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At its head marched Yuara, his left arm incased in bandages, his face drawn and pallid, his stride stiff and springless, but still carrying his weapons and stoically setting the pace as befitted the son of a subchief.
Soon after they had finished an officer came in and requested Beric to accompany him to the propraetor. "I will bring two of my followers with me," Beric said. "I would not say aught to the Roman governor that my tribesmen should not hear." The officer assented, and Beric with Boduoc and another subchief followed him to the house of the propraetor.
Beyond, in a big hammock dyed with the symbolic scarlet and black and tasseled with many squirrel tails, sat a fat, small-eyed, heavy-jawed man whose elaborate feather dress and authoritative air proclaimed him chief. Beside him stood Rana and another subchief, lean and somber-faced. Behind this bulwark of tribal might huddled the women and children, staring wide-eyed.
When she found Stevenson ill she insisted he and his family be moved to her own house where they could have more comforts. The house at the time was occupied by Ori, a subchief, a subject and relative of the princess. But he and his family gladly turned out to make room for the visitors and lived in a tiny house near by. "Ori is the very finest specimen of native we have seen yet," wrote Mrs.
"Suppose you change now, Dalla," he said. "Subchief, I'd like a word with you privately." He and Vulthor Tharn excused themselves and walked over to the edge of the landing stage. The SecReg Subchief was outwardly composed, but Vall sensed that he was worried and embarrassed. "Now, what's been done since you got Agent Skordran's report?" Vall asked.
"So he ordered himself back on duty, had the slaves isolated and the slave dealers arrested, and then transposed to Police Terminal to report. The SecReg Subchief, old Vulthor Tharn, confirmed him in charge at this Esaron Sector plantation, and assigned him a couple of detectives and a psychist." "When was this?" Vall asked. "Yesterday. One-Five-Nine Day. About 1500 local time."
"I'll have a confirmation along from Chief Tortha directly. And let me talk to him now, if you please. Subchief Vulthor." "Yes, sir. Switching you over now." The screen went into a beautiful burst of abstract art, and cleared, after a while, with Skordran Kirv looking out of it. "Hello, Deputy Skordran, and congratulations. What's come up since we had Nebu-hin-Abenoz cut out from under us?"
It was 0600 in India; the Sector Regional Deputy Subchief who was holding down Ranthar Jard's desk looked equally sleepy; he had a mug of coffee in front of him, and a brown-paper cigarette in his mouth. "Oh, hello, Assistant Verkan. Want me to call Subchief Ranthar?" "Is he sleeping? Then for mercy's sake don't. What's the present status of the investigation?"
The opening was still vomiting tribesmen when Yuara and the rest reached it. But none made a hostile move when it was seen that the son of the subchief was in command and that the strangers seemed friendly. Yuara spoke, briefly but authoritatively, and the weapons sank. Then, with a word to his three companions, he ducked through the doorway. The other three remained where they were.
After showering, shaving and dressing hastily, he went out to the desk for breakfast, which arrived while he was putting a call through to Ranthar Jard, at Nharkan Equivalent. "Your idea paid off, Chief's Assistant," the Kholghoor SecReg Subchief told him.
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