"A woman--?" Haral repeated dully. He swirled the fiery _kabat_ in his glass. "Why should I kill a woman?" "Because I'll pay you well," the _Shamon_ priest croaked eagerly. Coins clinked onto the table. "Here, look! Two hundred _samori_, _Sha_ Haral! So much for such a simple task--enough to send you out again from Ulna, to put you once more on the road to wealth and power, ambition...." * * * * * Broodingly, Haral stared down into the _kabat's_ green, too-potent depths. Of a sudden he was acutely conscious of the smoke and stench and jarring sound that eddied through the shadows of this filthy, frowsy deadfall that passed as a cafe. '_Wealth and power, ambition?_' He laughed aloud, knowing as he did it that his tongue had grown too thick with _kabat_. This was the road down which ambition led--the road to stinking drinking dives, and dreary nights and drearier days on an outlaw world called Ulna. The road to blood and valor, a warrior's name--and proposals of woman-murder. Ambition? Two hundred _samori_-worth of ambition! Bitterly, he laughed again, deep in his throat. There were other, better things to call it: greed; thirst for blood; a cursed, insatiate lust for power. The old priest gripped his arm. "Three hundred, then! Three hundred _samori_, _Sha_ Haral!" Somberly, the blue man stared off into the crowd and smoke and shadows. It dawned on him that already new faces had sifted in; new forms, all arrogance and swagger. The forms and faces of _Gar_ Sark's raiders. "Three hundred _samori_? Three hundred--to challenge _Gar_ Sark and all his crew, as well as murder?" He smiled a thin, bleak, mirthless smile and shook his head. "No, old man. What you want is a madman, not a warrior." "Four hundred--four hundred _samori_ for a single blow!" In his eagerness the priest was slavering. "No? Five, then, _Sha_ Haral! Five hundred, all for you. I have no more." For the first time, Haral looked full at the _Shamon_. "Why do you want her dead?" he challenged. He brought his fist down with a heavy thud upon the table. "Why? That's what I want to know! Who is she? What has she done that calls for killing?" "Why--?" Sweat came to the ancient's face. Uneasily, he shifted. "She--she--Sark is a monster, and his men have seized her for tomorrow's games in the arena. She'll die in agony at their hands. I--I cannot bring myself to let her suffer--" "So you'd hire me to kill her instead?" Haral laughed harshly. "I hear your words, old man--" "My name is Namboina." "--Namboina, I hear your words. But I'll rot on your _vidal_ planetoid before I believe them. Too many other _Shamon_ have died on Ulna for you to worry about one more." He drained his glass and slammed it down. "No. Find someone else to do your killing. I like to know the facts before I murder." * * * * *