Over the fireplace hung a tapestry much less well executed than the others. It depicted the creature I had already seen on the Queen's banner—the mysterious N'aal Beast. It looked menacing and I noticed the guards avert their eyes from it as if afraid of it.

I was still tightly bound, of course, and when Horguhl dismissed the guards she was in no danger from me. I stood straight-backed, staring over her head as she paced before me, darting me strange, curious looks. This went on for some time, but I kept my expression blank and my eyes fixedly ahead.

Suddenly she faced me, swept back her right hand and slapped me stingingly across the mouth. I kept my features rigid as before.

"Who are you, Michael Kane?"

I did not answer.

"There is something about you. Something I have never sensed in any other man. Something I could learn to—to like." Her voice became softer and she took a step closer to me. "I mean it, Michael Kane," she said. "Your fate will not be pleasant if I order it to be carried out. But you could avert it..."

I still remained silent.

"Michael Kane—I am a woman. A—a sensitive woman." She laughed lightly, somewhat self-mockingly, I thought. "I am what I am through no circumstances of my own making. Would you like to hear why I am Queen of the Argzoon?"

"I would like to know where Shizala is, that is all," I said at length. "Where is she?"

"No harm has come to her yet. Perhaps none will. I have thought out an interesting fate for her. It will not kill her, but it will help me turn her into a willing handmaiden, I think. I.would rather keep the ruler of Varnal as my cringing slave than have her dead..."

My mind raced. So Shizala was not to die—yet, at any rate. I was relieved, for that would give time for Darnad to come and try to rescue her. I relaxed a little—perhaps I even smiled.

"You seem in good humor. Do you not feel anything for the woman, then?" Horguhl sounded almost eager.

"Why should I?" I lied.

"That is good," she said, almost to herself. She strode panther-like to the couch and spread her beautiful body upon it. I continued to stand where I was, but looked directly into those smouldering eyes. After a while she dropped her gaze.

Staring at the floor, she said: "I was only a child of eleven when the Argzoon attacked the caravan in which I and my parents were travelling through the northern borders of Vladnyar. They killed many—including my mother and father—but took slaves as well. I was one of those slaves ..."

I knew she was trying to touch me in some way, and if her story were true I felt sorry for the child she had been. But I could not, considering her later crimes, justify them.