Jumping back to avoid the spray of blood, Ulan Dhor ducked the grasp of the other arm as it swung past. He hacked again, another great blow, and the second forearm dangled loosely. He sprang close, plunged his blade at the creature’s eye and struck up into the beast’s skull-case.

The creature died in a series of wild capers, maniac throes that took it dancing around the square.

Ulan Dhor, panting, fighting nausea, looked down to the wide-eyed woman. She was rising weakly to her feet. He reached an arm to steady her, noticing that she was slim and young, with blonde hair hanging loosely to the level of her jaw. She had a pleasant, pretty face, thought Ulan Dhor — candid, clear-eyed, innocent.

She appeared not to notice him, but stood half-turned away, wrapping herself in her gray cloak. Ulan Dhor began to fear that the shock had affected her mind. He moved forward and peered into her face.

“Are you well? Did the beast harm you?”

Surprise came over her face, almost as if Ulan Dhor were another Gaun. Her gaze brushed his green cloak, quickly moved back to his face, his black hair.

“Who … are you?” she whispered.

“A stranger,” said Ulan Dhor, “and much puzzled by the ways of Ampridatvir.” He looked around for the fishermen; they were nowhere in sight.

“A stranger?” the girl asked. “But Cazdal’s Tract tells us that the Gauns have destroyed all men but the Grays of Ampridatvir.”

“Cazdal is as incorrect as Pansiu,” remarked Ulan Dhor. “There are still many men in the world.”

“I must believe,” said the girl. “You speak, you exist — so much is clear.”

Ulan Dhor noticed that she kept her eyes averted from the green cloak. It stank of fish; without further ado he cast it aside.

Her glance went to his red coat. “A Raider …”

“No, no, no!” exclaimed Ulan Dhor. “In truth, I find this talk of color tiresome. I am Ulan Dhor of Kaiin, nephew to Prince Kandive the Golden, and my mission is to seek the tablets of Rogol Domedonfors.”

The girl smiled wanly. “Thus do the Raiders, and thus they dress in red, and then every man’s hand is turned against them, for when they are in red, who knows whether they be Grays or …”

“Or what?”

She appeared confused, as if this facet to the question had not occurred to her. “Ghosts? Demons? There are strange manifestations in Ampridatvir.”

“Beyond argument,” agreed Ulan Dhor. He glanced across the square. “If you wish, I will guard you to your home; and perhaps there will be a corner where I may sleep tonight.”

She said, “I owe you my life, and I will help you as best I can. But I dare not take you to my hall.” Her eyes drifted down his body as far as his green trousers and veered away. “There would be confusion and unending explanations …”

Ulan Dhor said obliquely, “You have a mate, then?”

She glanced at him swiftly — a strange coquetry, strange flirtation there in the shadows of ancient Ampridatvir, the girl in the coarse gray cloak, her head tilted sideways and the yellow hair falling clear to her shoulder; Ulan Dhor elegant, darkly aquiline, in full command of his soul.

“No,” she said. “There have been none, so far.” A slight sound disturbed her; she jerked, looked fearfully across the square.

“There may be more Gauns. I can take you to a safe place; then tomorrow we will talk …”

She led him through an arched portico into one of the towers, up to a mezzanine floor. “You’ll be safe here till morning.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll bring you food, if you’ll wait for me …”

“I’ll wait.”

Her gaze fell with the strange half-averted wavering of the eyes to his red coat, just brushed his green trousers. “And I’ll bring you a cloak.” She departed. Ulan Dhor saw her flit down the stair and out of the tower like a wraith. She was gone.

He settled himself on the floor. It was a soft elastic substance, warm to touch … A strange city, thought Ulan Dhor, a strange people, reacting to unguessed compulsions. Or were they ghosts, in truth?

He fell into a series of spasmodic dozes, and awoke at last to find the wan pink of the latter-day dawn seeping through the arched portico.

He rose to his feet, rubbed his face, and, after a moment’s hesitation, descended from the mezzanine to the floor of the tower and walked out into the street. A child in a gray smock saw his red coat, flicked his eyes away from the green trousers, screamed in terror, and ran across the square.

Ulan Dhor retreated into the shadows with a curse. He had expected desolation. Hostility he could have countered or fled, but this bewildered fright left him helpless.

A shape appeared at the entrance — the girl. She peered through the shadows; her face was drawn, anxious. Ulan Dhor appeared. She smiled suddenly and her face changed.

“I brought your breakfast,” she said, “also a decent garment.”

She lay bread and smoked fish before him, and poured warm herb tea from an earthenware jar.

As he ate he watched her, and she watched him. There was a tension in their relations; she felt incompletely secure, and he could sense the pressures on her mind.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“I am Ulan Dhor. And you?”

“Elai.”

“Elai … Is that all?”

“Do I need more? It is sufficient, is it not?”

“Oh, indeed.”

She seated herself cross-legged before him.

“Tell me about the land from which you come.”

Ulan Dhor said, “Ascolais now is mostly a great forest, where few care to venture. I live in Kaiin, a very old city, perhaps as old as Ampridatvir, but we have no such towers and floating roads. We live in the old time palaces of marble and wood, even the poorest and most menial. Indeed, some beautiful manses fall to ruins for lack of tenants.”

“And what is your color?” she asked in a tentative voice.

Ulan Dhor said impatiently, “Such nonsense. We wear all colors; no one thinks one way or the other about it … Why do you worry about color so? For instance, why do you wear gray and not green?”

Her gaze wavered and broke from his; she clenched her hands restlessly. “Green? That is the color of the demon Pansiu. No one in Ampridatvir wears green.”

“Certainly people wear green,” said Ulan Dhor. “I met two fishermen yesterday at sea wearing green, and they guided me into the city.”

She shook her head, smiling sadly. “You are mistaken.”

Ulan Dhor sat back. He said presently, “A child saw me this morning and ran off screaming.”

“Because of your red cloak,” said Elai. “When a man wishes to win honor for himself, he dons a red coat and sets forth across the city to the ancient deserted temple of Pansiu, to seek the lost half of Rogol Domedonfors’ tablet. Legend says that when the Grays recover the lost tablet, then will their power be strong once more.”