"Of course." Woudiver gave his thigh a rap with the whip.

Reith spoke with great earnestness. "The Dirdir are no kinsmen of yours! Dirdir and men are not even remotely connected; they come from different stars."

Woudiver leaned indolently against the wall. "Where do you learn such idiocy?"

Reith licked his lips, wondering where lay his best hope of succor. Woudiver was not a rational man; he was motivated by instinct and intuition. Reith tried to project utter certainty as he spoke. "Men originated on the planet Earth. The Dirdir know this as well as I. They prefer that Dirdirmen deceive themselves."

Woudiver nodded thoughtfully. "You intend to seek out this 'Earth' with your spaceship?"

"I don't need to seek it out. It lies two hundred light-years distant, in the constellation Clari."

Woudiver pranced forward. With his yellow face a foot from Reith's he bellowed,

"And what of the treasure you promised me? You misled, you deceived!"

"No," said Reith. "I did not. I am an Earthman. I was shipwrecked here on Tschai. Help me back to Earth; you will receive whatever treasure you care to name."

Woudiver backed slowly away. "You are one of the Yao redemptionist cult, whatever it calls itself."

"No. I am telling the truth. Your best interest lies in helping me."

Woudiver nodded sagely. "Perhaps this is the case. But first things first. You can easily demonstrate your good faith. Where is my money?"

"Your money? It is not your money. It is my money."

"A sterile distinction. Where is, shall we say, our money?"

"You'll never see it unless you perform your obligations."

"This is utter obstinacy!" stormed Woudiver. "You are captured, you are done, and your henchmen as well. The Dirdirman must return to the Glass Cage. The steppe-boy will be sold into slavery-unless you care to buy his life with the money."

Reith sagged and became listless. Woudiver strutted back and forth across the room, darting glances at Reith. He came close and prodded Reith in the stomach with the whip. "Where is the money?"

"I don't trust you," said Reith in a dreary voice. "You never keep your promises." With a great effort, he lifted himself erect and tried to speak in a calm voice. "If you want the money, let me go free. The spaceship is almost finished. You may come along to Earth."

Woudiver's face was inscrutable. "And then?"

"A space-yacht, a palace-whatever you want. You shall have it.

"And how shall I return to Sivishe?" demanded Woudiver scornfully. "What of my affairs? It is plain that you are mad; why do you waste my time? Where is the money? The Dirdirman and the steppe-lad have declared with conviction that they do not know."

"I don't know either. I gave it to Deine Zarre and told him to hide it. You killed him."

Woudiver stifled a groan of dismay. "My money?"

"Tell me," said Reith, "do you intend that I finish the spaceship?"

"It has never been my intention!"

"You defrauded me?"

"Why not? You tried the same. The man that beats Aila Woudiver is cunning indeed."

"No question as to that."

Hisziu entered the room and, standing on tiptoe, whispered into Woudiver's ear.

Woudiver stamped with rage. "So soon? They are early! I have not even started."

He turned to Reith, his face seething like water in a boiling pot. "Quick then, the money, or I sell the lad. Quick!"

"Let us go! Help us finish the spaceship. Then you shall have your money!"

"You unreasonable ingrate!" hissed Woudiver. Footsteps sounded. "I am thwarted!" he groaned. "What a sad life is mine. Vermin!" Woudiver spat into Reith's face and beat him furiously with the whip.

Into the room, proudly conducted by Hisziu, came a tall Dirdirman, the most splendid and strange Reith had yet seen: by all odds an Immaculate. Woudiver muttered to Hisziu from the side of his mouth; Reith's bonds were cut. The Dirdirman attached a chain to Reith's neck, clasped the other end to his belt.

Without a word he walked away, shaking his fingers in fastidious disdain.

Reith stumbled after.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BEFORE WOUDIVER'S HOUSE stood a white-enameled car. The Immaculate snapped Reith's chain to a ring at the rear. Reith watched in dreary wonder. The Immaculate stood almost seven feet tall, with artificial effulgences attached to wens at either side of his peaked scalp. His skin gleamed white as the enamel of the car; his head was totally hairless; his nose was a ridged beak. For all his strange appearance and undoubtedly altered sexuality, he was a man, ruminated Reith, derived from the same soil as himself. From the house, at a quick stumble, as if shoved, came Anacho and Traz. Chains encircled their necks; behind, jerking the loose ends, ran Hisziu. Two Dirdirman Elites followed. They shackled the chains to the back of the car. The Immaculate spoke a few sibilant words to Anacho and indicated a shelf running across the rear of the car.

Without looking back, he stepped into the car, where the two Elites already sat.

Anacho muttered, "Climb aboard, otherwise we'll be dragged."

The three crawled up on the rear shelf, clutched the rings to which their neck chains were shackled. In such undignified fashion they departed Woudiver's residence. Woudiver's black saloon trundled fifty yards behind, with Woudiver's huge bulk crouched over the steering apparatus.

"He wants recognition," said Anacho. "He has assisted at an important hunt; he wants a share of the status."

"I made the mistake," said Reith in a thick voice, "of dealing with Woudiver as if he were a man. If I had treated him as an animal we might be better off."

"We could hardly be worse."

"Where are we going?"

"To the Glass Box; where else?"

"We are to have no hearing, no opportunity to speak for ourselves?"

"Naturally not," said Anacho curtly. "You are sub-men. I am a renegade."

The white car veered into a plaza and halted. The Dirdirmen alighted and stood stiffly apart, watching the sky. A plump, middle-aged man in a rich dark brown suit came forward: a person of status and evident vanity, with his hair elaborately curled and jeweled. He addressed the Dirdirmen in an easy manner; they replied after a moment's meaningful silence.

"That is Erlius, Administrator of Sivishe," grunted Anacho. "He wants to be in at the kill too. It seems that we are important game."

Attracted by the activity, the folk of Sivishe began to gather around the white car. They formed a wide respectful circle, eyeing the captives with macabre speculation, crouching back whenever the glance of a Dirdirman drifted in their direction.

Woudiver remained in his car, at a distance of fifty yards or so, apparently arranging his thoughts. At last he alighted and seemed to concern himself with the matter indited on a fold of paper. Erlius, noticing, quickly turned his back.

"Look at the two of them," growled Anacho. "Each hates the other: Woudiver ridicules Erlius for lacking Dirdirman blood; Erlius would like to see Woudiver in the Glass Box."

"So would I," said Reith. "Speaking of the Glass Box, why are we waiting?"

"For the leaders of the tsaugsh. You will see the Glass Box soon enough."

Reith fretfully wrenched at the chain. The Dirdirmen turned him glances of admonition. "Ridiculous," muttered Reith. "There must be something we can do.

What of the Dirdir traditions? What if I cried h'sai h'sai, h'sai, or whatever the call for arbitration?"

"The call is dr'ssa dr'ssa, dr'ssa!"

"What would happen if I called for arbitration?"

"You would be no better than before. The arbitrator would find you guilty and, as before: the Glass Box."