‘I can do that by not wearing anything at all! I’m not going out in public wearing something that fits me like a second skin!’

‘There does seem to be something missing, though.’

‘You noticed. How observant of you.’

‘Be nice. Oh, I know. We forgot the daggers.’

‘Daggers?’

‘Four of them usually – two at your belt and one tucked in the top of each of your boots.’

‘Why do I need so many?’

‘It’s a Nadrak custom, Pol. It’s a Nadrak woman’s way of telling men that it’s all right to look at her, but touching will get them in trouble.’

The twins were filling in for me in Annath until father arrived, and mother had taken me a ways back into the forest to instruct me in the peculiarities of Nadrak custom and costume. The clothes in which she’d garbed me consisted of black leather boots, tight-fitting black leather trousers, and an even tighter-fitting black leather vest. A simple inventory might sound masculine, but when I put the clothes on I saw that no one who saw me was likely to be confused about my gender. I immediately saw why Nadrak women might need daggers – lots of daggers. ‘Do Nadrak men understand what the daggers mean?’ I asked.

‘Usually – if they’re sober. Every so often they get playful and need to be reminded to keep their hands to themselves. A few nicks and cuts usually gets the point across.’

‘Are you trying to be funny?’

‘Would I do that?’

I willed four Ulgo knives into existence. If you want to intimidate someone, show him an Ulgo knife. The sight of something with a hooked point and saw-toothed edges tends to make people a bit queasy.

“Those are horrible, Pol!’

‘Isn’t that the idea? I want to be sure that nobody gets drunk enough to start taking chances.’

‘You do realize that they’ll lower your price, don’t you?’

‘Price?’

‘Nadrak women are property, Pol. Everybody knows that.’

‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. Is there anything else you’ve neglected to tell me?’

‘You’ll have to wear a collar – tastefully ornamented with jewels if you were expensive. Don’t worry about the chain. Nadrak women don’t attach the chain to the collar except on formal occasions. We’ll stop somewhere on our way to Yar Nadrak so that you can watch a Nadrak woman dance. You’ll need to know how to do that.’

‘I already know how to dance, mother.’

‘Not the way they do it in Gar og Nadrak. When a Nadrak woman dances, she challenges every man in the room. That’s the main reason she needs the daggers.’

‘Why dance that way if it causes that kind of problem?’

‘Probably for the fun of it, Pol. It drives Nadrak men absolutely crazy.’

I realized that Nadrak women took the sport of ‘breaking hearts’ all the way out to the extreme edge. This little trip might just be more interesting than I’d expected.

Then mother and I merged into the form of a falcon and winged our way northeasterly to the land of the Nadraks. The two men we were looking for were in the capital at Yar Nadrak, but mother suggested that we stop at a nameless hamlet in the endless forests of Gar og Nadrak to witness the performance of a Nadrak dancer named Ayalla.

The hamlet had that slap-dash, ‘Oh, that’s good enough’ quality about it that seems to be endemic in Gar og Nadrak. The buildings were made of logs and canvas, and none of them even approached being square or plumb. They sagged and leaned off in all directions, but that didn’t seem to bother the fur trappers and gold hunters who came out of the forest from time to time when they grew hungry for civilization. Mother and I flew in over the town and perched on the sill of an unglazed window high up in the back wall of the local tavern.

‘Ayalla’s owner’s named Kablek, Pol,’ mother told me. ‘He owns this tavern, and Ayalla’s something in the nature of a business asset. She dances here every night, and that’s what brings in all the customers. Kablek’s getting rich here because of her. He waters down his beer to the point that it doesn’t even foam any more, and he charges outrageous prices for it.’

‘He sounds like a Tolnedran.’

‘Yes, he does rather – but without the polish.’

The crowd in Kablek’s tavern was rowdy, but there were a number of burly fellows with stout cudgels roaming around to keep order. They broke up the knife-fights, but largely ignored the fist-fights – unless the participants started splintering the furniture.

Kablek and his serving-men sold beer at a furious rate until about mid-evening, and then the patrons began to chant, ‘Ayalla, Ayalla, Ayalla!’ stamping their feet and pounding on the rough tables with their fists. Kablek let that go on for several minutes, still pouring beer for all he was worth, and then he climbed up on the long counter along the back wall of his establishment and bellowed, ‘Last call, gentlemen! Get your beer now. We don’t sell none while Ayalla’s dancing!’

That precipitated a rush to the counter. Then, when he saw that everybody’s tankard was full, Kablek held up his hand for silence. ‘This is the beat!’ he announced, and he began to clap his callused hands together – three measured beats followed by four staccato ones. ‘Don’t lose that beat, men. Ayalla don’t like that, and she’s real quick with her knives.’

Their answering laughter was a little nervous. A performer always wants to hold her audience – but with a knife?

Then, with a professionally dramatic flair, Ayalla appeared in a well-lighted doorway. I was forced to admit that she was stunningly beautiful, with blue-black hair, sparkling black eyes, and a sensual mouth. Technically, she was a slave, a piece of property, but no Tolnedran emperor could ever have matched her imperial bearing. Slave or not, Ayalla literally owned everything – and everyone – she laid her eyes on. Her dress, if you could call something that flimsy a dress, was of pale, gauzy, Mallorean silk, and it whispered as she moved. It left her arms bare to the shoulders and stopped just above her soft leather boots where her jeweled dagger-hilts peeped coyly at the onlookers.

The audience cheered, but Ayalla looked slightly bored. Her expression changed, however, when the onlookers began that compelling beat. Her face became intent and the sheer force of her overwhelming presence struck her audience and captured them. Her dance began slowly, almost indolently, and then her pace quickened. Her feet seemed almost to flicker as she whirled about the room to that compelling beat.