"Then there is no difficulty. You must treat your singing girl well every day that she is in your company, you understand. Share your food and so on. You may beat her, but not beyond reason and not so as to endanger her life. She is entitled to leave you if your provisions for her are worse than those you provide for yourself."

Muslak nodded.

"When you return her, you will owe no more, since you must pay the full fee in advance. It is customary, however, to make some gift to her if you have been pleased."

"I will," Muslak said. "Something nice. I should have quite a bit of money when I've done what your satrap wants."

"He is not our satrap, Crimson Man." The priest frowned.

Muslak shrugged. "He's not ours either, the way you mean. But we've got to do what he says. So do you."

"You wish to hear the singing girls?"

Muslak nodded.

"First I must see the color of your gold."

Muslak shook a few coins from his burse into his hand and displayed them.

"One of those," the priest said, and pointed.

"A daric? That's too much!"

"You are accustomed to bargaining," the priest told him, "and will bargain much better than I. I will not bargain at all. One of those, and I must hold it first and pass on it."

"You yourself told us there are six other Hathors on the river." Muslak sounded indignant.

The priest smiled. "Go to any. You have my leave."

Muslak turned on his heel and walked away. I followed him very reluctantly, recalling what the goddess had said. When we had nearly reached the entrance to the forecourt, he stopped and turned back. "One daric? That's the price?"

The priest had not moved. "Unless you wish to give her something when you bring her back. That is voluntary."

"All right," Muslak said, "let's see them."

The priest held out his hand.

"After I've had a look at them."