One of the men raised his head a little and murmured, «The priests have told us that the Pendarnoth shall be worshiped in this fashion. It is not fit that the eyes of those not cleansed shall look upon the face of the Pendarnoth.»
Blade nodded. «And by whom is one cleansed?»
«By the priests, O Pendarnoth.»
«And all the servants who wait upon me in my chambers are thus cleansed, I suppose?»
The man swallowed. Blade realized he was pushing the man toward ticklish ground. But for the moment he had to go on pushing. This was too important to let slip by. He repeated his question, putting a note of command in his voice. The man turned pale, and Blade saw beads of sweat break out on his brown face. Finally he licked his lips and said, «Yes. They are chosen-from the worthiest only.»
Blade's lips curled in a thin smile. There was only one more question to ask, the crucial one. «And who chooses the worthiest, my friend?» The man gasped and Blade saw his jaw clamp tight, as though he were facing torture. Perhaps he was-or at least the danger of it. Blade decided not to push things farther. Instead he merely smiled again and said, «I think I know who does the choosing. The High Councilor Klerus keeps his hand in everything, doesn't he?»
The man started violently. For a moment Blade thought he was actually going to be sick with fright. The look on the man's face spoke as loudly and clearly as any words could have done. Forgetting any possible fear of the priests, he leaped to his feet and vanished down the corridor at a dead run. The other men and women hesitated a second, then did the same. Blade was left standing alone in the empty corridor.
Part of the situation was now as clear to Blade as if it had been engraved in gold on the floor at his feet. Klerus (who else?) was determined to surround him with spies and limit his movements as much as possible. However, that might well be something that any veteran of palace politics would see fit to do. What bothered him more was the obvious mortal terror Klerus inspired in the servants. There was something ugly about that.
Should he go back or go on? Damn it, if he went back he would have given the first victory to Klerus! He wasn't going to do that, no matter how many servants he inconvenienced. He turned to the left and strode away down the corridor.
Most of the servants had obviously been briefed by the priests or perhaps by Klerus. They went down on their faces or at least knelt with their eyes on the floor as Blade passed. He made no effort to argue with them. The first encounter had taught him that was futile.
The palace seemed to be a complete maze inside, with corridors branching off for no apparent reason at the oddest points. With no one to guide him and no one to bar his path, Blade wandered freely for what seemed like hours. In the process, he built up a fairly good notion of what lay where in the palace. Although the servants did not dare look upon his face, neither did they dare refuse to answer his questions about where he was or what lay behind a particular door.
Twice he was respectfully but firmly turned back, both times by squads of oversized men armed to the teeth. Once he was told the king's chambers lay beyond the guarded door. The other time, where the men appeared to be eunuchs, it was the Princess Harima's chambers they were guarding. Blade noted both locations and moved on without argument.
Eventually he came out through a high-arched portico into a garden. A garden? It was more like a park. It seemed to stretch away in a beautiful confusion of trees and shrubs and grass for hundreds of yards. Gravel walks wound in and out among the greenery and the occasional splashes of color that told of flower beds.
Blade strode out into the sunlight and wandered about the garden, without any particular goal in mind. Mostly he simply wanted to see whether there was going to be any uproar over the Pendarnoth's prowling freely about the palace.
In time he found himself approaching a white marble bench that stood in the middle of a roughly circular clearing. This was a good place. He didn't want to sit down anywhere somebody might be able to sneak up on him without being seen. But here there were thirty feet of open grass on all sides. He sat down on the bench.
He had barely stretched out his legs when he heard the sound of footsteps approach on the other side of the bushes to his left. He rose quietly, and silently drew his sword. The footsteps continued as far as the end of the bushes, stopped, and then continued again. A slim figure dressed in white came around the end of the bushes. It was Princess Harima, with two serving women.
Blade thrust his sword back into its scabbard and smiled. But his thoughts were not as pleasant as the expression on his face. Had chance brought the princess here at this time, or something more?
The princess pressed her hands together and bowed her head gracefully. «Greetings, oh Pendarnoth. I heard that you were walking in the gardens, and I wished to talk to you without all the people of Vilesh looking on. Were you expecting an enemy? Your sword was out.»
«I did not know whether to expect an enemy or a friend, princess. And I have been a warrior long, enough so that when I do not know who is coming I make ready to greet him-properly.»
«I see.» Harima smiled. «How long have you been a warrior?»
«Nearly twenty years.» He did not add any other details. He did not want to encourage the princess to ask about his life before he found the Golden Steed. He had the impression of a sharp intelligence that might leap on any slips he made and use them to his harm.
Harima was beautiful as well as intelligent. It was not a picture-book beauty. She was a trifle too sharp-featured for that, and her high-arched nose just a little too large. But the wide dark eyes and the full mobile red lips were set in a proud pale face framed by glistening dark hair caught up beneath a silver diadem. And the most critical opinion could not have found fault with Harima's figure. The white gown she wore only hinted at what lay beneath, but to Blade's eyes those hints were sufficient-and exciting. Steady down, he told himself. Wait for her to show interest, if there's going to be any.
The princess motioned her ladies back toward the bushes. She sat down on the bench and with a graceful wave of a long-fingered hand beckoned to Blade. Blade noticed that in contrast to the usual display of gold or gilded jewelry among the Pendari, Harima wore only a single ring on each hand and a pair of earrings.
«Come and sit down, Blade,» she said. Her voice held a hint of laugher.
«Is it proper that I should, princess?»
«Is anything improper for the Pendarnoth? No, you are right in asking. Of all the men in Pendar, you and my brother are the only ones who might sit so with nothing improper.» The laughter in her voice was more than a hint now.
Blade sat down on the bench but left a safe yard or so between them. «Asking questions like that is part of the caution I have learned, princess. One does not live as a warrior for twenty years without learning caution. In fact, any man will live longer if he learns caution, not just warriors.» The last words were not an accident. If Harima wanted to take them as a reference to the present situation in Pendar, she was welcome to do so.
Harima smiled again and was about to speak again when footsteps suddenly thudded behind the bushes. Then the bushes themselves crackled and shook, and the serving women screamed. Six armed men with drawn swords suddenly burst through the bushes into the clearing.
CHAPTER NINE
Blade's sword was in his hand so fast it seemed to have jumped there like a living thing. He whirled, trying to get between Princess Harima and the six men. The princess was not screaming. She was backing away, a step at a time. One hand plunged into a purse at her belt and came out with a small jeweled dagger. A dainty lady's weapon, ill-suited for serious combat, but her spirit earned Blade's admiration.