"I am not one to discuss my business in public," said the Lucky Little Survivor. "In any case, the incident occurred last year."

The tribesmen entered the room. After glaring through the dimness they strode to tables and rapped on the planks for drink. They were nine in number, burly, moon-faced men with fringe beards, wearing limp leather trousers, black boots studded with flint cabochons, blouses of faded green Jute, headgear of dry seed pods sewed into the shape of a pointed casque; these rattled with each motion of the head. Etzwane thought them the most ruffianly band of his experience, and leaned back from the unpleasant odors that had accompanied them into the room.

The oldest of the Kash gave his head-rattles a shake, and called out in a roaring voice, ''Where is the man who buys slaves at high prices?"

Fabrache responded in a subdued voice, Tie is not present."

Baba the innkeeper asked cautiously, "You have slaves to sell?"

"We do indeed, consisting of those persons now present, save only the innkeeper. Please consider yourselves our captives."

Fabrache uttered a cry of indignation. This is not customary procedure! A man is entitled to drink beer at Shagfe in security! "

"Additionally," Baba declared, "I will tolerate no such conduct. What would happen to my custom? You must retract your threat."

The old Kash grinned and rattled his seed pods. "Very well; in view of the general protest we will put our best interests to the side. Still, we must have a word with Hozman Sore-throat. He has treated the Kash clan with severity; where does he sell so many of our folk?"

"Others have put similar questions, but received no answer," said Baba. "Hozman Sore-throat is not now in Shagfe, and I know nothing of his plans."

The old Blue-worm made a gesture of resignation. "In that case we will drink your cellar brew and make a meal of your cooked food, the odor of which I detect."

"All very well, and how will you pay?"

"We carry with us sacks of safad oil, to settle our score."

Baba said, "Bring in the oil, while I work the scum off a new cask of cellar brew."

The evening passed without bloodshed. Ifness and Etzwane sat to the side watching the burly figures lurch back and forth across the firelight. Etzwane tried to define the way in which these roaring celebrants differed from the general population of Shant: intensity, gusto, a focus of every faculty upon the immediate instant-such qualities characterized the folk of Caraz. Trivial acts induced exaggerated reactions. Laughter racked the ribs; rage came fierce and sudden; woe was so intense as to be intolerable. Upon every aspect of existence the clansmen fixed a keen and minute perception, allowing nothing to go unnoticed. Such raptures and transports of emotion left little time for meditation, Etzwane mused. How could a Blue-worm Hulka become a musician when he suffered a congenital lack of patience? Wild dancing around the camp-fire, melees, and murders-this was more the barbarian style… Etzwane and Ifness presently departed the company. They unrolled their blankets under the overhang of the courtyard and lay down to rest. For a period Etzwane lay listening to the muffled revels from the common room. He wanted to ask Ifness his theories regarding the battle between spaceships which had occurred behind Thrie Orgai, but had no stomach for a caustic or ambiguous reply… If the asutra and their hosts had manned the copper disks, what race had built black space-globes? For that matter, what race of men with magic weapons had destroyed the Roguskhoi? Why had men, Roguskhoi, copper and black spaceships all come to Caraz to do battle?… Etzwane put a cautious question to Ifness, "Do any of the Earth worlds build space-vessels in the shape of black globes?"

The question was succinct and precise; Ifness could find no fault with it. He answered in an even voice, "To my knowledge, no. " And he added, "I am as puzzled as yourself. It would appear that the asutra have enemies somewhere among the stars. Perhaps human enemies."

"This possibility alone justifies your defiance of Dasconetta," declared Etzwane.

"So it might seem."

The Kash Blue-worms chose to sleep in the open beside their pacers; Etzwane and Ifness passed a tranquil night.

In the cool mauve morning Baba brought them mugs of hot cellar brew with floating dollops of the sour local cheese. "If you fare toward Thrie Orgai, depart early. You will cross the Wild Waste by midafternoon, and can spend the night in a tree along the Vurush."

"Good advice," said Ifness. "Prepare us a breakfast of fried meat and bread, and send a boy to arouse Fabrache. Additionally, we will drink herbal tea with our meal, rather than this excellent but over nutritious brew."

"Fabrache is on hand," said the innkeeper. "He wants to leave while the Blue-worms are still torpid. Your breakfast is already prepared. It consists of porridge and locust paste, like everyone else's. As for the tea, I can boil up a broth of pepperweed, if this suits your taste."

Ifness gave a resigned acquiescence. "Bring our pacers around to the front; we depart as soon as possible."

The Kash Blue-worms. were stirring when Ifness, Etzwane, and Fabrache rode forth. One man growled a malediction; another half rose to look after them; but they were in no mood for exertion.

From Shagfe the three rode west across the Wild Waste, an alkali flat stretching out to the limits of vision. The surface was a hard bone-white crust, powdered with a soft, acrid dust. Across the waste marched a dozen wind-devils, back and forth like dancers of a pavane, out to the horizon and back again, some tall and stately against the brilliant sky, others low to the ground, scurrying without dignity, presently collapsing into purposeless puffs and wisps. For a period Fabrache kept a watch to the rear, but when the huddle of huts disappeared into the dusty lavender distance and no bounding black shapes came in pursuit, he showed a somewhat more confident disposition. Looking sidewise toward Ifness, he spoke in a cautious voice, "Last night we struck no formal contract, but I assume that we travel in confederacy and that neither party will attempt subjugation of the other."

Ifness endorsed this point of view. "We have no particular interest in slavery," said Ifness. "We sold a pair of prime Somkhs on our way into Shagfe, but to speak frankly, the life of a slaver is too precarious and unrewarding, at least in the Mirkil district."

The region is over exploited," said Fabrache. "Since Hozman Sore-throat became active the population has diminished by a half. At Shagfe Inn we would see many strange faces, many different costumes and styles. Each Hulka clan maintained from three to seven fetish groups; then there would be Sorukhs from Shillinsk district, Shovel-heads and Alulas from Lake Nior, folk from over the Kuzi Kaza. A small slaver such as myself could earn a modest livelihood and keep a girl or two for his own use. Hozman Sore-throat has put an end to all this. Now we must scour the countryside for sheer sustenance."

"Where does Hozman Sore-throat market his merchandise?"

"Hozman keeps good secrets," said Fabrache with a spiteful sniff. "Someday he will go too far. The world is going sour; it was not thus when I was a boy. Think of it! Spaceships in battle; Red Devils looting and killing; Hozman Sore-throat and his illusory boon of inflationary prices. Then when he destroys us and depopulates Mirkil district, he will move on and work the same outrage elsewhere."

"I look forward to meeting Hozman," said Ifness. "He must have interesting tales to tell."

"To the contrary; he is as terse as a costive chumpa."

"We shall see, we shall see."

As the day progressed, the air quieted and the wind-devils disappeared; the three crossed the flat with no discomfort other than the baking heat/ By midafternoon the first slopes of the Orgai bulked ahead and the Wild Waste lay behind. As the three suns dropped behind the mountains, they rode over a hill and saw before them the broad Vurush, flowing from behind the Thrie Orgai and north into the haze. A grove of gnarled yews grew down to the water's edge, and here Fabrache chose to camp for the night, though chumpa traces were evident along the shore.