"It is that they think I am from Jahar," I told him.
"What made them think that? Do you wear the metal of Jahar?"
"No, I wear the metal of Helium, but I chanced to come to Tjanath in a Jaharian flier."
He whistled. "That would be hard to explain," he said.
"I found it so," I admitted. "They would not believe a word of my story, nor of that of my companion."
"You had a companion, then?" he asked. "Where is he?"
"It was a woman. She was born in Tjanath, but for long years had been a slave in Jahar. Perhaps later they will believe her story, but for the present we are in prison. I heard them order her to the East Tower, while they sent me here to the prison."
"And here you will stay until you rot, unless you are lucky enough to be called for the games, or unlucky enough to be sentenced to The Death."
"What is The Death?" I asked, my curiosity piqued by his emphasis of the words.
"I do not know," he replied. "The warriors who come here often speak of it as though it was something quite horrible. Perhaps they do it to frighten me, but if that is true, then they have had very little satisfaction, for, whether or not I have been frightened, I have not let them see it."