The native quarter closed in about him, heavy with the stench of age and rotting garbage. _Vocorn_ pipes wailed, thin and minor, and strange eyes stared at him, luminous in the descending night. Once he stepped shuddering into the protoplasmic slime of some primitive life-form as it writhed its way across the mud-choked cobbles; once, through a doorway, he glimpsed a snake-woman's sinuous dancing in the light of flaring _thes_-wood torches. But he hurried on, still wrapped and trapped in his own dark thoughts. Again and again, in spite of him, his mind flashed back to Wassreck ... _Ktar_ Wassreck, tortured genius, who'd come for him at Horla. Could betrayal find a haven in such a man? Jarl Corvett cursed aloud. It was beyond the believing. Yet if it were true.... A chill shook Jarl. Where did loyalty lie, in man or duty? Especially if that duty were only to a dream, the way of the raider.... He could find no answer. Savagely, he kicked a whimpering _bok_ from his path and pushed on through the darkness. And Sais ... what of her? Would he find her waiting, or vanished? What would she say? How could he tell her? Tight-jawed, head down, he hurried on the faster. Then, at last, he was striding out into the Place of the Raiders ... crossing the open court to his own quarters. He tried the door. It was locked. Angrily, he beat on it with a heavy fist. A rustle of sound came from within. The door opened a crack. Belligerently, Jarl shoved inside. A hard object gouged his back. By sheer reflex, he tried to leap aside, to whirl. But rough hands seized him. A powerful arm jerked back his head, the wrist-bone jammed so hard against his throat that he choked and gasped for breath, his struggles unavailing. Close to his ear, a rough voice rasped, "Give up, you zanat, or I'll break your neck!" Already the blackness was swimming with sparks and stars. Reeling, Jarl called a halt to battle. "That's better!" the voice rasped. And then: "All right! We've got him! Let's have some light!" The inner door opened. A yellow glare flooded the entryway. Staggering, arms locked behind him, Jarl was dragged into the room beyond. Blinking, he stared into familiar faces ... the cold, hard-bitten faces of the chieftains of the raider fleet--Toran the _Malya_ ... the mongrel, Tas Karrel ... Bor Legat of Mercury ... half-a-dozen others. And there was another with them, not a warrior ... one whose dark, proud, lovely face was pale beneath its color. Jarl choked, "Sais--! What have they done to you--?" * * * * * The woman who was _Ktar_ Wassreck's daughter pulled together the torn bodice of her kirtle. A sudden flush replaced her pallor. "Ask them, Jarl." The fine, dark eyes with which she swept the raider chiefs were bitter, scornful. Jarl stood very still. Cold-eyed, seething, he looked from one captain to another.