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again he almost swooned. The tree tops and the spires of the black steel temple all seemed to revolve slowly around his head. With them, the nearest warriors swam in and out of his vision. They were still awaiting his word, spears raised, muscles tensed. Ramesh was looking to him desperately. One of the spear arms moved back another few inches, the last move before the throw.
    â€œNo,” Kaseem croaked. His reasons were conflicting but the command came through. He felt instinctively that these strange gods were trying to help. If not, then mere human arms with spears and swords were probably powerless against them. But most of all, something inside him knew that he had to protect the green-eyed woman, even if the other was a threat to his prince. He realized that he could hardly hear his own voice and struggled to speak again.
    â€œNo, hold your weapons.”
    Ramesh still looked uncertain, but the warriors heard and obeyed.
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    Zela made sure that all her movements were as clearly visible as Laurya’s had been, and it was while she was cleaning the fearsome gash on his thigh that Kananda came slowly to his senses. The first thing he saw was her face, the smiling, beautiful face of an administering angel, framed in its glorious cascade of rich golden hair. Her eyes were a deep, magical blue, a colour unknown among his brown-eyed people, with curling golden lashes. His gaze flickered to the open silver suit, still revealing those magnificent, plumply rounded golden breasts, and he was a man with a soul lost in wonder and a body lost to desire. In his mind there was none of the priest’s doubt and confusion. To Kananda she could only be a goddess, and he did not need to be told that she came from the stars.
    He tried to rise, supporting himself on one elbow and reaching out one hand toward her. Pain stabbed through his thigh and made him wince. Zela leaned forward and gently pushed him down.
    â€œDo not try to move,” she advised softly.
    Her words were alien to Kananda, but her voice sounded like sweet music to his ears and her meaning was plain. He looked down at the dressing on his thigh. He saw that the linen was of a different colour and texture to the wound wrappings that Kaseem carried in his saddle bag, and so understood that the strangers had treated his hurts. He remembered the goddess helping him to fight off the tiger and saw the beast lying dead. He gave her a grateful smile.
    â€œI am Kananda,” he told her, “First Prince of Golden Karakhor.” He launched into the full list of his titles and then saw from her blank look that she could not understand him either. He laughed at his own folly. “Kananda,” he repeated more simply and touched a finger to his own forehead.
    Zela still looked uncertain. Kananda repeated his name and the gesture. Then he pointed to Ramesh and Kaseem, stating their names in turn.
    Zela understood. She placed a forefinger on her own temple and said, “Zela.”
    Kananda repeated the name three times until its pronounciation rang true. Again he named himself, Ramesh and Kaseem. Zela entered into the spirit of the exchange and named Blair and Kyle and Laurya. Kananda’s enthusiasm outran itself and he began naming the entire hunting party. He stopped and laughed at himself again as he realized that this was all too much. There were smiles all round and the original tension was broken.
    Only Ramesh remained still uncertain. “We should return to the main camp,” he suggested. “There Prince Kananda can rest until his wound is healed.”
    â€œNo,” Kananda said immediately. He had no intention of being parted from his administering angel. “We can camp and rest here.”
    Ramesh looked to Kaseem for support and the old priest deliberated.
    â€œWe should stay,” Kaseem said at last. “We have no chariots here, and to seat the prince on a horse would restart the bleeding from his