CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SHIP CAME TO REST upon a flat, ochre colored plain beside a brilliant white city encased in thick, heavy walls. There was a dull pain in his head and fire in his leg, but he was alive. He lay limply upon the bed while Firstspacer Narvi plied him with honeywine to dull the pain.
He grinned, studying the blond giant’s warm, friendly face. He was among friends; the tall, yellow eyed Thistians had failed to kill him and Narvi had whisked him away into the violet sky.
“Thought we’d lost you, Lors,” Narvi grinned. “You almost did,” he replied, choking on the Thista honeywine. “Haven’t you anything else, something from Darkkan?”
“Sorry, friend,” Narvi grinned, “but you can be glad to get this. The 36th Command has been drinking up even this stuff. I’ll see you later, in the
