I can respect the perseverance, if not the intention. So many men would be unable to stick to a rigorous program of inaction.” Princess Rebecca fixed her cold, clear eyes on Kevin and studied him for what seemed like a long time. The rest of the table watched them both. Kevin calmly finished his soup. “Prince Kevin, you intrigue me.” Suddenly, the Princess stood up. The rest of the room began to rise also. She motioned for them to remain seated. “Honored guests, please enjoy your dinners. Prince Kevin, we will continue our discussion in my salon at eight o’clock. Do be prompt.” And with that she swept out.

There was a strained hush at the table for a long moment, the kind of feeling you get when you are expecting a violent thunderstorm, but the clouds pass over without letting go. It lasted until the waiters came to set out new plates. Harkness was the first to break the silence. “If I were married to that girl,” he said to Raymond, “I would give her a sound spanking.”

“Would that do any good?”

“It would do me a world of good.”

” ‘Prince Kevin, you intrigue me,’ ” repeated Bigelow. He clapped Kevin on the shoulder. “Congratulations, old boy. You threw away the opening pawn, and she responded to your gambit. Good luck to you.”

“I’m sure we’ll have a pleasant conversation,” said Kevin noncommittally.

Logan said nothing. He just stared at Kevin with dagger eyes.

*

Thunk the Barbarian propped himself up against a tree, breathing in short gasps, for the pain in his chest was too great to allow deep breaths. On the brighter side, the pain in his ribs was less than the pain in his legs. Which was less than the pain in his head. “Heroism,” he told himself, “consists of hanging on one minute longer.” His father had taught him that, and he was sure his father had been quoting someone else, perhaps his own father. He never learned the source of the quote, but he did learn the lesson. Being a barbarian hero meant more than fighting and drinking and rescuing underdressed babes and wearing a necklace of wolves’ teeth. It meant… it meant… well, it meant hanging on when you couldn’t hang on any longer. It meant fighting when your arms were too weak to lift a sword. It meant ignoring cold and heat. It meant going without food or sleep or booze if that’s what it took to get the job done. It meant satisfying an underdressed babe even when you were too tired—not that he’d ever had that problem—besides, he’d been drunk.

And it meant taking another step when you couldn’t move a muscle. And when you couldn’t take another step, you crawled.

He took another step.

And then another. He’d been taking another step for days now.