ook on the ivory-inlaid
table beside the big red chair._

Harnosh of Hosh looked at Dallona inquiringly; she nodded.

"I rejected the question I had in my mind, and substituted that one,
after the shot," she said.

He turned quickly to the upper-servant. "Check on that, right away,
Kirzon," he directed.

As the upper-servant hurried out, the writing machine started again.

_And to my son, Girzon: I will not use your son, Garnon, as a
reincarnation-vehicle; I will remain discarnate until he is grown and
has a son of his own; if he has no male child, I will reincarnate in
the first available male child of the family of Roxor, or of some
family allied to us by marriage. In any case, I will communicate
before reincarnating._

_To Nirzav of Shonna: Ten days ago, when I dined at your home, I took
a small knife and cut three notches, two close together and one a
little apart from the others, on the under side of the table. As I
remember, I sat two places down on the left. If you find them, you
will know that I have won that wager that I spoke of a few minutes
ago._

"I'll have my butler check on that, right away," Nirzav said. His eyes
were wide with amazement, and he had begun to sweat; a man does not
casually watch the beliefs of a lifetime invalidated in a few moments.

_To Dirzed the Assassin_: the machine continued. _You have served me
faithfully, in the last ten years, never more so than with the last
shot you fired in my service. After you fired, the thought was in your
mind that you would like to take service with the Lady Dallona of
Hadron, whom you believe will need the protection of a member of the
Society of Assassins. I advise you to do so, and I advise her to
accept your offer. Her work, since she has come to Darsh, has not made
her popular in some quarters. No doubt Nirzav of Shonna can bear me
out on that._

"I won't betray things told me in confidence, or said at the Councils
of the Statisticalists, but he's right," Nirzav said. "You need a good
Assassin, and there are few better than Dirzed."

_I see that this sensitive is growing weary_, the letters on the
screen spelled out. _His body is not strong enough for prolonged
communication. I bid you all farewell, for the time; I will
communicate again. Good evening, my friends, and I thank you for your
presence at the feast._

The boy, on the other screen, slumped back in his chair, his face
relaxing into its customary expression of vacancy.

"Wi