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"When I saw you last you were a slave of Ch'aka, and tonight you were brought in with the other slaves of Ch'aka and chained to the bar while you were unconscious. There was an empty place next to mine and I told them I would tend you if they placed you there, and they did. Now there is something I must know. Before they stripped you I saw that you were wearing the armor and helmet of Ch'aka.
Now sit friend Ch'aka and drink with me." He carefully opened the basket and removed a stone crock and two crockery mugs. "Where you get poison drink?" Jason asked, remembering his local manners. This D'zertano was a smart one and had been able to tell instantly from Jason's voice that there had been a change in slaves. "And what your name?"
A large, furred amphibian lay at the water's edge, the fletched end of the crossbow bolt projecting from its thick neck and a thin stream of blood running down to mix with the surging waves. "Meat! Meat today!" "Ch'aka kills the rosmaro! Ch'aka is wonderful!" "Hail, Ch'aka, great provider," Jason shouted to get into the swing of things. "When do we eat?"
He shook his hammer angrily. "Not as good as me, Ch'aka!" "You're the tops, Fasimba, nine slaves out of ten want you for a master. Look, can't we get to the point, then I'll get my mob out of here." He looked at the row of approaching slaves, trying to pick out Mikah. "I want back the slave who had the hole in his head. I'll give you two slaves in trade, your choice. What do you say to that?"
Later in the day another column of marching slaves was sighted in the distance, on a course paralleling their own, and Jason expected a repeat performance of the previous day's meeting. He was agreeably surprised that it was not. The sight of the others threw Ch'aka into an immediate rage that sent his slaves rushing for safety in all directions.
This eye protection, the things could only have been for weak eyes, and the network of wrinkles indicated the man was quite old and would present no danger to Jason. "I want something," Jason said, in straightforward, Ch'akaish manner. "A new voice and a new Ch'aka I bid you welcome. The old one was a dog and I hope he died in great pain when you killed him.
But M'shika was expecting this and fell back, swinging a counter-blow with his own club that Ch'aka easily avoided. There followed a quick exchange of club-work that did little more than fan the air, until suddenly both men were locked together and the fight began in earnest. They rolled together on the ground grunting savagely, tearing at each other.
"Good trade, Ch'aka. You pick one of mine, take the best, I'll take two of yours. But hole-in-head gone. Too much trouble. Talk all the time. I got sore foot from kicking him. Got rid of him." "Did you kill him?" "Don't waste slave. Traded him to the D'zertanoj. Got arrows. You want arrows?" "Not this time, Fasimba, but thanks for the information."
Whoever found would eat and not share unless a master made him. I like to eat." Jason rasped his sprouting beard. "We all like to eat, but that doesn't mean we have to be slaves. But I can see that unless there are some radical changes in this environment I am not going to have much luck in freeing anyone, and I had better take all the precautions of a Ch'aka to see that I can stay alive."
"Looks like company coming. I wonder where they fit into the program?" Pain had blurred Mikah's attention and he took no notice and, surprisingly enough, neither did any of the other slaves nor Ch'aka. The dots expanded and became another row of marchers, apparently absorbed in the same task as Jason's group.
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