ainsa, and he had placed me so I could not
compromise mine further in words. Yet I lost _kihar_ equally if I left
at his bidding, like an inferior dismissed.

One desperate gamble remained.

"A word," I said, raising my hand, and while he half turned, startled,
believing I was indeed about to compromise my dignity by a further plea,
I flung it at him:

"I will bet _shegri_ with you."

His iron composure looked shaken. I had delivered a blow to his belief
that I was an Earthman, for it is doubtful if there are six Earthmen on
Wolf who know about _shegri_, the dangerous game of the Dry-towns.

It is no ordinary gamble, for what the better stakes is his life,
possibly his reason. Rarely indeed will a man beg _shegri_ unless he has
nothing further to lose.

It is a cruel, possibly decadent game, which has no parallel anywhere in
the known universe.

But I had no choice. I had struck a cold trail in Shainsa. Rakhal might
be anywhere on the planet and half of Magnusson's month was already up.
Unless I could force Kyral to tell what he knew, I might as well quit.

So I repeated: "I will bet _shegri_ with you."

And Kyral stood unmoving.

For what the _shegrin_ wagers is his courage and endurance in the face
of torture and an unknown fate. On his side, the stakes are clearly
determined beforehand. But if he loses, his punishment or penalty is at
the whim of the one who has accepted him, and he may be put to whatever
doom the winner determines.

And this is the contest:

The _shegrin_ permits himself to be tortured from sunrise to sunset. If
he endures he wins. It is as simple as that. He can stop the torture at
any moment by a word, but to do so is a concession of defeat.

This is not as dangerous as it might, at first, seem. The other party to
the bet is bound by the ironclad codes of Wolf to inflict no permanent
physical damage (no injury that will not heal with three suncourses).
But from sunrise to sunset, any torment or painful ingenuity which the
half-human mentality of Wolf can devise must be endured.

The man who can outthink the torture of the moment, the man who can hold
in his mind the single thought of his goal--that man can claim the
stakes he has set, as well as other concessions made traditional.

The silence grew in the hall. Dallisa had straightened and was watching
me intently, her lips parted and the tip of a little red tongue visible
between her teeth. The only sound was the tiny crunching