The priestess sank into a chair. Her eyes closed, as if she were praying, or perhaps trying to blot out the very sight of the blue man from her brain. Tight-lipped, Haral strode to her. He caught her chin and tilted back her head. "Did you think I risked my life for you for nothing, priestess?" he clipped grimly. "Some say I'm worthless. But in my way, I still value my head." * * * * * Kyla's eyes opened. They were very large and innocent. "Truly, I am grateful, blue warrior...." "Grateful--?" Haral brought up the crooked forefinger that held her chin so savagely her head snapped back. "Yes, you're grateful! So grateful you could hardly wait till my back was turned before you ran away! So grateful you'd gladly leave me to face Sark's tender mercies alone, so long as you got to cover!" "But, warrior--You do not understand. I have a mission--a duty bigger than you or me, or the debt of gratitude I owe you--" "Duty--?" Haral smashed one mailed fist into the palm of the other. "Will your duty save my neck? Will it halt Sark's crewmen as they haunt me and harry me and hunt me down?" The girl's lips trembled. The violet eyes dodged his. "But--but--what would you have me do--?" "You know what I want!" Haral gripped her shoulders. "My death warrant's sealed. You heard Sark say it. I've got just one chance--one, and one only. With your Xaymar's secret, it may be that I can smash Sark before he smashes me--" "No--" "That's what I want! I want the secret--your goddess, your queen of storms--" "But I cannot--" "You can! You will!" Fiercely, he shook her. "Where is she, Kyla? Where does she lie, this woman-goddess, Xaymar?" The girl went limp in his grasp. Tears brimmed her eyes. Slowly, Haral straightened. He let go the priestess' slim shoulders. "Can't you see?" he grated tightly. "Can't you understand? Now, this very moment, Sark's hunting for your doddering high priest, Namboina. When he catches him--and he will catch him, have no doubt of that--he'll tear your goddess's hiding-place from him like a tooth from the socket. Then where will you stand? What good will all your talk of duty do you? Would it not be better--" "No." Even though Kyla's lips still trembled, there was no compromise in her tone. She flicked away her tears, and her back drew very straight. Her eyes met Haral's--defiant; proud and steady as his own. "No, blue man," she repeated. "If helping me costs you your life, I'm sorry. But my duty lies with Ulna and with Xaymar. Do what you will; I'll tell you nothing." "And Namboina? What of him? Will his loyalty match yours when Sark stretches him out for a taste of torture?" "Sark has not yet caught Namboina." * * * * * As it had in the arena, admiration now touched Haral. Steel lay sheathed in the velvet of this _Shamon_ girl's slim, soft body. He could not but respect its temper. Yet he dared not let her know his thoughts.