own creation.

Bork was thoughtful as he ate. Finally he grimaced. "New magic!" he
said. "Maybe that's the secret of the prophecy. I thought you knew no
magic."

"I didn't," Dave admitted. He was still tingling inside himself at this
confirmation of his earlier discovery. It was unpredictable magic, but
apparently bore some vague relationship to what he was wishing for.

"So the lake's out," Bork decided. "With unknown powers at your command,
you might escape in time. Well, that settles it. There's one place where
nobody will look for you or listen to you. You'll be nothing but another
among millions, and that's probably the best hiding place for you. With
the overseers they have, you couldn't even turn yourself back to the
Satheri, though I'll admit I'm hoping you don't want them to find you."

"And I was beginning to think you liked me," Dave commented bitterly.

Bork grinned. "I do, Dave Hanson. That's why I'm picking the easiest
place to hide you I can think of. It will be hell, but anything else
would be worse. Better strip and put this cloth on."

The thing he held out was little more than a rag, apparently torn from
one of the robes. "Come on, strip, or I'll burn off your clothes with a
salamander. There, that's better. Now wrap the cloth around your waist
and let it hang down in front. It'll be easier on you if you don't
attract much attention. The sky seems to indicate the planets favor
teleportation now. Be quick before I change my mind and think of
something worse!"

Dave didn't see what he did this time, but there was a puff of flame in
front of his eyes.

The next second, he stood manacled in a long line of men loaded with
heavy stones. Over their backs fell the cutting lashes of a whip. Far
ahead was a partially finished pyramid. Dave was obviously one of the
building slaves.

VI

Sunrise glared harshly over the desert. It was already hot enough to
send heat waves dancing over the sand as Hanson wakened under the bite
of a lash. The overseers were shouting and kicking the slaves awake.
Overhead the marred sky shone in crazy quilt patterns.

Hanson stood up, taking the final bite of the whip without flinching. He
glanced down at his body, noticing that it had somehow developed a
healthy deep tan during the few hours of murderous labor the day before.
He wasn't particularly surprised. Something in his mind seemed also to
have developed a "tan" that let him face the bite of chance withou