ds were trembling with inner conflict as he measured the
killing lash against the stack of yellow Yarotian kiroons, and the
pleasures it would buy him. He drank, dribbling a little of the wine
down his grimy chin, and then returned to the subject of seeing the
note, with drunken persistence.

"I got to see it first."

"It's in a language you wouldn't--"

"Let him see it," a new voice cut in. "Translate it for him, Mr.
Ransome."

* * * * *

It was a woman's voice, cold and contemptuous. Ransome looked up
quickly, and at first he didn't recognize her. The gunner never took
his eyes from the stack of kiroons on the table.

"Let him see how a man murders a woman to save his own neck."

"You're supposed to be dancing at Mytor's place," Ransome said.
"That's your business; this is mine."

He closed his hand over the gunner's wrist as the man reached
convulsively for the money, menaced now by the angry woman.

"Half now, the rest later." Ransome's eyes burned into the crewman's.
The latter looked away. Ransome tightened his grip, and pain contorted
the gunner's features.

"Look at me," Ransome said. "If you cross me you'll wish you could die
by flogging."

The woman Mytor had called Irene was still standing by the table when
the gunner had left with the note and his money.

"Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"

"Certainly. Sit down."

"I'd like a drink."

She sipped her wine in silence and Ransome studied her by the
flickering light of the candle burning on the table between them.

She wore a simple street dress now, in contrast to the gaudy,
revealing garments of the pleasure house women. The beauty of her
soft, unpainted lips, her golden skin and wide-set green eyes was more
striking now, seen at close range, than it had been in the smoky
cavern of Mytor's place.

"What are you thinking now, Ransome?"

The question was unexpected, and Ransome answered without forethought:
"The Temple."

"You studied for the priesthood of the Dark One yourself."

"Did Mytor tell you that?"

Irene nodded. The candlelight gave luster to her dark hair and
revealed the contours of her high, firm breasts.

Ransome's pulse speeded up just looking at her. Then he saw that she
was regarding him as if he were something crawling in damp stone, and
there was bitterness in him.

"There are things that even Mytor doesn't know, even omniscient
Mytor--"

He checked himself.

"Well?"