"That's all right."

"Go ahead," the guard said to Yarblek, unlatching the door and pushing it open.

The king of the Nadraks was sprawled on a rumpled bed with his arms about the thin shoulders of a pair of dirty, scantily dressed young girls with tangled hair and hopeless-looking eyes. "Yarblek," the depraved monarch greeted the merchant, "what kept you?"

"I didn't want to attract attention by following you immediately, Drosta."

"I almost got sidetracked." Drosta leered at the two girls. "Aren't they luscious?"

"If you like the type." Yarblek shrugged. "I prefer a little more maturity."

"That's good, too," Drosta admitted, "but I love them all. I fall in love twenty times a day. Run along, my pretties," he told the girls. "I've got some business to take care of just now. I'll send for you later."

The two girls immediately left, closing the door quietly behind them. Drosta sat up on the bed, scratching absently at one armpit. His stained and rumpled yellow doublet was unbuttoned, and his bony chest was covered with coarse black hair. He was thin, almost emaciated, and his scrawny arms looked like two sticks. His hair was lank and greasy, and his beard was so thin that it was little more than a few scraggly-looking black hairs sprouting from his chin. The pockmarks on his face were deep, angry red scars, and his neck and hands were covered with an unwholesome, scabby-looking rash. There was a distinctly unpleasant odor about him. "Are you sure this is the man I want?" he asked Yarblek. Garion looked at the Nadrak King sharply. The coarseness had gone out of his voice, and his tone was incisive, direct, the tone of a man who was all business. Garion made a few quick mental adjustments. Drosta lek Thun was not at all what he seemed.

"I've known him for years, Drosta," Yarblek replied. "This is Prince Kheldar of Drasnia. He's also known as Silk and sometimes Ambar of Kotu or Radek of Boktor. He's a thief, a swindler, and a spy. Aside from that, he's not too bad."

"We are delighted to meet so famous a man," King Drosta declared. "Welcome, Prince Kheldar."

"Your Majesty," Silk replied, bowing.

"I'd have invited you to the palace," Drosta continued, "but I've got some house guests with the unfortunate habit of sticking their noses into my business." He laughed dryly. "Luckily, I found out very soon that Malloreans are a priggish race. They won't follow me into places like this, so we'll be able to talk freely." He looked around at the cheap, gaudy furnishings and red draperies with a sort of amused toleration. "Besides," he added, "I like it here."

Garion stood with his back against the wall near the door, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, but Drosta's nervous eyes picked him out. "Can he be trusted?" the king demanded of Silk.

"Completely," Silk assured him. "He's my apprentice. I'm teaching him the business."