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remained only one final touch. She reached into the satchel and removed the knife. The blade was of a miracle alloy, sharpened down to the thickness of a molecule. A razor would seem hopelessly clumsy beside it. Hathor hefted the blade. If she didn't succeed in overawing the crowd out there, she'd need the weapon to slash at attackers, perhaps to use on herself if the beasts tried to use her as Sebek had. But she had a more practical use for the knife right now.
    She rested the heel of one hand under the corpse's jaw, forcing his head back. Then she began slicing through the flesh and cartilage of the throat. Ignoring the gore that billowed forth, she worked with the same practical moves as a housewife preparing a chicken. The only problem was the neck bones. Thrusting the tip of the knife between two of the cervical vertebrae, she twisted until they popped apart. Then all she had to do was saw away at the flap of skin that still held Sebek's head to his body. Hathor wiped her knife on the corpse's kilt, then held up the head at arm's length to assess her handiwork. The slash was a bit ragged, and it was still dripping blood. Luckily, like most warriors Sebek affected the long side-lock of youth. The hair provided a convenient handle. Knife in one hand, Sebek's head in the other, Hathor kicked open the door and strode down the short hallway to the main chamber. The revels again halted as the warriors realized what she was carrying. Hathor hurled her bloody burden into their midst. "I and I alone killed this one," she chanted in a loud voice, invoking the ceremony of assassination and offering a tacit challenge to all in the room. "There can be but one Sebek, and I have proven my worth by the severest of means." Still keeping her knife at the cuard position, she moved her free hand up to the tumbler switch on her pectoral necklace.
    "But I will not take Sebek's place," she went on, diverging from the ancient ceremonial. "For my own worth and position are greater than Sebek's. I am legend. I am Hathor." She triggered the transformation of the biomorphic metal, the cat's head forming over her features. The gleaming mask panned back and forth over the assemblage of fighting men, its eyes glowing green as Hathor intently studied them for any trace of hostile action. Sebek's followers sat in stunned silence. Their leader had stepped away to enjoy a ripe handmaid. But the maid had returned as a warrior woman bearing Sebek's head. She laid claim to a name legendary even in their ferocious community. But the grisly proof of that claim had been thrown almost contemptuously to bounce among them.
    Hathor could almost follow their thoughts from the looks on the warriors' faces. Sebek had been a deadly master of arms and tactics.
    That was why this assemblage of fighting men had chosen to follow him.
    But Sebek's strength and craft had obviously been overcome by this interloper. A grizzled warrior came to the obvious conclusion. He slowly sank to his knees and made obeisance to Hathor. Others followed, until at last the whole room had abased itself in fealty. Beneath her cat mask Hathor's lips stretched in a fierce grin as she tossed away her knife. A legend can be a useful thing, she thought. A sharper weapon than the best-forged blade. Hathor emerged from her ablutions clad only in a towel draped over her shoulders. As a member of a society based on beauty and used to scant clothing, she had no problem. But she noticed that Thoth turned away from her displayed body. After what had happened to Sebek, almost all of her new followers had become very careful with their eyes. She felt very good, her muscles reacting at their accustomed capabilities. And certainly she had worked up a sweat this morning.
    Hathor was, of course, not taking over Sebek's position in the godhead.
    But she had decreed that her followers would not be allowed the traditional round of assassinations to determine who the new Sebek would be. Her faction couldn't afford