Eyes sparkling, Vydys leaned forward. "Let in the roller!"
An iron gate lifted. A faceted four-foot sphere bowled slowly out of the shadowed passage into the walled ring.
The roller.
A strange creature, in any evolutional pattern. Its surface was completely covered with leathery, inch-wide octagonal pads, each centered with a third-inch cup that served as combined mouth and mode of movement. For through these cups it both took nourishment and pulled itself in whatever direction it sought to go by applying differential suction to the surface on which it rested.
Now, in the center of the ring, it hesitated; paused there, teetering, like some great ball come to rest.
The Baemae girl caught her breath, the sound rasping over-loud in the sudden hush that had fallen upon the crowd. Eyes wild and wide, she shrank, back against the wall, hands splayed out flat against the polished duroid surface.
Still smiling, Vydys spoke to her victim—gentle, coaxing: "This is a game wench—a game betwixt you and me. Do not fear the roller. In itself it is harmless, a mere ball of flesh with so little brain that it barely knows enough to feed. But through this helm"—she touched her headdress—"my thoughts can project waves that stimulate its nervous system, so that it moves wherever I may will it. You understand?"
The girl below gave no sign that she had even heard.
Vydys pressed on: "So, now, I'll spin the roller at you, while you try to dodge it. That is the game. To win, you have only to leap atop the thing and scale the ring-wall."
Among the barons, someone laughed aloud, harsh and explosive.