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  "Bravo!" cried Palo Barba, the swordsman, who had also drunk much wine. "Do you know, this is my creed as well?" He snatched up a sword, held it high so that lantern-light played up and down its spine. "What the Vargaz is to the captain, the sword is to me!"

  "Father!" cried his orange-haired daughter Edwe. "And all the time we thought you a sensible Pansogmatist!"

  "Please put down the steel," urged Val Dal Barba, "before you become excited and cut someone's ear off."

  "What? Me? A veteran swordsman? How can you imagine such a thing? Well then, as you wish. I'll trade the steel for another goblet of wine."

  The talk proceeded. Dordolio swaggered across the deck to stand near Reith.

  Presently he said, in a voice of facetious condescension, "A surprise to find a nomad so accomplished in disquisition, so apt in subtle distinctions."

  Reith grinned at Traz. "Nomads are not necessarily buffoons."

  "You perplex me," Dordolio declared. "Exactly which is your native steppe? What was your tribe?"

  "My steppe is far away; my tribe is scattered in every direction."

  Dordolio pulled thoughtfully at his mustache. "The Dirdirman believes you to be an amnesiac. According to the Blue Jade Princess you have implied yourself to be a man from another world. The nomad boy, who knows you best, says nothing. I admit to what may be an obtrusive curiosity."

  "The quality signifies an active mind," said Reith.

  "Yes, Yes. Let me put what I freely acknowledge to be an absurd question."

  Dordolio examined Reith cautiously sidewise. "Do you consider yourself to be the native of another world?"

  Reith laughed and groped for an answer. He said: "Four possible conditions exist. If I were indeed from another world I could answer either yes or no. If I were not from another world I could answer yes or no. The first case leads to inconvenience. The second diminishes my self-respect. The third case is insanity. The fourth represents the only situation you would not consider an abnormality. The question, hence, as you admit it, is absurd."

  Dordolio tugged angrily at his mustache. "Are you, by any farfetched chance, a member of the 'cult'?"

  "Probably not. Which 'cult' is this?"

  "The Yearning Refluxives who rode up the cycle to destroy our two gorgeous cities."

  "But I understood that an unknown agency torpedoed the cities."

  "No matter; the 'cult' instigated the attack; they are the cause."

  Reith shook his head. "Incomprehensible! An enemy destroys your cities; your bitterness is directed not against the cruel enemy but against a possibly sincere and thoughtful group of your own people. A displaced emotion, or so it seems."

  Dordolio gave Reith a cold inspection. "Your analyses at times border upon the mordant."

  Reith laughed. "Let it pass. I know nothing of your 'cult.' As for my place of origin, I prefer to be amnesiac."

  "A curious lapse, when otherwise you seem so emphatic in your opinions."

  "I wonder why you trouble to press the point," Reith mused. "For instance, what would you say if I claimed origin from a far world?"

  Dordolio pursed his lips, blinked up at the lantern. "I had not taken my thoughts quite so far. Well, we will not pursue the subject. A frightening idea, to begin with: an ancient world of men!"

  "'Frightening'? How so?"

  Dordolio gave an uneasy laugh. "There is a dark side to humanity, which is like a stone pressed into the mold. The upper side, exposed to sun and air, is clean; tilt it and look below, at the muck and scurrying insects ... We of Yao know this well; nothing will put an end to awaile. But enough of such talk!" Dordolio gave his shoulders a jerk and a shake, and resumed his somewhat condescending tone of voice. "You are resolved to come to Cath; what will you do there?"

  "I don't know. I must exist somewhere; why not in Cath?"

  "Not too simple for a stranger," said Dordolio. "Affiliation with a palace is difficult."

  "Odd that you should say that! The Flower of Cath declares that her father will welcome us to Blue Jade Palace."

  "He would necessarily show formal courtesy, but you could no more take up residence at the Blue Jade Palace than you could on the bottom of the Draschade, merely because a fish invited you to swim."

  "What would prevent me?"

  Dordolio shrugged. "No man cares to make a fool of himself. Deportment is the definition of life. What does a nomad know of deportment?"

  Reith had nothing to say to this. "A thousand details go into the conduct of a cavalier," stated Dordolio. "At the academy we learn degrees of address, signals, language configuration, in which I admit a deficiency. We take instruction in sword address and principles of dueling, genealogy, heraldry; we learn the niceties of costume and a hundred other details. Perhaps you consider these matters over-arbitrary?"

  Anacho the Dirdirman, standing nearby, chose to reply. "'Trivial' is a word more apt."

  Reith expected an icy retort, at the least a glare, but Dordolio gave only an indifferent shrug. "Well, then, is your life more significant? Or that of the merchant, or the swordsman? Never forget the Yao are a pessimistic race! Awaile is always a threat; we are perhaps more somber than we seem. Recognizing the essential pointlessness of existence, we exalt the small flicker of vitality at our command; we extract the fullest and most distinctive flavor from every incident, by insisting upon an appropriate formality. Trivality? Decadence? Who can do better?"

  "All very well," said Reith. "But why be satisfied with pessimism? Why not expand your horizons? Further, it seems that you accept the destruction of your cities with a surprising nonchalance. Vengeance is not the most noble activity, but submissiveness is worse."

  "Bah," muttered Dordolio. "How could a barbarian understand the disaster and its aftermath? The Refluxives in vast numbers took refuge in awaile; the acts and the expiations kept our land in a ferment. There was no energy for anything else. Were you of good caste, I would cut your heart out for daring so gross an imputation."

  Reith laughed. "Since my low caste protects me from retribution, let me ask another question: what is awaile?"

  Dordolio threw his hands in the air. "An amnesiac as well as a barbarian! I have no conversation for such as you! Ask the Dirdirman; he is glib enough." And Dordolio strode off in a rage.

  "An unreasonable display of emotion," mused Reith. "I wonder what my imputation was?"

  "Shame," said Anacho. "The Yao are as sensitive to shame as an eyeball to grit.

  Mysterious enemies destroy their cities; they suspect the Dirdir but dare no recourse, and must cope with helpless rage and shame. It is their typical attribute and predisposes them to awaile."

  "And this is?"

  "Murder. The afflicted person-one who feels shame-kills as many persons as he is able, of any sex, age or degree of relationship. Then, when he is able to kill no more, he submits and becomes apathetic. His punishment is dreadful and highly dramatic, and enlightens the entire population, who crowd the place of punishment. Each execution has its particular flavor and style and is essentially a dramatic pageant of pain, possibly enjoyed even by the victim. The institution permeates the life of Cath. The Dirdir on this basis consider all sub-men mad."

  Reith grunted. "So then, if we visit Cath, we risk insensate murder."

  "Small risk. After all, the acts are not ordinary events." Anacho looked around the deck. "But it seems that the hour is late." He bade Reith goodnight and stalked off to his bunk.

  Reith remained by the rail, looking out over the water. After the bloodletting at Pera, Cath had seemed a haven, a civilized environment where just possibly he might contrive to patch together a spaceboat. The prospect seemed ever more remote.

  Someone came to stand beside him: Heizari, the older of Palo Barbar's orange-haired daughters. "You seem so melancholy. What troubles you?"

  Reith looked down into the pale oval of the girl's face: an arch impudent face, at this moment alive with innocent-or not so innocent? coquetry. Reith restrained the first words that
rose to his lips. The girl was unquestionably appealing. "How is it you are not in bed with your sister Edwe?"

  "Oh, simple! She is not in bed either. She sits with your friend Traz on the quarterdeck, beguiling and provoking, teasing and tormenting. She is much more of a flirt than I"

  Poor Traz, thought Reith. He asked, "What of your father and mother? Are they not concerned?"

  "What's it to them? When they were young, they dallied as ardently as any; is that not their right?"

  "I suppose so. Customs vary, as you know."

  "What of you? What are the customs of your people?"

  "Ambiguous and rather complicated," said Reith. "There's a great deal of variation."

  "This is the case with Cloud Islanders," said Heizari, leaning somewhat closer.

  "We are by no means automatically amorous. But on occasions a certain mood comes over a person, which I believe to be the consequence of natural law."

  "No argument there," Reith obeyed his impulse and kissed the piquant face.

  "Still, I don't care to antagonize your father, natural law or not. He is an expert swordsman."

  "Have no fears on that score. If you require assurance, doubtless he is still awake."

  "I don't know quite what I'd ask him," said Reith. "Well then, all things considered..." The two strolled forward and climbed the carved steps to the forepeak, and stood looking south across the sea. Az hung low in the west laying a line of amethyst prisms along the water. An orange haired girl, a purple moon, a fairytale cog on a remote ocean: would he trade it all to be back on Earth?

  The answer had to be yes. And yet, why deny the attractions of the moment? Reith kissed the girl somewhat more fervently than before and now from the shadow of the anchor windlass, a person hitherto invisible jumped erect and departed in desperate haste. In the slanting moonlight Reith recognized Ylin-Ylan, the Flower of Cath ... His ardor was quenched; he looked miserably aft. And yet, why feel guilt? She had long since made it clear that the one-time relationship was at an end. Reith turned back to the orange-haired Heizari.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE MORNING DAWNED without wind. The sun rose into a bird's egg sky: beige and dove-gray around the horizon, pale gray-blue at the zenith.

  The morning meal, as usual, was coarse bread, salt fish, preserved fruit, and acrid tea. The company sat in silence, each occupied with morning thoughts.

  The Flower of Cath was late. She slipped quietly into the saloon and took her place with a polite smile to left and right, and ate in a kind of reverie.

  Dordolio watched her with perplexity.

  The captain looked in from the deck. "A day of calm. Tonight clouds and thunder.

  Tomorrow? No way of knowing. Unusual weather!"

  Reith irritably forced himself to his usual conduct. No cause for misgivings: he had not changed; Ylin-Ylan had changed. Even at the most intense stage of their relationship she had at all times kept part of herself secret: a persona represented by another of her many names? Reith forced her from his mind.

  Ylin-Ylan wasted no time in the saloon, but went out on deck, where she was joined by Dordolio. They leaned on the rail, Ylin-Ylan speaking with great urgency, Dordolio pulling his mustache and occasionally interposing a word or two.

  A seaman on the quarterdeck gave a sudden call and pointed across the water.

  Jumping up on the hatch Reith saw a dark floating shape, with a head and narrow shoulders, disturbingly manlike; the creature surged, disappeared below the surface. Reith turned to Anacho. "What was that?"

  "A Pnume."

  "So far from land?"

  "Why not? They are the same sort as the Phung. Who holds a Phung to account for his deeds?"

  "But what does it do out here, in mid-ocean?"

  "Perhaps it floats by night on the surface, watching the moons swing by."

  The morning passed. Traz and the two girls played quoits. The merchant mused through a leather-bound book. Palo Barba and Dordolio fenced for a period.

  Dordolio was as usual flamboyant, whistling his steel through the air, stamping his feet, flourishing his arms.

  Palo Barba presently tired of the sport. Dordolio stood twitching his blade.

  Ylin-Ylan came to sit on the hatch. Dordolio turned to Reith. "Come, nomad, take up the foil; show me the skills of your native steppe."

  Reith instantly became wary. "They are very few; additionally I am out of practice. Perhaps another day."

  "Come, come," cried Dordolio, eyes glittering. "I have heard reports of your adroitness. You must not refuse to demonstrate your technique."

  "You must excuse me; I am disinclined."

  "Yes, Adam Reith!" called Ylin-Ylan. "Fence! You will disappoint us all!"

  Reith turned his head, examined the Flower for a long moment. Her face, pinched and wan and quivering with emotion, was not the face of the girl he had known in Pera. In some fashion, change had come; he looked into the face of a stranger.

  Reith turned his attention to Dordolio, who evidently had been incited by the Flower of Cath. Whatever they planned was not to his advantage.

  Palo Barba intervened. "Come," he told Dordolio. "Let the man rest, I will play another set of passes, and give you all the exercise you require."

  "But I wish to engage this fellow," declared Dordolio. "His attitudes are exasperating; I feel that he needs to be chastened."

  "If you intend to pick a quarrel," said Palo Barba coldly, "that of course is your affair."

  "No quarrel," declared Dordolio in a brassy, somewhat nasal voice. "A

  demonstration, let us say. The fellow seems to equate the caste of Cath with common ruck. A significant difference exists, as I wish to make clear."

  Reith wearily rose to his feet. "Very well. What do you have in mind for your demonstration?"

  "Foils, swords, as you wish. Since you are ignorant of chivalrous address, there shall be none; a simple 'go' must suffice."

  "And 'stop'?"

  Dordolio grinned through his mustache. "As circumstances dictate."

  "Very well." He turned to Palo Barba. "Allow me to look over your weapons, if you please."

  Palo Barba opened his box. Reith selected a pair of short light blades.

  Dordolio stared, eyebrows arched high in distaste. "Child's weapons, for the training of boys!"

  Reith hefted one of the blades, twitched it through the air. "This suits me well enough. If you are dissatisfied, use whatever blade you like."

  Dordolio grudgingly took up the light blade. "It has no life; it is without movement or backsnap--"

  Reith lifted his sword, tilted Dordolio's hat down over his eyes. "But responsive and serviceable, as you see."

  Dordolio removed the hat without comment, shot the cuffs of his white silk blouse. "Are you ready?"

  "Whenever you are."

  Dordolio raised his sword in a preposterous salute, bowed right and left to the spectators. Reith drew back. "I thought you planned to forgo the ceremonies."

  Dordolio merely drew back the corners of his mouth, to show his teeth, and performed one of his foot-stamping assaults. Reith parried without difficulty, feinted Dordolio out of position and swung down at one of the clasps which supported Dordolio's breeches.

  Dordolio jumped back, then attacked once more, the snarl replaced by a sinister grin. He stormed Reith's defense, picking here and there, resting, probing; Reith reacted sluggishly. Dordolio feinted, drew Reith's blade aside, lunged.

  Reith had already jumped away; Dordolio's blade met empty air. Reith hacked down hard at the clasp, breaking it loose.

  Dordolio drew back with a frown. Reith stepped forward, struck down at the other clasp, and Dordolio's breeches grew loose about the waist.

  Dordolio retreated, red in the face. He cast down the sword. "These ridiculous playthings! Take up a real sword!"

  "Use any sword you prefer. I will remain with this one. But, first, I suggest that you take steps to support your trousers; you will embarrass both of us."

&nbs
p; Dordolio bowed, with icy good grace. He went somewhat apart, tied his breeches to his belt with thongs. "I am ready. Since you insist, and since my purposes are punitive, I will use the weapon with which I am familiar."

  "As you like."

  Dordolio took up his long supple blade, flourished it around his head so that it sang in the air, then, nodding to Reith, came to the attack. The flexible tip swung in from right and left; Reith slid it away, and casually, almost as if by accident, tapped Dordolio's cheek with the flat of his blade.

  Dordolio blinked, and launched a furious prancing attack. Reith gave ground; Dordolio followed, stamping, lunging, cutting, striking from all sides. Reith parried, and tapped Dordolio's other cheek. He then drew back. "I find myself winded; perhaps you have had enough exercise for the day?"

  Dordolio stood glaring, nostrils distended, chest rising and falling. He turned away, gazed out to sea. He heaved a deep sigh, and turned back. "Yes," he said in a dull voice. "We have exercised enough." He looked down at his jeweled rapier, and for a moment appeared ready to cast it into the sea. Instead, he thrust it into his sheath, bowed to Reith. "Your swordplay is excellent. I am indebted for the demonstration."

  Palo Barba came forward. "Well spoken, a true cavalier of Cath! Enough of blades and metal; let us take a goblet of morning wine."

  Dordolio bowed. "Presently." He went off to his cabin. The Flower of Cath sat as if carved from stone.

  Heizari brought Reith a goblet of wine. "I have a wonderful idea."

  "Which is?"