city, and it was the night of Bani-tai, the night of
expiation in distant Darion, and Ransome knew that for him, this was
the last world.

After tonight the priests would proclaim the start of a new Cycle, and
the old debts, if still unpaid, would be canceled forever.

Ransome shrugged, a hopeless gesture. Enough of the cult of the Dark
One lingered in the very stuff of his nerves and brain to tell him
that the will of the Temple would be done.

But Mytor was speaking again, and Ransome listened in spite of
himself.

"All the scum of the Galaxy wash up on Yaroto at last," the fat
Venusian said. "That is why you and I are here, Mr. Ransome. It is
also why a certain pirate landed his ship on the desert out there
three days ago. _Callisto Queen_, the ship's name is, though it has
borne a dozen others. Cargo--Jovian silks and dyestuffs from the moons
of Mars, narco-vin from the system of Alpha Centauri."

Mytor paused, put the tips of fat fingers together, and looked hard at
Ransome.

"Is all of that supposed to mean something to me?" Ransome asked. A
waiter had brought over a glass to replace the broken one, and he
poured a drink for himself, not inviting Mytor. "It doesn't."

"It suggests a course, nothing more. In toward Sol, out to Yaroto by
way of Alpha Centauri. Do you follow the courses of pirate ships, Mr.
Ransome?"

"One," Ransome said savagely. "I've lost track of her."

"Perhaps you know the _Callisto Queen_ better under her former name,
then."

Again Ransome's hand moved toward the blaster, and this time Mytor
made no attempt to stop him. Ransome's thin lips tightened with some
powerful emotion, and he half rose to look hard at Mytor.

"The name of the ship?"

"Her captain used to call her _Hawk of Darion_."

Ransome understood. _Hawk of Darion_, hell ship driving through black
space under the command of a man he had once sworn to kill. Eight
years rolled back and he saw them together, laughing at him: the
Earthman-captain and the woman who had been Ransome's.

"Captain Jareth," Ransome said slowly. "Here--on Yaroto."

The Venusian nodded, pushing the bottle toward Ransome. The Earthman
ignored the gesture.

"Is the woman with him?"

Mytor smiled his feline smile. "You would like to see her blood run
under the knives of the priests, no?"

"No."

Ransome meant it. Somewhere, in the years of flight, he had lost his
love for the blonde, red-lipped Dura-ki, and with it had gone his
bitter