imitation flagstone flooring, an early sixth-century
aspect of its own--an aspect marred only slightly by the
"anachronistic" telewindows inset at regular intervals along the
walls.

Mallory's steed stood in a stall-like enclosure that was formed by the
tourist-bar and one of the walls, and it was a splendid "beast"
indeed--as splendid a one as the twenty-second century robotics
industry was capable of creating. Originally, Mallory had planned on
bringing a real horse with him, but as this would have necessitated
his having to learn how to ride, he had decided against it. The
decision had been a wise one: "Easy Money" looked more like a horse
than most real horses did, could travel twice as fast, and was as easy
to ride and to maneuver as a golp jetney. It was light-brown in color
with a white diamond on its forehead, it was equipped with a secret
croup-compartment and an inbuilt saddle, and its fetlock-length
trappings were made of genuine synthisilk threaded with gold. It wore
no armor--it did not need to: weapons manufactured during the Age of
Chivalry could no more penetrate its "hide" than a tooth pick could.

_Come on, Easy Money_, Mallory encephalopathed. _You and I have a
little job to do._

The rohorse emitted several realistic whinnies, backed out of its
"stall", trotted smartly over to his side, and nuzzled his right
pauldron. Mallory mounted--not gracefully, it is true, but at least
without the aid of the winch he would have needed if his armor had
been manufactured in the sixth century--and inserted the red pommel of
his spear in the stirrup socket. Then, activating the _Yore's_ lock,
he rode across the imaginary drawbridge that spanned the mirage-moat,
and set forth into the forest. As the "portcullis" closed behind him,
symbolically bringing phase one of Operation Sangraal to a close, he
thought of Jason Perfidion.

* * * * *

Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall fireplace in
the big balconied room, Perfidion said, "Mallory, you're wasting your
time. Worse, you're wasting mine."

The room climaxed a vertical series of slightly less sumptuous
chambers known collectively as the Perfidion Tower, and the Perfidion
Tower stood with a score of balconied brothers on a blacktop island in
the exact center of Kansas' largest golp course. A short distance from
the fraternal gathering stood yet another tower--the false tower into
which Mallory had lumillusione