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synthetic—“but only for conditions between walls. The Hellers are the very bones of the earth. Your feet will be sore, riding in those things, not to mention—”
    Barron, now fiercely embarrassed, had to say flatly, “I can’t afford it.”
    Lerrys drew a deep breath. “My foster father has ordered me to provide everything that is necessary foryour well-being, Mr. Barron.” Barron was surprised at the manner of address—the Darkovans did notuse honorifics or surnames—but then, Lerrys apparently spoke excellent Terran. He wondered if theyoung man were a professional interpreter. “Who is your foster father?”
    “ Valdir Alton of the Comyn Council,” Lerrys said briefly. Even Barron had heard of the Comyn—the hereditary caste of Darkovan rulers—and it silenced him. If the Comyn had anything to do with this and wanted him to wear Darkovan clothes, there was no use arguing.
    After a brief period of spirited bargaining of which Barron—who knew considerable of the Darkovanlanguage, more because he was quick and fluent at languages than because he had been interested—

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    could follow very little, Lerrys said, “I hope these will meet with your approval. I knew you would not care to wear bright colors; I do not myself.” He handed Barron a pile of clothing, mostly in dark fabrics that looked like linen, with a heavy fur jacket like the one he himself was wearing. “It’s hard to manage a cloak, riding, unless you grew up wearing one.” There was also a pair of high boots.
    “Better try the boots for fit,” he suggested.
    Barron bent and slipped off his sandals. The clothing seller chuckled and said something Barron couldn’tfollow about sandals and Lerrys said fiercely, “The   chaireth   is Lord Alton’s guest!” The merchantgulped, muttered some phrases of apology and fell silent. The boots fitted as if they had been made forhim, and though they felt strange along his ankles and calves, Barron had to admit they were comfortable. Lerrys picked up the sandals and stuck them in Barron’s pocket. “You could wear them indoors, Isuppose.”
    Barron would have answered, but before the words reached his lips a curious dizziness swept over him.
    He was standing in a great, vaulted hall, lighted only by a few flickering torches. Below him he couldhear the shouts of drunken men; and he could smell torches, roasting meat, and an odd acrid odor thatconfused him and made him feel sick. He grasped at a ring in the wall, found that it was not there; thewall was not there.
    He was back in the blowing wind and cloudy sunlight of the fenced compound, his pile of clothing fallento the grass at his feet, and young Lerrys staring up at him, shaken and puzzled.
    “Are you all right, Barron? You looked—a bit odd.”
    Barron nodded, glad to conceal his face by stooping to gather up his clothing. He was relieved when Lerrys left him in the shelter and he could sink down on the rough floor and lean against the wall,shuddering.
    That again   ! Was he going mad? If it had been due to the stress of his job, now that he had beenremoved from the dispatch board it should have stopped. Yet, although brief, this time had been morevivid than the others. Shivering, he shut his eyes and tried not to think until Colryn, coming to the edge ofthe open wall of the shelter, called to him.
    Two or three men in rough, dark clothing were moving around the fire; Colryn did not introduce them. Barron, in response to gestures, joined Gwynn and Lerrys at the trough where men were washing. It wasgrowing dusky and the icy evening wind was coming up, but they all washed long and thoroughly. Barronwas shivering uncontrollably and thinking with some longing of the Darkovan fur jacket, but he took histurn and washed face and hands more than he’d normally have done; he didn’t want them to think Terrans were dirty—and in any case riding had left him dirtier than pushing buttons and watching circuitrelays. The water was