There was a sound reason for Otar's unhappiness. Only the day before he had taken a mate--the incomparable Marua, daughter of one of Vokal's understewards--Marua, whose exquisite blonde beauty and matchless form had brought her a host of male admirers, many of them in high positions in Vokal's service. Among them was Ekbar, captain of the nobleman's guards; and therein, Otar knew, lay the reason why he was walking a midnight post outside Vokal's sprawling estate. The thought of his lovely new mate alone in his snug apartment in the guard's quarters while he paced away the hours brought a fresh flood of curses to his lips. "Greetings," said a hoarse whispering voice behind him. Otar, startled, whirled and leveled his spear in one rapid motion. "Who speaks?" he growled. An indistinct figure, muffled to the chin in a black cloak, was standing in the street only a foot or two beyond reach of the questing spearhead. "Fear not," said the harsh voice. "It is I--Heglar, nobleman of Ammad. I am here to hold an audience with the noble Vokal. At his own invitation. Here." He held out his hand from under the cloak and something gleamed from the center of his palm in the faint light. "Examine this by the rays from yonder lantern." Cautiously, his heavy spear ready in his right hand, Otar took the object and backed away until he could see it clearly. His careful maneuvering was in line with orders, for attempts at assassination were fairly common among Ammad's nobles in their ceaseless efforts for power second only to Jaltor himself, king of all Ammad. A single glance was all Otar needed. It was Vokal's personal talisman: a small square of gold bearing on one side a peculiar design cut in the soft metal. No humblest warrior in all Vokal's vast retinue who did not know that design and his duties when faced with it. He returned the talisman to the man who called himself Heglar and stepped back, bringing his spear sharply to a saluting position. "You may pass, noble Heglar. This path will bring you to a side door of Vokal's palace. The guard there will see to it that you are taken to him." * * * * * Vokal stood on a small balcony of stone outside his private apartment on the fourth level of his huge, many-roomed palace. He was a tall slender graceful man in his early fifties, with a narrow face, small cameo-sharp features and a languid almost dreamy quality in his movements and expression. Prematurely gray hair waved back from a brow of classical perfection, and the hand he lifted to smooth that hair was narrow and long fingered and beautifully kept. He was wearing the knee-length tunic common to all men and women of Ammad, but his was of a better weave, its belt of the same material was a full two inches wider and trimmed with the purple of Ammadian royalty.