"We'd lose men, even with
needlers against bows, and there's a chance that some of our equipment
might be lost in the melee and fall into outtime hands. You say this
sacrifice comes off tomorrow at sunset?"
"That would be about actual sunset plus or minus an hour; these people
aren't astronomers, they don't even have good sundials, and it might
be a cloudy day," Stranor Sleth said. "There will be a big idol of
Muz-Azin on a cart, set about here." He pointed. "After the sacrifice,
it is to be dragged down this road, outside, to the temple of Yat-Zar,
and set up there. The temple is now occupied by about twenty Chuldun
mercenaries and five or six priests of Muz-Azin. They haven't, of
course, got into the House of Yat-Zar; the door's of impervium steel,
about six inches thick, with a plating of collapsed nickel under the
gilding. It would take a couple of hours to cut through it with our
best atomic torch; there isn't a tool on this time-line that could
even scratch it. And the insides of the walls are lined with the same
thing."
"Do you think our people have been tortured, yet?" Verkan Vall asked.
"No." Stranor Sleth was positive. "They'll be fairly well treated,
until the sacrifice. The idea's to make them last as long as possible
on the triangles; Muz-Azin likes to see a slow killing, and so does
the mob of spectators."
"That's good. Now, here's my plan.
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