ces.

Minutes later, he went back to his bunk and threw the scroll aside.
Possibly, he was just imagining that he was the target of a plot.
Possibly there was a real sea god named Kondaro--an omnipotent sea
deity, who could tell when persons within his domain were too curious,
or harbored impious thoughts, and who was capable of influencing the
actions of the faithful.

Possibly, his opinions of the priesthood had been noted and had
offended. Or, perhaps, that peculiar little device he had seen a priest
studying was capable of warning the god that it had been profaned by an
unsanctified gaze. Possibly, this storm was really the result of such a
warning. He was sure the priest hadn't seen him, but it could be that
the device itself might--

Musa threw himself on his bunk.

* * * * *

A deep voice resonated through the room.

"Musa of Karth," it said, "my master, Dontor, desires your presence on
deck."

Musa came to his feet. Two of the slaves of Kondaro stood close by,
swords in hand. One beckoned, then turned. Musa followed him into the
short passage, and up the ladder. As they gained the deck, the small
procession turned aft, to face the senior priest.

Dontor stood on the raised after deck, just in front of the helmsman.
The wind tugged at his gold and crimson robe, carrying it away from his
body, so that it rippled like a flag, and exposed the bright blue
trousers and jacket. Dontor, chief priest of the _Bordeklu_, stood
immobile, his arms folded, his feet braced against the sway of his
vessel. As the trio below him stopped, he frowned down at them.

"Musa, of Karth," he intoned, "it has been revealed to me that you have
displayed undue curiosity as to the inner mysteries of the worship of
the Great God. In your conversations, you have hinted at knowledge
forbidden any but the initiated.

"You came to us, a stranger, and we trusted you. But now, we are all
faced with the wrath of the Great One as a result of your impieties. A
sacrifice, and only a sacrifice, will appease this wrath. Can you name
any reason why we should protect you further, at the expense of our own
lives? What say you?"

Musa stared up at him. The cotton in his throat had suddenly become
thick, and intensely bitter. Unsuccessfully, he tried to swallow, and a
mental flash told him that whatever he said, he was already convicted.
Regardless of what defense he might offer, he knew he would be condemned
to w