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Well?" "Visiphone call, top urgency, just came in for Chief's Assistant Verkan, from Novilan Equivalent. Where can I put it through, sir?" "Here; booth seven." Ranthar Jard pointed across the room, nodding to Vall. "In just a moment." Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv temporary local aliases, Ganadara and Atarazola sat relaxed in their saddles, swaying to the motion of their horses.
Gathon Dard was examining one of the knives a folding knife with a broad single-edged blade, locked open with a spring; the handle was of tortoise shell, bolstered with brass. "In all my travels," he said, "I never saw a knife of this workmanship before. Tell me, Coru-hin-Irigod, do you know from what country these outland slaves of Nebu-hin-Abenoz's come?"
Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow's chin and grabbing the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an instant, then went limp and fell forward.
They wore a costume unfamiliar to Gathon Dard little round caps with red and green streamers behind, and long, wide-sleeved white gowns and one of them had gold rings in his ears. "Nebu-hin-Abenoz?" one of them said, bowing. "We are three men of the Usasu cities.
He picked up one of the knives and used it to pry the dead man's jaws apart, sniffing at his lips and looking into his mouth. "Look, his teeth and his tongue are discolored; there is a strange smell, too." Antrath Alv sniffed, then turned to his partner. "Halatane," he whispered. Gathon Dard nodded.
The ones who tell the suicide story saw no firearms among the Croutha; the ones who tell the kidnap story say that they all had some kind of muskets and pistols. We're making synthetic summaries of the two stories." "We're having trouble with the locals about all these strangers coming in," Gathon Dard added. "They're getting curious." "We'll have to take a chance on that," Vall said.
As they moved across the patio, Gathon Dard caught snatches of conversations about deals in slaves, and horse trades, about bandit raids and blood feuds, about women and horses and weapons. An old man with a white beard and an unusually clean robe came over to intercept them. "Ha, lord of my daughter, you're back at last. We had begun to fear for you," he said.
"You think that might have something to do with it?" the Calera asked. "It could. I think that these people might not have been born slaves, but people taken captive. Suppose, at some time, there had been sold to Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and sold elsewhere by him, one who was a person of consequence the son of a king, or the priest of some god," Gathon Dard suggested. "By Safar, yes!
There were bins along the walls, some partly full of oranges, and piles of wicker baskets. Another conveyer dome stood beside the one in which they had arrived; two men in white cloaks and riding boots sat on the edge of one of the bins, smoking and talking. Skordran Kirv introduced them Gathon Dard and Krador Arv, special detectives and asked if anything new had come up.
"Oh, Safar bless you!" the white-beard cried, his eyes brightening. "Name your own price; satisfy yourselves that we have dealt fairly with you; go, and return often again! Come, lord of my daughter; let us make them known to Nebu-hin-Abenoz. But not a word about the kind of weapons you have, strangers, until we can speak privately. Say only that you have rifles to trade." Gathon Dard nodded.
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