"I suppose it's superfluous to ask your reactions to your first visit to the mysteries of our City." The faint laughter that accompanied the words brought a flush to the cheeks of the newcomer, fortunately covered by the mask. "How did you know I was a newcomer?" The youth inquired in turn. "Simple," the cold, impassive voice replied. "You have no jewels save that ring of a scientist of the First Order you're trying to conceal. Your costume's far too simple.... When do you begin your probationary period for the Inner Circle?" The speaker was below medium height, slender as a sheathed rapier, and dressed in a single garment of tight-fitting silk literally emblazoned in diamonds of the first water. His square-cut mane of red-gold hair was starred with myriad blue and red and yellow flashing stones, but the face was thoroughly hidden by the golden mask. "Tomorrow!" The words were spoken with a vast regret. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand.... I hadn't expected this. Why I thought Sacred City was a heaven of achievement of ..." he stopped as if words failed him. "Go on!" The sexless voice had a hint of mockery in its depths now. "This is merely a preamble." He waved a marvelously slender hand in the direction of the revellers. "Later ... but then, I always manage to slip away before the real feast commences. If you wish, you may come with me." "But who are you? I might as well tell you who am I," the youth began, but his unknown acquaintance waved his words aside with a gesture. "I know who you are--scientist of the First Order Guerlan, as for me, it does not matter who I am--you will see me again ... soon." He turned to leave. "Wait!" Guerlan exclaimed. "Take me with you out of this ... this welter of vice and ..." words failed him in his disgust. "Traitor ... Blasphemer!" A hoarse cry of rage rose above the music and tumult. The swirling dancers split asunder as if a giant's hand had flung them back. In the center of the cleared space, Guerlan found himself facing a stocky, powerful figure of a man, costumed in the ancient garments of a Pirate, eyes gleaming through the slits of his golden mask. In his hand he hefted a long columbium sword with bejewelled hilt. "Draw, vermin!" He taunted the dazed youth. "Draw before I spit you on my sword like a spider!" On the dais, still reclining as he gulped superb white grapes, His Benevolence had begun to show signs of interest for the first time. The veil of boredom had left his yellow eyes, an expectant grin split his lips hungrily. Here was an unscheduled diversion of the first order.