We were dropping toward the wide lawns now and still no opposition showed itself. Then the towering blue spires were looming over us, and we saw men forming up behind the blue-stained steel gates of the Great Pavilion. "A reception committee," I said. "Hold tight, fellas. Don't start anything. The further in we get peaceably the less that leaves to do the hard way." The cars settled down gently, well grouped, and Torbu and I climbed out. As quickly as the other boats disgorged their men, ranks were closed, and we moved off toward the gates. Itzenca, as mascot, brought up the rear. Still no excitement, no rush by the Palace guards. Had too many centuries of calm made them lackadaisical, or did Ommodurad use some other brand of visitor-repellent we couldn't see from here? We made it to the gate ... and it opened. "In we go," I said, "but be ready...." The uniformed men inside the compound, obviously chosen for their beef content, kept their distance, looked at us queryingly. We pulled up on a broad blue-paved drive and waited for the next move. * * * * * It was a long five minutes before a hard case in a beetle-backed carapace or armor and a puffy pink cape bustled down the palace steps and came up to us. "Who comes in force to the Sapphire Palace?" he demanded, glancing past me at my team-mates. "I'm Owner Drgon, fellow," I barked. "These are my honor guard. What provincial welcome is this, from the Great Owner to a loyal liege-man?" That punctured his pomposity a little. He apologized--in a half-hearted way, mumbled something about arrangements, and beckoned over a couple of sidemen. One of them came over and spoke to Torbu, who looked my way, hand on dagger hilt. "What's this?" I said. "Where I go, my men go." "There is the matter of caste," said my pink-caped greeter. "Packs of retainers are not ushered _en masse_ into the presence of Lord Ommodurad, Owner of Owners." I thought that one over and failed to come up with a plausible loop-hole. "Okay, Torbu," I said. "Keep the boys together and behave yourselves. I'll see you in an hour. Oh, and see that Itzenca gets made comfy." The beetle man snapped a few orders, then waved me toward the palace with the slightest bow I ever saw. A six-man guard kept me company up the steps and into the Great Pavilion. I guess I expected the usual velvet-draped audience chamber or barbarically splendid Hall, complete with pipers, fools, and ceremonial guards. What I got was an office, about sixteen by eighteen, blue-carpeted and tasteful ... but bare-looking. I stopped in front of a block of blue-veined grey marble with a couple of quill pens in a crystal holder and, underneath, leg room for a behemoth, who was sitting behind the desk. He got to his feet with all the ponderous mass of Nero Wolfe but a lot more agility and grace. "You wish?" he rumbled.