n of the
Usasu cities. We have gold _obus_ to spend; we seek a beautiful girl,
to be first concubine to our king's son, who is now come to the estate
of manhood."

Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside,
and re-lighted it, frowning.

"Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility," he said. "You
have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy's
character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers.
How old is the boy?"

"Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us."

"Then you want a girl older, but not much older. She should be versed
in the arts of love, but innocent of heart. She should be wise, but
teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own--"

The three men in white gowns were fidgeting. Then, suddenly, like three
marionettes on a single string, they put their right hands to their
mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their gowns,
whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon Nebu-hin-Abenoz,
slashing and stabbing.

Gathon Dard was on his feet at once; he hurled the wine flagon at the
three murderers and leaped across the room. Antrath Alv went bounding
after him, and by this time three or four of the group around
Nebu-hin-Abenoz's chair had recovered their wits and jumped to their
feet. One of the three assailants turned and slashed with his knife,
almost disemboweling a Calera who had tried to grapple with him.
Before he could free the blade, another Calera brought a brandy bottle
down on his head. Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second
assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow's chin and grabbing
the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an
instant, then went limp and fell forward. The third of the trio of
murderers was still slashing at the fallen chieftain when Antrath Alv
chopped him along the side of the neck with the edge of his hand; he
simply dropped and lay still.

Nebu-hin-Abenoz was dead. He had been slashed and cut and stabbed in
twenty places; his throat had been cut at least three times, and he
had almost been decapitated. The wounded Calera wasn't dead yet;
however, even if he had been at the moment on the operating table of a
First Level Home Time Line hospital, it was doubtful if he could have
been saved, and under the circumstances, his life-expectancy could be
measured in seconds. Some cushions were placed under his head, and
women called to