With its small breasts and round, firm belly, there was something oddly childlike and vulnerable about the naked body. Brown fragments of lakeweed still adhered to her thighs. He took the mat of lakeweed and carefully spread it over her body. A moment later, he realized that her breathing had become deeper, and that there were faint spots of color in the pale cheeks. He watched intently, wondering if she was about to wake up; but after several minutes, she still showed no further sign of life.

He drew the chair up beside the bed, then sat down and placed both his hands on the mat. The lakeweed felt pleasantly cool under his palms. Yet when he closed his eyes, he had a sense that there was something wrong. There was a subtle sense of discord that was quite unlike the feeling he had experienced in his own room, a tension that made his heart beat irregularly. Then, suddenly, he understood. He had placed the mat upside down. In his own room, he had placed the side that contained the sucker-like fronds against the tabletop. He now turned it over, so the fronds were against her body. Then, once again, he rested both hands on the mat.

A few moments later he became aware of a tingling sensation in both hands. It spread to the wrists, then into the lower part of the forearms. There was an almost blissful feeling of relaxation, such as he often experienced when immersing his hands and wrists in warm water. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening: that he was drawing vital energy from the girl.

Yet after only a few moments he became aware that the method he was now using -- merely resting his hands on the lakeweed -- was inadequate. To experience the full benefit of this overflowing energy, their bodies had to be in total contact.

Niall stripped off his tunic and dropped it on the floor; then he lowered himself slowly onto the girl, allowing his weight to rest on his elbows. He was six inches taller than she was, and he was concerned that he might be too heavy for her; in fact, when he was lying on top of her, his weight was so evenly distributed that it was obvious that, even if she had been awake, she would have experienced no discomfort.

Even though he had been half-expecting it, what happened next still came as a surprise. She began to breathe more deeply, and a glowing sensation rose upward from her body. It was exactly like turning on a tap; vital energy flowed from her, then through the mat and into his body. In some strange way, the mat was sucking vital energy from her body, and allowing it to flow into Niall. He tried pressing his lips against hers, but this actually impeded the flow, even when he moistened them with his tongue.

Meanwhile, the girl breathed deeply and regularly, as if accustomed to this process of energy-transfusion; he could even sense that she was enjoying it, glad to be rid of some of the vital fluid that had accumulated in her body.

This process of drinking her energy was among the most unusual sensations Niall had ever experienced. In some ways it reminded him of the first time he had held Merlew in his arms -- the same tingling sense of aliveness that had communicated itself from her body to his. But compared to what he was now experiencing, even embracing Merlew was a poor second best. This was far deeper and more complete than lovemaking; or rather, lovemaking was an incomplete version of this experience. When Merlew allowed him to kiss her and press his body against hers, she was retreating into a private world of pleasure, and he was merely an instrument of her pleasure. This girl was giving unselfishly, giving because he was a man, and he needed her vital energy; she gave as unselfishly and naturally as a cow gives milk. In Niall, the flow satisfied some deep masculine craving, a craving of which he had not even been consciously aware a few moments ago. It was like a cool drink when the throat is harsh and dry, and it sent waves of pleasure into remote corners of his being, as if his nerves were telegraph wires that stretched out into the remote regions of some unknown country.

He was reminded of one of the most striking experiences of his childhood: the day the rains fell on the desert at the foot of the plateau. Black clouds had been carried on the cool westerly breeze, and suddenly water was gushing from the sky as though some god had upturned an enormous bucket or diverted a waterfall. As the torrent flooded down a dried watercourse, the ground had burst open, and bullfrogs pushed their way out of the mud; dry pods exploded and within half an hour the ground was covered with a multicolored carpet of flowers, white, red, yellow, blue, orange, and mauve. Soon small pools were full of tadpoles and algae, and the croaking of frogs was louder than the beating of the rain. It was perhaps the greatest exhilaration Niall had experienced during his years of childhood. And now, as his being absorbed this girl's energy, he felt that his own being was bursting into flower, and that unsuspected areas of awareness were suddenly glowing into life.

At the end of five minutes, his body felt sated with pleasure; he was like a starving man who has eaten an enormous meal. When he stood up again, his naked body was glowing as if a thousand points of light were sparkling over the surface of the flesh.

He dropped into the chair -- an old-fashioned wooden armchair with a cushion attached to its seat -- and allowed himself to relax with a deep sigh. His heart seemed to have slowed to half its normal speed.

Now, at least, he understood why the assassins had brought the girl with them.

She was their source of energy, the renewer of their vitality. While his body had been in contact with hers, he had even been able to sense the presence of those other men who had preceded him. He experienced no sense of jealousy; it was her business to give energy -- she was willing to give to anyone who could receive it from her.

And now, with a sudden flash of insight, he also understood why Veig had behaved so strangely in the girl's presence. Surely it must be because his brother had somehow sensed that she had the power to renew his depleted energies? This thought awakened a surge of hope and optimism. His own sense of glowing vitality convinced him that this girl could cure Veig's sickness -- that it would be a simple matter for his brother to draw energy from her body until his own vital powers had been restored. . .

This thought so excited Niall that he started to his feet and had taken a stride toward the door before remembering that he was naked. Then, as he started to pull on his tunic, he remembered the old man's warning about impatience -- he had paid the price of ignoring it once already today. The thought sobered him; he dropped the tunic on the floor and sat down again.

When he gazed at the sleeping girl, he felt a mixture of pity and gratitude. She carried within her the secret of life; yet men had seized her for their own purposes, and turned her into a kind of milch-cow. As she lay with closed eyes, she looked like a corpse; the spots of color had vanished from her cheeks, and her breathing was hardly visible. When he probed her mind, it was like entering primeval darkness, without even a flicker of the unconscious life of dreams. Earlier in the day, when he had entered the mind of the girl in the hospital, he had been aware of her sleeping consciousness, like a faint glow on the horizon. In this girl's mind, there was merely emptiness, like eternal night.

He suddenly experienced a powerful desire to express his gratitude, to return to her a little of the brimming vitality that she had allowed him to absorb, and which had, in turn, raised his own vitality to a still higher level. The mat of lakeweed had half-slipped from her body, and it had the effect of making her seem somehow pathetic and abandoned, as if she had been thrown there from a passing cart. Niall leaned forward and removed it, then turned it over and replaced it on her body. Then he once again lay on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows. Yet his position made him feel uncomfortable; it seemed somehow oddly wrong. He slipped off her and lay beside her on the bed; then, placing one arm under her waist, and the other on her buttock, he lifted her until she was resting on top of him. She was surprisingly light, but the completely relaxed state of her body made it difficult to keep her in position; he had to reach down and straighten her legs, then readjust the mat between them, and hold her in position with his hands on both buttocks. Her face turned sideways, so that her cheek rested against his mouth.

Niall allowed himself to relax into a state of total receptivity, until his consciousness was like an empty vessel. He realized now why his first contact had produced a subtle sense of discord. He had been expecting to absorb energy from her, and this was opposed by the polarity of the mat. Moreover, he had been lying on top of her, and the mat was designed to conduct energy upward, against the force of gravity. Now all he had to do was to use the mat to absorb some of the energy that was now throbbing inside him; he did this by imagining that the energy was accumulating in the skin of his chest and thighs. At a certain point, he imagined that the energy was being absorbed from him by the cool and slippery lakeweed, and, as this happened, he felt this process taking place. A moment later the skin of her face became warm as it rested against his lips.

The process of giving energy was, in an obvious sense, the opposite of the process of receiving it. Yet in another way, they were curiously similar. To begin with, their individual identities dissolved away, and united like two raindrops. This union turned them, in effect, into lovers, as if they had mutually given themselves to one another. In some primitive sense, he had become her husband. Giving became an intense pleasure -- so intense that, a few moments later, he experienced a compulsion to repeat the process, once again summoning energy into the skin of his chest and thighs, and then allowing it to pass into her through the lakeweed. He was aware as he did so that he was repeating some deep universal process that had existed since the beginning of time.

The third time he repeated the transmission, he became aware that she was responding. The pleasure of receiving vital energy was stirring her back into wakefulness.

In the darkness of her consciousness, he could sense a glow like the rising dawn. A moment later, her breathing faltered, and he had to make an effort to control his own excitement and calm the beating of his heart. She stirred, as if in her sleep, and moved her head, so that her lips were now resting directly against his. He could feel the fluttering of her eyelids, and the lips parted.

A moment later he screamed aloud in pain as her teeth sank into his lower lip. In his state of total concentration, the shock was like an explosion inside his head. Even when he twisted sideways and she fell on to the bed, she continued to bite until he thought her teeth would meet through his flesh. A frantic push released him, and she fell off the bed and on to the floor. He scrambled off the bed, half-expecting her to attack him. But her position on the floor -- face downward, with one leg twisted under the other -- remained unchanged.

His first reaction was anger. The pain was agonizing, and tears were running down his cheeks and mingling with the blood that ran onto his chest. He seized her garment, which still lay on the floor, and pressed it to his lower lip. When the cloth had absorbed most of the blood, he cautiously prodded the torn flesh with the tip of one finger, at the same time probing from inside with his tongue. To his relief, his tongue and fingertip failed to meet through the flesh. But the lip itself was already swelling, as if from a violent blow.

He turned her over roughly with his foot. As she flopped onto her back, he observed that her eyes were now open. The mouth was also open, and a trickle of blood, mixed with saliva, ran down her face. The gray flesh reminded him of the corpse he had seen that morning in the hospital, and his heart suddenly contracted with fear. If she was dead, he had destroyed his last link with the magician. He dropped on his knees beside her, but his heart was pounding so violently that it was impossible to achieve the relaxation necessary to probe her mind. Instead, he seized her wrist and tried to take her pulse; when he failed to find it, he suddenly became convinced that she was dead, and experienced a cold sense of despair. He bent his head and placed his ear against her left breast. A moment later, as his own breathing became calmer, he was able to detect a faint pulse. The relief was so enormous that he closed his eyes, and expelled his breath in a long sigh.

He slid both hands underneath her, and lifted her onto the bed. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, and although he knew it was his own blood, the sight disturbed him. He wiped it off with his handkerchief, then closed the staring eyes.

Now that his alarm had subsided, he was able to probe her mind. As he expected, it was totally blank, without any hint of consciousness. He stared down at her, frowning with perplexity. His first assumption had been that she had awakened, recognized him as an alien presence, and instinctively attacked him. But in that case, she would still be awake -- or at least show some sign of reviving consciousness.

Was it conceivable that she was still being controlled by the magician? The thought stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. Then he dismissed the idea. Everything that had happened so far convinced him that the magician communicated with his servants through the pendants. And these were now safely confined within the magnetic field of the stone jars in the cellar.

Yet it was equally difficult to believe that this girl had regained consciousness, attacked him, then plunged back into this state of profound unconsciousness. As he stared down at the still face, still pressing the handkerchief against his swollen lip, he knew that it would be absurd to take further risks; the pendants must be taken to the white tower. He covered her with the blanket, folded the lakeweed and replaced it in its box, then left the room and locked the door behind him.

Although he could hear voices, and the sound of pans clattering in the kitchen, he met no one on his way downstairs; this was a relief, since he had no wish to explain his swollen lip. At the top of the cellar steps, he paused to light the oil lamp, then trod carefully down into the cool gloom.

The black stone jars were exactly as he had left them. He placed the lamp on the floor, and removed the plug from the neck of the nearest one -- it had jammed in tight, and required some twisting to remove. He reached inside cautiously, but as his fingers made contact with the pendant, he realized that it was completely inert. This was the pendant whose chain he had snapped in his impatience to separate them; he dropped it into the pocket of his tunic, then moved the oil lamp close to the second jar.

This plug came out easily. He reached into the depths of the jar and found the chain -- it was also inert. But as his hand emerged, the back brushed against the neck of the jar, and he detected a sharp edge. He picked up the lamp and held it over the jar.

There was a crack, about an eighth of an inch wide at the top, running vertically down the jar. His first thought was that he had caused it himself when he sealed the jar with the heavy plug. But when he examined it in the lamplight, he could see that it ran all the way down the side of the jar. It seemed unlikely that he could have caused such a crack simply by dropping the plug into the neck. He held the lamp close to the other side of the jar.

Here he could detect a hairline crack that ran from the neck down to the base. But when he reached inside the neck, and tried to pull the two halves apart, it was impossible. This second crack was apparently only on the surface. Yet he remained puzzled and vaguely disturbed. It was possible, of course, that the crack had been in the jar all the time, and that he had simply failed to notice it. But he found this hard to believe. As he dropped the pendant into the other side of his tunic pocket -- making sure there was the maximum distance between them -- he was unable to suppress a shiver of apprehension.

It vanished as he stepped out into the pale afternoon sunlight. The sky was already blue with dusk; the north wind seemed to carry the scent of autumn. Men were returning home from work; a pregnant woman came past carrying two bags of shopping. It was the hour of the day that Niall loved best, the time for relaxation after work, when the world seemed full of a warm glow of happiness. It had been a long, and in some ways a frustrating day; but now that he looked back on it, it seemed that luck had been with him.

Since there were so many people in the square, he decided not to approach the white tower from the south side, which faced the headquarters of the Spider Lord; this would be inviting attention and curiosity. Instead he crossed the square as if approaching the bridge that led to the slave quarter. On this side of the tower there was a wide-open space consisting partly of grass and partly of hard pavement. Since this was usually deserted, it was easy to cross the grass with the certainty that the tower itself would conceal him from pedestrians on the other side of the square.

But even when he was halfway across the grass, he became aware of a feeling of inner discord. It was the same sensation that he had experienced earlier in the day, when he had approached the tower carrying the stone figurine. Now it was even stronger.

Instead of feeling a kind of magnetic attraction as he approached the tower -- not unlike the feeling a dowser experiences in the presence of underground water -- there was a sense of repulsion that produced a sensation like walking into a strong wind. He knew that it would be pointless to try to enter its force field; it was warning him to keep his distance. Therefore, he removed both pendants from his pocket, and placed them on the blue-gray marble that surrounded the base of the tower. To his surprise, the feeling of repulsion remained, although less powerful than a moment ago. He stood there, bewildered, wondering what to do next. A moment later uncertainty changed to relief as the old man walked through the solid wall, stepping out of its milky surface like someone emerging from water. Niall waited for an explanation. Instead, the old man raised his right arm and pointed at the gold chains, which were lying a few feet away. Niall said: "They are pendants, like the one. . ."

But before he could finish the sentence, a narrow beam of pale orange light emanated from the end of the old man's index finger and struck one of the pendants. This glowed into a bright golden color, then melted and coagulated into a globule which seemed to simmer and sizzle on the marble. Then as the marble itself began to glow and become red hot, the golden ball became smaller and smaller, like a drop of water evaporating on a hot plate. As this happened, Niall observed that the other pendant was no longer lying where he had placed it; then he saw that it had moved close to the edge of the platform. For a moment he assumed that this was due to the force of the energy blast emanating from the old man's finger; then, with a shock, he realized that the gold chain was moving with an odd rolling motion, as if trying to escape. Before it could reach the edge, it had been caught in the orange beam, and had turned into a pool of liquid metal.

Seconds later, it was another golden ball, still rolling toward the edge of the platform. It became smaller and smaller, then disappeared, leaving the marble glowing with dull heat that Niall could feel from a distance of five yards.

Niall asked: "Why was that necessary?"

"Have you ever heard of a booby trap?"

Niall said doubtfully: "A kind of practical joke?"

"In this case, more than a joke. To have brought them into the tower would have been a disaster."

"But I brought one in the other day."

"That has also been destroyed."

"But why did you let it in?"

"Because I did not know then what I have learned since."

"What was that?"

"That these devices can be animated with some kind of living force."

"How did you find out?"

"The device that you brought into the tower was able to neutralize the electric field in which I enclosed it."

"What happened?"

"The alarm system gave warning of an intruder, and specified the electromagnetic enclosure. By then the device had once again become inert. I vaporized it immediately."

"Did the alarm system give any indication of the nature of the intruder?"

"None -- merely that it was a living presence."

Niall said: "It was the magician."

The old man shrugged. "If so, it is too late to do anything about it."

Niall was concerned. "Do you think he could have learned anything?"

"Unfortunately that is impossible to say. It was not noticed until it tried to interfere with the circuits of the Steegmaster."

"Great goddess!"

"These two devices would have been even more dangerous. When two are brought into contact, their power is greatly augmented."

"I know." Niall remembered the cracked stone jar. "That's why I separated them."

"But you were too impatient and left part of one chain entangled with the other."

Niall colored. "But I didn't think the chains made any difference."

"That is what you were intended to think. In fact, they are a part of the device." "I'm sorry."

"That is unnecessary. Now that we understand the danger, it is possible to anticipate it."

Niall said: "But do you understand how it works?"

"No. I said I understand the danger. But since I am designed for purely rational thinking, I am unable to understand the principles of magic."

The words caused a prickling sensation in Niall's scalp. "But are you sure it is magic?"

"The ability to make living forces manifest in dead matter must be defined as magic."

"But is there nothing we can do about it?"

"At the moment I lack information to make a competent assessment. You must try to learn more."

Niall asked in perplexity: "But how?"

The old man shook his head. Niall waited for him to speak -- then, as the silence lengthened, realized that he was not going to speak. His sense of rising frustration was cut short by a recognition that came as a shock: that the old man was not going to speak because he had nothing to say. Suddenly, for the first time, Niall realized fully that the old man was a machine, and that it would be as pointless to feel impatient with him as to feel angry with a clock whose hands have ceased to move.

He turned without speaking, and walked in the direction of the headquarters of the Spider Lord. For the first time, he realized that he was alone.

Two brown wolf spiders stood on either side of the black doors; they recognized him and lowered themselves to the ground. Then, seeing that he wished to enter, one of them sent a telepathic message to the guard inside, and the doors swung open. The death spider who stood in the hall was squat and powerful, bearing a distinct resemblance to the late Captain Skorbo -- most of the Spider Lord's personal guard came from the same distant province. His crooked legs made it easy to prostrate himself, but also made the gesture seem somehow disrespectful.

"Is the Lord Dravig here?"

"No, sire. He has gone home. Do you wish me to send for him?"

"No, thank you." Niall was speaking slowly, realizing that this spider was unskilled in communicating with humans. "I wish to speak to Asmak."

The spider gazed back blankly; the name evidently meant nothing to him. Niall said: "He is the commander of the aerial survey." He accompanied the words with a mental image of a spider balloon.

"Please wait."

The guard turned and ascended the marble staircase. He could have summoned any spider in the building by a telepathic message; but this would have been regarded as impolite, like a human being shouting for a servant.

Niall was alone in the hall, with its curiously stale air, and smell of ancient dust.

He had never understood why the spiders made no attempt to keep their headquarters clean. Now, suddenly, he realized that it must be some atavistic memory of days when all spiders lived in dusty corners. It meant that dust and cobwebs denoted comfort.

The guard had reappeared on the stairs. He was followed by another death spider, whose glossy black coat and small stature revealed that he had still not reached adulthood. This spider lowered himself to the ground with a grace that was totally unlike the crablike awkwardness of the guard.

Niall asked: "Are you Asmak?"

"No, sire, I am his son. I am known as Grel."

He said "known as" because, in the human sense of the word, few spiders had proper names; being telepathic, they had no need for names when addressing one another.

Most spider names were adopted for the convenience of human intercourse.

"Please stand up." Grel had remained in the position of homage, and Niall could sense his nervousness. "The Lord Dravig advised me to speak to your father."

"He is not here, sire." The young spider straightened up; in the upright position, he was about the same height as Niall. The folded fangs seemed undeveloped, and the smooth black hair that covered the body looked as soft as the fur of a kitten. It seemed to Niall that the black eyes shone with intelligence, although he was aware that this might be merely the effect of the amount of light they reflected -- compared with the eyes of an adult spider, they seemed to be covered with a thin layer of oil.

"Where is he?"

"At his workplace. Would you like me to take you to him?"

Niall started to refuse, then changed his mind. To begin with, he wanted a chance to talk to the young spider.

"Is it far away?"

"No, very close."

"Yes. Thank you. I would like to see him."

The guard opened the double doors for them. But Niall could sense his deep disapproval. So could the young spider, and he followed Niall outside with a visible air of guilt. But as soon as the doors had closed, and they were outside on the pavement, this evaporated; he was obviously proud to be seen in public with the ruler of the spider city.