always

laughed. "Truly,

different—long ago. He, too, would not tell me his name, but would only answer to 'slave.' "
The impulse was overwhelming. The special dagger he did not have on him, of course. It was stowed away in his baggage. But Belisarius always carried a dagger on his sword belt. He drew the weapon. It was not as excellent a dagger as the other, but it was still quite finely made.
A quick, practiced flip of the wrist nestled the blade in his palm. He proffered the dagger to the slave, hilt-first.
"Take it," he commanded.
The slave's eyes widened.
"Take it," he repeated. His own lips twisted crookedly.
"Just so," he murmured, in a voice so low that only the slave could hear, "should men dance in the eyes of God."
The slave reached out his hand, drew it back. s