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Updated: May 24, 2025
When Jason picked up the arrow it bent, and he saw that it was rusted almost completely in two and that the break had been craftily covered by clay. "That's all right," he called after the retreating slaver, "just wait until your friend eats the krenoj." The march continued, first back to the boundary cairn with the suspicious Fasimba dogging their steps.
Before he could get up Ch'aka had clutched Mikah Samon by the arm and dragged him across the invisible line to the other group of slaves. Fasimba stalked over to examine him, prodding him with a spiked toe. "Don't look good. Big hole on the head." "He works hard," Ch'aka said. "Hole almost healed. He very strong." "You give me new one if he dies?" Fasimba asked doubtfully. "I'll give you.
"It is not necessary to talk as ungrammatically as the coastal barbarians, since I can tell by your accent that you are a man of education. What slave is it that you want?" "The one that you just received from Fasimba. He belongs to me." Jason abandoned his linguistic ruse and put himself even more on guard, taking a quick look around at the empty sands.
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?"
Hate you, Fasimba!" "Hate you, Ch'aka." The slave herds were prodded to their feet and moved back the way they had come, and Jason shouted after Ch'aka. "Wait! Don't sell my friend. We work better together, you can get rid of someone else...." The slaves gaped at this sudden outburst and Ch'aka wheeled raising his club. "You shut up. You're a slave.
Doesn't eat much." "You're a liar!" "Hate you, Fasimba!" "Hate you, Ch'aka! Where's the other one?" "Got a good one. Stranger from the ocean. He can tell you funny stories, work hard." Jason turned in time to avoid the full force of the kick, but it was still strong enough to knock him sprawling.
He rooted around in a pouch and pulled out a krenoj. "Here, have something to eat." "Where you get poisoned krenoj?" Fasimba asked with interest. "I could use a poisoned krenoj." "This isn't poisoned, it's perfectly edible, or at least as edible as these things ever are." Fasimba laughed. "You pretty funny, Ch'aka. I give you one arrow for poisoned krenoj."
She tore at the meat, held tightly in one fist, while the index finger of her free hand scratched for enemies in her tangled hair. "Where do you come from? Did you always live here like this?" How do you ask a slave if she has always been a slave? "Not here. I come from Bul'wajo first, then Fasimba, now I belong to Ch'aka." "What or who is Bul'wajo? Someone like our boss Ch'aka?"
The other master stopped a good ten paces before he reached Ch'aka and waved an evil looking stone hammer over his head. "Hate you, Ch'aka!" he roared. "Hate you, Fasimba!" boomed back the answer. The exchange was as formal as a pas de deux and just about as warlike. Both men shook their weapons and shouted a few insults, then settled down to a quiet conversation.
She nodded, gnawing at the meat. "And the D'zertanoj that Fasimba gets his arrows from who are they?" "You don't know much," she said, finishing the meat and licking the grease from her fingers. "I know enough to have meat when you don't have any so don't abuse my hospitality. Who are the D'zertanoj?" "Everyone knows who they are."
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