The raider chief went rigid in his riding-chair. His bulbous head swiveled. "What--?" She smiled, a lazy, mocking smile. Her hand came up in an easy gesture. "I said no, he does not die. Not till he's heard a thing I have to say. That is the only reason that I've come here." Her voice dropped a note. "Perhaps ... he need not die at all." "No!" Sark shouted, and even through the fat, muscles stood out along his neck and jaws. "He dies, I tell you! Here, now, in this arena--" The woman's lithe body seemed to draw together like that of a tigress crouching. "I say he lives!" she slashed back fiercely. And then, with swift, deadly emphasis: "Or ... would _you_ rather die?" Grey came to Sark's puffed, blubbery face, washing out the purple. Flecks of foam formed at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were suddenly diamond-bright with hate and fear. Snarling, incoherent sounds bubbled in his throat. "You may make the choice," said Xaymar smoothly. "Which shall it be _Gar_ Sark?" The harsh sounds ceased. The raider chief sank back into his chair. Still smiling, the woman men called Xaymar turned once more to Haral; and of a sudden the strange, dark, nameless evil of her reached out to him in throbbing, vibrant waves. "Would you live, blue warrior?" she asked softly. * * * * * Narrow-eyed, wary, he tried to read her face through the masking veil. His nerves all at once were like groping tendrils, so sharply tuned his whole body ached with tension. He said: "Let me hear the price before I answer." "It is not high...." "Let me hear it!" The ripe lips parted. Her sleek, voluptuous body seemed to reach out to his till, eerily, it was almost as if he could feel it pressed against him. She said: "Never before you have I met a man with fire to match my own, blue warrior! Always, my lovers fawned and flattered, whimpering phrases that were half fear, half weakness." "The price!" "But you--you waded through your own blood to find me! You would have taken me by force! You dared to strike me down!" She came to her feet in one lithe movement. Her voice took on new vibrance. "You still may have me, warrior--both me, and my secrets! I'll give them gladly, if I can only share your destiny, travel with you...." She paused, and the feeling of dark sin and horror that radiated from her wound round Haral--enveloping, all-pervasive. He swayed, caught up in the surging power of it as by bonds of steel. Her words came, dim and distant: "Grant me only one favor, blue man ... only one, and all shall be yours!" Haral did not speak. "Give me the woman, warrior! Give me the _Shamon_ priestess to do with as I will, to prove that you are truly mine!" The horror was no longer nameless. The evil took form in words of fire. Haral choked. "No! Not Kyla--!"