"Rudra? Yes, we must think of him. He may or may not know we are here." She looked about at the windswept knoll, at the gnarled pine trees standing straight and tall, bleak and stern. She glanced away, toward a tier of flattish rocks. "Sometimes his horsemen take care of--intruders. Sometimes he lets visitors--wander. Never has he let them escape him for very long." Something of the menace of the man beat at Travis, as though a cold wind moaned above the pines and blew past his ear with mocking words. _Rudra will get you if you don't watch out. Rudra has never let a visitor escape him for very long._ He put his hands on his _stil_-gun and stroked its rounded grip. "We can't just stay here. We'd starve to death in these wilds." His hand indicated the windbent oaks below, the gaunt pines, the rolling grasslands that lifted toward distant hills. Nuala brooded at him. Her red mouth quirked, almost angrily. She snapped, "I've been thinking! We still can surprise him if we could get into Kovokod, the main city." "Why not go disguised as some of his people?" Travis wondered. He grinned, "You could be my wife--" Nuala sniffed her contempt. She lashed at him, "I am above emotions. I am almost pure thought. Don't distract me from my planning." Travis chuckled, "A couple of barbarians. We'd look pretty good as nomads, wouldn't we? Well, what do you say? What's to stop us?" Nuala snapped, "Our features! They are too delicate, too finely formed. Rudra hastened the evolution of his people, speeded up their ascent in time. They are still brutish, thick of nose, of lip." "If we had some of the celluvalin. I could do a pretty fancy job on our faces. I've moulded life forms in clay often enough for Solar Museum." Nuala eyed him wonderingly. "You are a young race, but you Earth-things do come up with some good ideas. There will be medical centers on Rudraline. If we can find one, there will be celluvalin there." They set out under the pines, walking for the windbent oaks, side by side. * * * * * For three days they moved southward. Here and there were farms, sprawled across the land. Travis walked with his eyes on them, studying the architecture, the terrain. Already, he told himself, he could do a few panoramic windows for Solar--if he ever got out of this thing alive. Once Nuala caught him by the wrist, dragged him back to the shelter of a dwarf bush. She whispered, "A caravan. The Rudraldians are taking their produce to market at Kovokod!" Travis watched, fascinated. The horsemen in plain leather harness rode with the ease of Cossacks in the saddle, far ahead of the slower-footed pack-animals, giant sloth-like creatures in rich trappings. They bore ornate palanquins on their backs, or pulled huge wagons by gilded reins. In the middle of the caravan rode the nobles, draped in cloth-of-gold, glittering with jewels. Nuala shook his shoulder. She hissed. "We can't waste time. Quickly, now. They are almost past--"