They were permitted the run of the Jut, but forbidden to leave
it. Not that they necessarily could have left in any event. The
winches that raised and lowered the baskets from the heights
into the Parma Key were always heavily guarded and no one
was allowed near them without reason. Without the lifts to carry
them down, there was no way off the bluff from its front. The
cliffs were sheer and had been carefully stripped of handholds,
and what small ledges and clefts had once existed in the rock
had been meticulously chipped away or filled. The cliffs behind
were sheer as well for some distance up and warded by the
pocket battlements that dotted the high rock.
That left the caves. Par and his friends ventured into the cen-
tral cavern on the first day, curious to discover what was housed
there. They found that the mammoth, cathedral-like central
chamber opened off into dozens of smaller chambers where the
outlaws stored supplies and weapons of all sorts, made theif,
living quarters when the weather outside grew forbidding, and
established training and meeting rooms. There were tunnels
leading back into the mountain, but they were cordoned off and
watched. When Par asked Hirehone, who had stayed on a few
extra days, where the tunnels led, the master of Kiltan Forge
smiled sardonically and told him that, like the trails in the Parma
Key, the tunnels of the Jut led into oblivion.
The two days passed quickly despite the frustration of being
put off on the subject of the Sword. All five visitors spent their
time exploring the outlaw fortress. As long as they stayed away
from the lifts and the tunnels they were permitted to go just
about anywhere they wished. Not once did Padishar Creel ques-
tion Par about his companions. He seemed unconcerned about
who they were and whether they could be trusted, almost as if
it didn’t matter. Perhaps it didn’t. Par decided after thinking it
over. After all, the outlaw lair seemed impregnable.
Par, Coil, and Morgan stayed together most of the time. Steff
went with them on occasion, but Teel kept away completely, as
aloof and uncommunicative as ever. The Valemen and the High-
lander became a familiar sight to the outlaws as they wandered
the bluff, the fortifications, and the caverns, studying what man
and nature had combined to form, talking with the men who
lived and worked there when they could do so without bothering
them, fascinated by everything they encountered.
But there was nothing and no one more fascinating than Pad-
ishar Creel. The outlaw chief was a paradox. Dressed in flaming
scarlet, he was immediately recognizable from anywhere on the
bluff. He talked constantly, telling stories, shouting orders,
commenting on whatever came to mind. He was unremittingly
cheerful, as if smiling was the only expression he had ever both-
ered to put on. Yet beneath that bright and ingratiating exterior
was a core as hard as granite. When he ordered that something
be done, it was done. No one ever questioned him. His face
could be wreathed in a smile as warm as the summer sun while
his voice could take on a frosty edge that chilled to the bone.
He ran the outlaw camp with organization and discipline.
This was no ragtag band of misfits at work here. Everything was
precise and thorough. The camp was neat and clean and kept
that way scrupulously. Stores were separated and cataloged and
anything could be found at-a moment’s notice. There were tasks
assigned to everyone, and everyone made certain those tasks
were carried out. There were a little more than three hundred
men living on the Jut, and not one of them seemed to have the
slightest doubt about what he was doing or whom he would
answer to, if he were to let down.
On the second day of their stay, two of the outlaws were
brought before Padishar Creel on a charge of stealing. The out-
law chief listened to the evidence against them, his face mild,
then offered to let them speak in their own defense. One admit-
ted his guilt outright, the other denied it-rather unconvincingly.
Padishar Creel had the first flogged and sent back to work and