"Come," he said, and stood up, helping Haazahri to her feet. She leaned against him for a moment, the maiden suppleness of her ripe against his thews and chest. He held her and she breathed against his ear, touching the lobe of it with her lips. "I love you, Matlin," she said. "Whoever you are, whatever you are. You know that, don't you?" "Haazahri," he said, pushing her away gently. "You may only hurt yourself. I don't know. I don't know! I can't say anything, can't think anything of that, until I know. My name is not Matlin. I don't even know my name." A faint, wistful smile played about her lips as she said, "All right, lead on to what's left of that staircase of yours." They took half a dozen strides toward the base of the limestone crag. Limestone. On the desert, with little water to erode it, how long would limestone endure? A dozen eternities, thought Matlin, and more. Balata 'kai--forever.... Suddenly, he was running. Something had moved in the shadow at the foot of the cliff. Since it hadn't called out, whatever it was, he hoped that it would not. He ran silently, swiftly. He reached the spot. There was nothing. He gazed around. The shadows were dark. Something just above his head made a sound. A pebble was dislodged, dropped on his shoulder and to the sand. He did not look up. On his way he'd seen a ledge there, its flat surface at about the height his hand could reach. The ledge, narrow, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, would not be empty now. His hand blurred up at it, grasped something which yielded, then struggled. He tugged and a voice pleaded: "Lord, I'll fall!" With a yank, he pulled the man off the ledge. He had hold of the man's ankle, then let go of it, and leaped on the man when he had fallen to the sand. There was a brief scuffle, and he had the man by the throat. He let his hands go loose for a moment and hissed: "Who are you?" "Please, lord. I mean no harm." "Who are you?" Just then Haazahri came up. "Why, I know this fellow," she said. "And so do you, Matlin." * * * * * He looked again. It was a woe-begotten face, meek, homely, the eyes terror-filled. Its owner said, "I am Ranmut the lowborn, lord." "Ranmut!" Matlin cried. "Yesterday you took my place and won, though why you did not kill Felg, I do not know." He grinned hopefully when Matlin's fingers did not return to his throat. "Lord, I came seeking you." "You followed us all the way out here from Junction City last night?" Matlin asked, amazed. "It was the least I could do. You saved my life, lord, and while the life means nothing, is but one pathway among many, nevertheless this lowborn like many has a family and even if I go on to a higher pathway that wouldn't help my wife and children, who probably would have starved. Therefore, lord, am I thankful." "You followed just to tell me this?" "No, lord. Last night Felg was very angry. When you left the bar with this lovely lady, Felg came after you."