She stood there, erect and beautiful in the shimmering radiance of candle light, indecision plain in her face. "When will this man Sitab get the information for you?" "Tonight! Between the hour I discuss the problem with him and the hour of dawn. You will do this my way, Rhoa?" A discreet knock at the door interrupted her reply. Vokal, sudden alarm plain in his face, stiffened. "Who is there?" "The guard, Most-High," said a voice, muffled by the planks. "A second visitor, who refused to give his name, awaits your pleasure." "It is Sitab," Vokal told the woman, whispering. "Will you give me those seven suns, Rhoa? Will you go now, and be patient for that long? What is your answer?" Abruptly she nodded. "Seven suns, Vokal. But no more than seven." His breath of relief was clearly audible. "Good!" He went to the door and drew the bar. "Hide your face so that none may know who you are. Goodbye." He drew open the heavy door and the woman, her face concealed by the folds of her heavy cloak, swept regally through, past the staring guard and a short, barrel-chested man in the tunic of a guard of Jaltor's court. Vokal, his handsome face completely without expression, crooked a finger at the latter. "Enter, my friend," he said cordially. "You have arrived at exactly the right time." * * * * * Shortly after arriving at the palace of his father, following the surprising interview with Jaltor, ruler of Ammad, Tamar had gone to his room and his bed. But not to sleep. His thoughts were of his friend Jotan and the trouble that had befallen the young Ammadian noble. Tamar never doubted Garlud's innocence and he longed to take some action that would clear both father and son. In keeping with Jaltor's instructions he had told his own father nothing of what had taken place, letting him think Jotan had died beneath the claws and fangs of Sadu, the lion. After more than two hours of fitful tossing, Tamar rose from his bed and entered the living room of his suite. He was standing at one of the windows overlooking sleeping Ammad, when a discreet knock at the door startled him out of his reverie. "Who is there?" he called. "The corridor guard," said an apologetic voice. "A young woman wishes to speak with you, noble Tamar. Upon an urgent matter, she says." Tamar crossed the room quickly and unbarred the door. Beyond the stalwart figure of the guard was the softly curved form of a woman whose hair was very black and who, despite the folds of a cloak held to shadow her face, seemed young and beautiful.... "Alurna!" Tamar gasped incredulously. "What are you doing here?" She shook her head warningly, entered and waited until Tamar had closed the door. The nobleman helped her remove the cloak and she sank down on a nearby stool. "I thought you would be sleeping," she said, smiling a little. Trouble clouded his fine eyes. "I could not sleep," he said huskily. "I tried. But I keep thinking...."