But not for you." There was something like
amusement in the old man's voice. "I never said you were a mandrake-man.
That was told you by Ser Perth who knew no better. No, Dave Hanson, you
were too important to us for that. Mandrake-men are always less than
true men, and we needed your best. You were conjured atom by atom, id
and ka and soul, from your world. Even the soul may be brought over
when enough masters of magic work together and you were our greatest
conjuration. Even then, we almost failed. But you're no mandrake-man."
A load of sickness seemed to leave Hanson's mind. He had never fully
realized how much the shame of what he thought himself to be had weighed
on him. Then his mind adjusted to the new facts, dismissing his past
worries.
"I promised you that we would fill your entire lifetime with pleasures,"
Sather Karf went on. "And you were assured of jewels to buy an empire.
All this the council is prepared to give you. Are you ready for your
reward?"
"No!" Bork's cry broke out before Hanson could answer. The big man was
writhing before he could finish the word, but his own fingers were
working in conjurations that seemed to hold back enough of the spells
against him to let him speak. "Dave Hanson, your world was a world of
rigid laws. You died there. And there would be no magic to avoid the
fact that there you must always be dead.
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