on the roof of the Opal Palace in Zenicce. Now my
hesitation held none of calculation.
I said, "The lady is more beautiful than all women save, perhaps, for one."
He seized on that.
"Perhaps?"
"Aye. But beauty is not all. I know nothing of the lady s perfections and I do know a lady whose
perfections are unmatched, in her beauty, her spirit, her love of life, her courage, her wisdom, her
comradeship, her love "
He sat back. That small ironic half-smile flitted on his lips and vanished.
"I do not think you lie. You speak too warmly for lies."
Here there was no need for me to go on. He would decide what to do with me. If he decided against,
then I would decide if he must be killed at once or if I dare leave him merely gagged and bound.
Perhaps something of those wild leem thoughts showed in my face, although I own I would have been
extremely wroth had I thought that possible: perhaps he realized more than I gave him credit for at the
time.
"You know little of my history, Gadak."
"I know little, gernu. Men say you were a Jikaidast. If that is so it is no wonder you always win."
His smile broadened, became genuine, warm. "Were I not so busy with this and that I would call
for the board at once, the grand board. Yes, I was a Jikaidast, in Sanurkazz."
These Jikaidasts are a strange lot, strange in the eyes of ordinary men who love the game of Jikaida and
play when they can. A Jikaidast lives only for the game. As a professional he plays to earn a living, and
these men are found all over Kregen earning their living from the highest to the lowest levels. The greatest
of them even aspire to the title ofSan, which is given to great savants, wise men, and wizards.
There is much to be said about Jikaida and Jikaidasts, as you will hear. The odds would be against the
manner of the master s winning, not if he would win. Handicaps would be set, a simple matter of
removing a powerful piece, say a Paktun or a Chuktar, or of giving the privilege of extra moves.
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