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the collar, served as leash. The harness is designed to provide a large number of ties. The girl, her legs freed, looked at Samos with horror. But he was no longer regarding her.
           The dancer now lay on her back and the music was visible in her breathing, and in small movements of her head, and hands. Her hands were small and lovely.
           She lay on the map floor, her head turned toward us. She was covered with sweat.
          I snapped my fingers and her legs turned under her, and she was kneeling, head back, dark hair on the tiles. Her bands moved, delicate, lovely. Slowly, if permitted, she would rise to an erect kneeling position; her hands, as she lifted herself, extended toward us. Four times said I "No," each time my command forcing her head back, her body bent, to the floor, and such time again, to the music, she lifted her body to an erect kneeling position.   The last position of her body to rise was her beautiful head. The collar was at her throat.   Her dark eyes, smoldering, vulnerable, reproachful, regarded me.   Still did the move to the music, which had not yet released her.
          With a gesture I permitted her to rise to her feet. "Dance your body, Slave," I told her, "to the guests of Samos."
          Angrily the girl, man by man, slowly, meaningfully, danced her beauty to each guest. They struck the tables, and cried out. More than one reached to clutch her but each time, swiftly, she moved back.
          Samos rose from behind the table and strode to the map floor. I went with him.
          He stopped at a point on the smooth, mosaiced floor. I looked at him. "Yes," he said, "somewhere here."
          I looked down at the intricately wrought mosaiced floor.   Beneath our feet, smooth, polished, were hundreds of tiny, fitted bits of tile, mostly here, in this area, tan and brown. The bits of tile seemed soft, lustrous, under the torchlight. The dancer, now behind us, continued to move before the low tables. The eyes of the men gleamed. Before each man, for moments seemingly his alone, she danced her beauty.
          "There is one thing more," said Samos, "which I have not told you."
          "What is that?" I asked.
          "Kurii have delivered to the Sardar an ultimatum."
          "An ultimatum?" I asked.
          "Surrender Gor, it said." said Samos.
          "Nothing more?" I asked.
          "Nothing more," said Samos.
           "This makes little sense to me," I said. "For what reason should this world be surrendered to Kurii?"
          "It seems insane," said Samos.
          "Yet Kurii are not insane," said I. "There was no alternative specified?"        I asked.
          "None," said Samos.
          "Surrender Gor--" I repeated.
          "It seems a mad imperative," said Samos.
          "But if it is not?"
          "I am afraid," said Samos.
          "And how has the Sardar responded to this?" I asked.   "Have they repudiated it, scoffingly, ridiculed the preposterousness of this demand?"
          Samos smiled. "Misk, a Priest-King," said he, "one high in the Sardar, has asked Kurii for a further specification of details."
          I smiled. "He is buying time," I said.
          "Of course," said Samos.
          "What response if any, was made?" I asked.
          "Surrender Gor," said Samos. "A repetition of the original imperative.   Then there was communication silence."
          "Nothing more has been heard from Kurii?" I asked.
          "Nothing more," said Samos.
          "Doubtless it is a bluff on the part of Kurii," I said.   "Priest-Kings would not well understand that sort of thing.   They are quite rational generally, unusually logical. Their minds seldom think in terms of unwarranted challenges, psychological strategies, false claims."
          Samos shrugged.
          "Sometimes I think Priest-Kings do not well understand Kurii.   They may be too remotely related a life