g star.

This woman's eyes were darker than the poison-berries of the salt
cliffs, and her mouth was a cut berry that looked just as dangerous. She
was young, the slimness of her shoulders and the narrow steel-chained
wrists told me how very young she was, but her face had seen weather and
storms, and her dark eyes had weathered worse psychic storms than that.
She did not flinch at the sight of my scars, and met my gaze without
dropping her eyes.

"You are a stranger. What is your business in Shainsa?"

I met the direct question with the insolence it demanded, hardly moving
my lips. "I have come to buy women for the brothels of Ardcarran.
Perhaps when washed you might be suitable. Who could arrange for your
sale?"

She took the rebuke impassively, though the bitter crimson of her mouth
twitched a little in mischief or rage. But she made no sign. The battle
was joined between us, and I knew already that it would be fought to the
end.

From somewhere in her draperies, something fell to the ground with a
little tinkle. But I knew that trick too and I did not move. Finally she
went away without bending to retrieve it and when I looked around I saw
that all the fleece-haired children had stolen away, leaving their
playthings lying on the curbing. But one or two of the gaffers on the
stone benches, who were old enough to show curiosity without losing
face, were watching me with impassive eyes.

I could have asked the woman's name then, but I held back, knowing it
could only lessen the prestige I had gained from the encounter. I
glanced down, without seeming to do so, at the tiny mirror which had
fallen from the recesses of the fur robe. Her name might have been
inscribed on the reverse.

But I left it lying there to be picked up by the children when they
returned, and went back to the wineshop. I had accomplished my first
objective; if you can't be inconspicuous, be so damned conspicuous that
nobody can miss you. And that in itself is a fair concealment. How many
people can accurately describe a street riot?

I was finishing off a bad meal with a stone bottle of worse wine when
the _chak_ came in, disregarding the proprietor, and made straight for
me. He was furred immaculately white. His velvet muzzle was contracted
as if the very smells might soil it, and he kept a dainty paw
outstretched to ward off accidental contact with greasy counters or
tables or tapestries. His fur was scented, and his throat circled with a