He woke to the touch of a soft hand on his chest, to find a woman bent above him, her limpid brown eyes soft with pity. A tumble of yellow hair framed her oval face. "I bring you food and drink, lord. You will need your strength for what lies ahead." Kael laughed harshly. "Better to be weak and near death when the High Mor begins his tortures." She moved closer. She was fragrant with some Senn perfume, and the little she wore--a red silk thing twisted about her loins, with a slavegirl's golden chains about her throat--showed her body to be exquisite, even in the half-light of the cell. The McCanahan read the pity in her eyes, and began to take interest. "Sometimes, those live the longest who have no false pride," she told him. "You give me hope. Were you sent to do that?" There was reproach in her eyes, and she started to draw away. The McCanahan caught her slim wrist and held her. "Who sent you with your tempting offers?" She pouted at him. "No man sent me. I am Slyss, the slave girl from Aakkan." She rubbed her wrist when he released her, unconsciously posing for his eyes. The McCanahan said, "Tell me more!" But she shrugged a white shoulder and went to stand by the cell bars while he ate. When he was done, she took his tray and wooden bowl and mug, and walked off with them, unlocking the cell door with a key that hung from her wrist, attached to a thick metal manacle. Her hips wriggled as she went, and she threw a glance at him over her shoulder. Her voice was music as she carolled a farewell. She left the McCanahan with a fever of impatience in him. He strode back and forth in his cell. His hands tested the Mollystil bars a hundred times. He told himself that the Senn did not love the sfarri overmuch, that the Senn, being descended from animal ancestors, had no common ground with a race of robot men. He asked himself where in this pile of giant masonry Herms Borkus had hidden Flaith. If he could get away, if he could use this yellow-haired slave girl to unbar these cell doors for him, he would find Flaith and flee. Flee? Where on all Senorech was there sanctuary for Kael McCanahan? The slave girl told him when next she brought his food. This time, he was awake and restless, and her soft, quick tread was like music to his ears. * * * * * She came close to him, with only the width of the little tray between his chest and her breasts that stirred gently to her quickened breathing. Her brown eyes were full of gentle pity as they studied his haggard face and sunken eyes. "Lord, you were never meant for prison bars! If only you would trust me, I know a way that leads from the palace." "Trust you, Slyss? I'd love you for a chance at freedom." Again she preened, smiling as he wolfed the food. "Only for that?"