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the window and his brooding profile was cut black against the oval panes . . . Turjan once more? Under, the most dire inquiry Turjan had kept his secret close. Mazirian's thin mouth curved wryly. Perhaps if he inserted another angle in the passage ...
    The sun had gone from the sky and there was dimness in Mazirian's garden. His white night-blossoms opened and their captive gray moths fluttered from bloom to bloom. Mazirian pulled open the trap in the floor and descended stone stairs. Down, down, down ... At last a passage intercepted at right angles, lit with the yellow light of eternal lamps. To the left were his fungus beds, to the right a stout oak and iron door, locked with three locks. Down and ahead the stone steps continued, dropping into blackness.
    Mazirian unlocked the three locks, flung wide the door. The room within was bare except for a stone pedestal supporting a glass-topped box. The box measured a yard on a side and was four or five inches high.
    Within the box— actually a squared passageway, a run with four right angles—moved two small creatures, one seeking, the other evading. The predator was a small dragon with furious red eyes and a monstrous fanged mouth. It waddled along the passage on six splayed legs, twitching its tail as it went. The other stood only half the size of the dragon—a strong-featured man, stark naked, with a copper fillet binding his long black hair. He moved slightly faster than his pursuer, which still kept relentless chase, using a measure of craft, speeding, doubling back, lurking at the angle in case the man should unwarily step around. By holding himself continually alert, the man was able to stay beyond the reach of the fangs. The man was Turjan, whom Mazirian by trickery had captured several weeks before, reduced in size and thus imprisoned.
    Mazirian watched with pleasure as the reptile sprang upon the momentarily relaxing man, who jerked himself clear by the thickness of his skin. It was time, Mazirian thought, to give both rest and nourishment. He dropped panels across the passage, separating it into halves, isolating man from beast. To both he gave meat and pannikins of water.
    Turjan slumped in the passage.
    "Ah," said Mazirian, "you are fatigued. You desire rest?"
    Turjan remained silent, his eyes closed. Time and the world had lost meaning for him. The only realities were the gray passage and the interminable flight. At unknown intervals came food and a few hours rest.
    "Think of the blue sky," said Mazirian, "the white stars, your castle Miir by the river Derna; think of wandering free in the meadows."
    The muscles at Turjan's mouth twitched.
    "Consider, you might crush the little dragon under your heel."
    Turjan looked up. "I would prefer to crush your neck, Mazirian."
    Mazirian was unperturbed. 'Tell me, how do you invest your vat creatures with intelligence? Speak, and you go free."
    Turjan laughed, and there was madness in his laughter.
    "Tell you? And then? You would kill me with hot oil in a moment."
    Mazirian's thin mouth drooped petulantly.
    "Wretched man, I know how to make you speak. If your mouth were stuffed, waxed and sealed, you would speak! Tomorrow I take a nerve from your arm and draw coarse cloth along its length."
    The small Turjan, sitting with his legs across the passageway, drank his water and said nothing.
    'Tonight," said Mazirian with studied malevolence, "I add an angle and change your run to a pentagon."
    Turjan paused and looked up through the glass cover at his enemy.

    Then he slowly sipped his water. With five angles there would be less time to evade the charge of the monster, less of the hall in view from one angle.
    "Tomorrow," said Mazirian, "you will need all your agility." But another matter occurred to him. He eyed Turjan speculatively. "Yet even this I spare you if you assist me with another problem."
    "What is your difficulty, febrile Magician?"
    'The image of a woman-creature haunts my brain, and I would capture her."