is head. And his right eye was beginning to swell, probably from the
same cause. He'd skinned the knuckles of his right hand, too, probably
on Sam's face, and they set up their own smarting.

True, it wasn't a bad list of injuries to result from the odds he'd
faced. But that wasn't the point.

You just didn't go up to the Tower of Zeus looking like a back-street
brawler.

However, there was no help for it. He straightened his jacket and went
in through the Fifth Avenue entrance of the Tower, heading for the first
bank of elevators.

Zeus All-Father would know everything about his fight, and would know
that it hadn't been his fault. (Hadn't it, though? Forrester asked
himself. He remembered the joy he'd felt at the prospect of battle. How
far would it count against him?) Zeus All-Father, through his priests,
would make what allowances should be made.

Forrester hoped that the Godhead was feeling in a kind and merciful
mood.

He reached the bank of elevators, and the burly Myrmidon who stood
there, wearing the lightning-bolt shoulder patch of the All-Father.
Ahead of him was a chattering crowd of five: mother, father, two
daughters and a small son, all obviously out-of-towners. The Tower of
Zeus was always a big tourist attraction. The Myrmidon directed them to
the stairway that led to the second-floor Arcade, the main attraction
for most visitors to the Tower. The Temple of Sacrifice was located up
there, while the ground floor was filled with glass-fronted offices of
the secretaries of various dignitaries.

Chattering gaily, and looking around them in a kind of happy awe, the
family group moved off and Forrester stepped up to the Myrmidon, who
said: "Stairway's right over there to your--"

"No," Forrester said. He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling his
muscles ache as he did so. He drew out his wallet and managed to extract
the simple card he'd been given in the Temple of Pallas Athena, the card
which carried nothing but a lightning bolt.

He handed it to the Myrmidon, who looked down at it, frowned, and then
looked up.

"What's this for?" he said.

"Well--" Forrester began, and then caught himself. He'd been told not to
explain about the card to any mortal. And the Myrmidon was certainly
just as mortal as Forrester himself, or any other hireling of the Gods.
True, there was always the consideration that he might be Zeus
All-Father himself, in disguise.

But that was a consideration that bore no wei