the Kharsa, where the Terran Empire has put down deep roots into the
planet, built a Trade City, a smaller spaceport. Like the Kharsa, it
lies within the circle of Terran law--and a million miles outside it.

A nonhuman town, inhabited largely by _chaks_, it is the core and center
of the resistance movement, a noisy town in a perpetual ferment. It was
the logical place for a renegade. I settled myself so that the ache in
my racked shoulders was less violent, and muttered, "Why Charin?"

Slight as the movement was, it roused Dallisa. She rolled over and
propped herself on her elbows, quoting drowsily, "The prey walks safest
at the hunter's door."

I stared at the square of violet moonlight, trying to fit together all
the pieces of the puzzle, and asked half aloud, "What prey and what
hunters?"

Dallisa didn't answer. I hadn't expected her to answer. I asked the real
question in my mind: "Why does Kyral hate Rakhal Sensar, when he doesn't
even know him by sight?"

"There are reasons," she said somberly. "One of them is Miellyn, my twin
sister. Kyral climbed the steps of the Great House by claiming us both
as his consorts. He is our father's son by another wife."

That explained much. Brother-and-sister marriages, not uncommon in the
Dry-towns, are based on expediency and suspicion, and are frequently,
though not always loveless. It explained Dallisa's taunts, and it partly
explained, only partly, why I found her in my arms. It did not explain
Rakhal's part in this mysterious intrigue, nor why Kyral had taken me
for Rakhal, (but only after he remembered seeing me in Terran clothing).

I wondered why it had never occurred to me before that I might be
mistaken for Rakhal. There was no close resemblance between us, but a
casual description would apply equally well to me or to Rakhal. My
height is unusual for a Terran--within an inch of Rakhal's own--and we
had roughly the same build, the same coloring. I had copied his walk,
imitated his mannerisms, since we were boys together.

And, blurring minor facial characteristics, there were the scars of the
_kifirgh_ on my mouth, cheeks, and shoulders. Anyone who did not know us
by sight, anyone who had known us by reputation from the days when we
had worked together in the Dry-towns, might easily take one of us for
the other. Even Juli had blurted, "You're so much like--" before
thinking better of it.

Other odd bits of the puzzle floated in my mind, stubbornly refusing t