The banner was that of a priest of the third rank. Good--they weren't worried enough about him yet, then, to send a big one. And only ten mercenaries--small, short, bandy-legged men of Tark--good enough fighters for their weight, but they didn't weigh much. This wouldn't be too bad. The group came up to within a few paces and stopped. "Art in armor, smith?" the discomfited priest demanded. "Why?" "Why not? 'Tis my habit to greet guests in apparel of their own choosing." There was a brief silence, then: "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, priest?" he asked, only half sarcastically. "I paid, as I have always paid, the fraction due." "True. 'Tis not about a fraction I come. It is noised that a strange god appeared to you, spoke to you, instructed you in your art; that you are making an image of him." "I made no secret of any of these things. I hide nothing from the great god or his minions, nor ever have. I have nothing to hide." "Perhaps. Such conduct is very unseemly--decidedly ungodlike. He should not have appeared to you, but to one of us, and in the temple." "It is un-Sarpedionlike, certainly--all that Sarpedion has ever done for me is let me alone, and I have paid heavily for that." "What bargain did you make with this Llosir? What was the price?" "No bargain was made. I thought it strange, but who am I, an ordinary man, to try to understand the actions or the reasonings of a god? There will be a price, I suppose. Whatever it is, I will pay it gladly." "You will pay, rest assured; not to this Llosir, but to great Sarpedion. I command you to destroy that image forthwith." "You do? Why? Since when has it been against the law to have a personal god? Most families of Lomarr have them." "Not like yours. Sarpedion does not permit your Llosir to exist." "Sarpedion has nothing to say about it. Llosir already exists. Is the great god so weak, so afraid, so unable to defend himself against a one-man stranger that he...." "Take care, smith--silence! That is rankest blasphemy!" "Perhaps; but I have blasphemed before and Sarpedion hasn't killed me yet. Nor will he, methinks; at least until his priests have collected his fraction of the finest iron ever forged and which I only can make." "Oh, yes, the new iron. Tell me exactly how it is made." "You know better than to ask that question, priest. That secret will be known only to me and my god." "We have equipment and tools designed specifically for getting information out of such as you. Seize him, men, and smash that image!"