With a satisfied nod, the Lizerene tossed the utensil back into the kettle, thenextended his hands, palms down, until they were each a few inches above Jubal'sknees. "Brace yourself, swordsman," he ordered. "You're about to begin learningabout pain."
Something moved under the skin of the slaver's right knee, sending a quick stabof agony along his leg. Another piece moved, grating against the first. Then themovement began in his left knee. Despite his resolve an animal howl of painescaped Jubal's lips, a wordless note that rose and sank as the pieces of hisshattered kneecaps shifted and realigned themselves. The world had faded fromknowledge when Vertan's voice came to him through the red mists.
"Now move your legs. Move them? You must flex your knees."
With a giant effort Jubal bent his right knee, sliding his foot along the dirtfloor. The pain was beyond sound now, though his mouth strained with silentscreams.
"More. You must bend it completely. More, swordsman! Do you want to be acripple? More? The other knee-more! Move it!"
Spittle ran down from the corner of the slaver's mouth; he soiled himself fromthe agony but he kept moving, bending first one knee then the other. Right kneestraighten. Left knee- straighten. Right knee...
He was disoriented in time and space. His entire world had been reduced to theeffort of repeating the simple exercise.
"Where's that will you bragged about," the torturer taunted. "More! Bend thoseknees completely. Move!"
* * *
He was growing used to the taste of Vertan's vile potion. It still disgustedhim, but the repeated doses had made the nausea familiar and thereforeacceptable.
"Today you stand," the wizard announced without fanfare. '
Jubal hesitated, a piece of roast goat-meat halfway to his lips. As promised he