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t the big secret I can see in the back of your eyes？ A Blue Temple enlistment should run for four or five years； shouldn't it？〃
Ben's eye had caught sight of his old lute。 It was hanging in a prominent place； tied high up on the tent's central pole。 Seeing the instrument so honored gave him a good feeling； and seeing it also brought back memories。 Ben reached up and took it down。
〃I've kept it as a decoration； like。〃
He strummed the instrument； but only briefly and softly。 He could see at once that the strings were in bad shape。 It seemed too that his hands were well on the way to losing entirely whatever poor skill they'd once possessed。 For years； for most of his life； Ben had nursed deep； fervent dreams of being a musician。 His broad mouth twisted now； under his new beard； remembering that。
Now that he had some form of music in his hands； the tune that had been haunting him ever since that night of treasure and terror and flight came back irresistibly。 In his mind the music ran sweet and clear … all tunes ran that way for him； in his mind。 It was only when he tried to get them to e out properly through his fingers or his voice that his difficulties started。
He sang the old tune now； very softly and almost to himself； in a voice that sounded as inadequate as he had feared it would：
Benambra's gold Doth glitter coldly。。。
〃Gods and demons； what a noise！〃 judged the harsh bass voice of someone standing just outside the tent。 A moment later the entrance flap was whipped aside； this time by no gentle hand。 The man who had to bow his head to enter seemed to fill up what little space Ben's presence had left in the small interior。
The newer could be no one but Tanakir the Mighty； though perhaps he did not quite do justice to his portrait on the wagon's side。 Well； thought Ben； no human figure could do that。 Tanakir was almost a head taller than Ben； and his upper body proportionately broad。 His shirt； a garment undoubtedly once expensive though now badly faded； was worn halfway open to reveal the carven plates of muscle on his chest。 His biceps were more than simply large； and as he came into the tent his movements were ponderous； as if slowed down by equal weights of muscle and of vanity。 At second glance he was a considerably older man than Ben。 There were a few gray hairs showing in his long dark braids。
Once inside； Tanakir paused； fists on hips in a pose that might well be some part of his act。 He glared at the two other people in the tent as if he were demanding an explanation from them。
〃We have a strongman now；〃 said Barbara in conversational tones to Ben。 〃You never wanted that job while you were here。〃
Tanakir from his greater height glowered down at Ben； who stood with lute in hand； blinking back at him。 〃So； this is Ben；〃 the strongman rumbled。 〃He didn't want the job？ Him？ This chubby minstrel？〃
Ben turned a little away； to hang up the lute again carefully； high up on the central pole； out of head…knocking range。 It was one of the few times in his life that anyone had ever called him a minstrel； and he felt unreasonably pleased。
Tanakir told him： 〃You're leaving very soon。〃
Ben blinked at him again； then backed up carefully and sat down on a small chest； which creaked a little with the burden。 He sat in a position that left his hands and feet ready if they should be needed。 〃I haven't decided about that yet。〃
〃I'm deciding for you。〃
〃All right；〃 said Ben mildly。 He allowed the other just a beat in which to begin triumphant relaxation； before he added； 〃One of us leaves tonight； if you feel that way。 Well； maybe in the morning。 No one wants to start out on the road at night。〃
Ben paused briefly； then suggested： 〃Arm…wrestle for it？〃 It was impossible not to notice how the other's god…like arms had been circled with bands and bracelets to make them look still thicker； and what pains had been taken with short； tattered sleeves； that they might be best revealed。 Ben's own arms； if they had not been hidden in his long pilgrim's sleeves； would by parison have looked almost as chubby as they did strong。
Tanakir； after having been kept mentally off…balance for a few moments； now looked pleased。 All strongmen； thought Ben； are certainly not bright。 And this particular one must be a chronic pain to have around。
〃Arm…wrestle；〃 Tanakir repeated； nodding。 〃All right； we'll do that。 Yeah。〃
Barbara； who knew them both； must also have been pleased by Ben's suggestion； for she made no objection to it。 When Ben saw this his heart dared to rise again。 He smiled at Barbara as she moved quickly to clear the little table for their contest； and he got the briefest of smiles from her in return。
Before the contest could get started there was an outburst of whispering from outside the tent。 First； it sounded like some conspiratorial meeting getting too loud； and then； suddenly； like they were greeting someone in surprise。
Then imperturbable old Viktor； who by consent and diplomacy ran the carnival； put his head into the tent。 There was an unmon smile on his face。 Ben understood the smile when； a moment later； the head of a much taller and younger man appeared above Viktor's； grinning。
Still it took Ben a moment to make the recognition。 He jumped to his feet then； and cried out： 〃Mark！〃 It had been two years。 Ben would have moved forward； but Barbara was in his way。 She had already darted to the doorway to give the tall young man a great hug and kiss。
Tanakir was upset all over again。 〃What is this？〃 he roared at them。 〃e on； arm…wrestle； or just get out。〃
Barbara turned to him。 〃Don't be so eager； you've never managed to out…wrestle me。〃 She turned back to Mark。 〃Look at you； you're taller than Ben。〃
〃I was that when I left。 Or very nearly。〃
〃And just as strong。〃
Mark had to grin at that。
〃e on！〃 This was Tanakir again。 〃Whoever that clown is； he can wait his turn。〃
So the rest of the reunion had to be postponed。 Old Viktor； as usual； kept things moving with a few diplomatic words and gestures。 Mark remained in the background； smiling。 Viktor； having greeted Ben； nodded sagely when he saw what was developing in Barbara's tent。 Then he sent one of his wives on an errand； while he himself stood by； authoritatively twirling his gray mustache。
The wife was back promptly； bringing two stubs of candles into the darkening tent； along with a burning twig to light them。 Ben noticed with irrational relief that the candles were not blue beneath their golden tongues of flame。 They were set burning on the small table to the right and left of the two contestants。
Barbara gave up her single folding chair to Tanakir。 It creaked impressively when he sat down。 Ben hitched the little chest around and sat on it； so that he faced his opponent across the table。 He noted that Barbara and Mark together were now finishing off his sausage。 Fortunately he； Ben； had not arrived weak with hunger。 Mark looked good … but there was something that had to be taken care of first； before he could enjoy the pany of friends。
The two big men sat facing eac