I crossed over the dead men, and, as I came at her, she turned and tried to run. All her pale topaz hair gushed like a fall of water over her back. It was easy to grab her by the hair, to bring her to face me and to thrust off her mask.

She was beautiful. I had never seen beauty before, not like her beauty. Her skin was white, her hair white as silver at the roots where it entered her white flesh, her mouth was smooth and shaped, and red as a summer fruit, and her eyes were green as the gems of her bodice. Everything of this I glimpsed like a flame burning up at me.

She did not struggle any longer. Her fight was done. I had her easily.

Her breasts filled my hands and she smelled of youth and womanhood. I did not hurt her, there was no need for she never tried to evade me; nor was she a virgin. I had not expected it, coming as she did out of that camp of men. She was their whore, or someone’s, and now she would be mine. The gate between her thighs was golden as her hair, and the road beyond the gate was made for kings. Her green jewel eyes reflected back the lamp in the roof. She never shut them; neither did she look. Despite her heart and mind, her body was good to me.

The lamp glowed less vigorously overhead, and she lay there under me, her eyes open and her body open. I was still pleased with my victory, the shallow victory outside, the shallow victory of her.

I said, at random as she did not speak the tribal tongue, “That was a fine treasure to take in your lord’s tent, and his dead eyes watching.”

And she answered in a whisper. “Be happy then, you filth, you diseased and verminous rubbish. Be happy and die of it.”

I started up. She turned me cold with her surprises.

“Where did you learn krarl talk?”

“From the Moi. Who but, when we barter with them? Are you stupid as well as disgusting, oh shlevakin accursed?”

I was confounded. I had raped women on countless raids and tribal wars. They had bitten me, screamed, cried tears, or whined with pleasure. They had not coolly insulted me. Nor had they such eyes.

“Since you follow what I say,” I said, “tell me why the men here took their own lives.”

She smiled at that.

“The three princes of Eshkorek slew themselves on learning that Vazkor had risen from his tomb.”

“Vazkor,” I said. My belly turned about in me. “Who or what is Vazkor?”

“You,” she said. “Tribal savage, dog, offal. Ask the dead.”

“You will tell me tomorrow if you tell me nothing now.”

“Am I to be with you then tomorrow, oh my master?” She was shivering, not so much from fear as from denying it.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “I am a chief’s son, and will protect you in the krarl.”