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I am not your Ubar, I said. I am your master.
Please, Master, she begged, let Telima stay.
Very well, I said.
The tables grew quiet. The man had been blinded, it was said, by Sullius
Maximus, who believed taht blinding improved the quality of a singer s songs.
Sullius Maximus, who himself dabbled in poetry, and poisons, was a man of high
culture, and his opinions in such matters were greatly respected. At any rate,
whatever be the truth in these matters, the singer, in his darkness, was now
alone with his songs.
He had only them.
I looked upon him.
He wore the robes of his caste, the singers, and it was not known what city
was his own. Many of the singers wander from place to place, selling their
songs for bread and love. I had known, long ago, a singer, whose name was
Andreas of Tor.
We could hear the torches crackle now, and the singer touched him lyre.
I sing the siege of Ar of gleaming Ar.
I sing the spears and wall of Ar of Glorious Ar.
In the long years past of the siege of the city the siege of Ar of her spires
and towers of undaunted Ar
Glorious Ar
I sing.
I did not care to hear his song. I looked down into the paga goblet. The
singer continued.
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I sing of dark-haired Talena of the rage of Marlenus
Ubar of Ar
Glorious Ar.
I did not wish to hear this song. It infuriated me to see that the others in
that room sat rapt, bestowing on the singer such attention for such trifles,
the meaningless noises of a blind man s mouth.
And of he I sing whose hair was like a larl from the sun of he who came once
to the walls of Ar
Glorious Ar he called Tarl of Bristol.
I glanced to Telima, who stood beside my great chair. Her eyes were moist,
drinking in the song. She was only a rence girl, I reminded myself.
Doubtless never before had she heard a singer. I thought of sending her to the
kitchens, but did not do so. I
felt her hand on my shoulder. I did not indicate that i was aware of it.
And, as the torches burned lower in the wall racks, the singer continued to
sing, and sang of graey Pa-Kyr, Master of the Aassassins, leader of the hordes
that fell on Ar after the theft of her Home Stone; and he sang, too, of
banners and black helmets, of upraised standards, of the sun flashing on the
lifted blades of spears, of high siege towers and deeds, of catapults of
Ka-la-na and temwood, of the thunder of war tharlarion and the beating of
drums and the roars of trumpets, the clash of arms and the cries of men; and
he sang, too, of the love of men for their city, and, foolishly, knowing so
little of men, he sang, too, the bravery of men, and their loyalties and their
courage; and he sang then, too, of duels; of duels fought even on the walls of
Ar herself, even at the great gate;
and of tarnsmen locked in duels to the death over the spires of Ar; and of yet
another duel, one fought on the height of Ar s cylinder of justice, between
Pa-
Kur, and he, in the song, called Tarl of Bristol.
Why does my Ubar weep? asked Telima.
Be silent, Slave, said I. Angrily I brushed her hand from my shoulder.
She drew back her hand swiftly, as though she had not known it had lain there.
The singer had now finished his song.
Singer, called I to him, is there truly a man such as Tarl of Bristol?
The singer turned his head to me, puzzled. I do not know, he said.
Perhaps it is only a song.
I laughed.
I extended the paga goblet to Telima and, again, she filled it.
I rose to my feet, lifting the goblet, and my retainers, as well, rose to
their feet, lifting their goblets.
There is gold and steel! I said.
Gold and steel! cried my retainers.
We drank.
And song, said the blind singer.
The room was quiet.
I looked upon the singer. Yes, I said, lifting my goblet to him, and
songs.
There was a cry of pleasure from my retainers, and again we drank.
When again I sat down I said to the serving slaves, Feast the singer well,
and then I turned to Luma, slave and accountant of my house, braceleted and
chained at the end of the long table, and said to her, Tomorrow, the singer,
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