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Updated: June 28, 2025
On the landing stage of the Sector-Regional Headquarters at Novilan Equivalent, four or five people were waiting for them. Vall recognized the subchief, Vulthor Tharn, who introduced another man, in riding boots and a white cloak, as Skordran Kirv. Vall clasped hands with him warmly. "Good work, Agent Skordran. You got onto this promptly." "I tried to, sir. Do you want the dope now?
"He does not have to pick them Senhor Tim. They pick him. He and the subchiefs are the only ones who can take more than one wife. When a girl wishes to become the wife of the great chief or of a subchief, she works for months making feather dresses and necklaces and hammocks, and when these are done she gives them all to him.
The chief and his squaw had become acquainted with the leaders of the twenty-eight tribes, and after the annual worship was over and the customary gifts had been made to the young chief, Red Arrow, and his bride, each tribe, headed by the subchief went to their homes among the mountains."
The son of the subchief came through the doorway as he spoke, followed by an older man whose facial resemblance and ornaments indicated that he was the subchief himself. His headgear was more elaborate than that of his men, and around his shoulders and down his chest hung a brilliant feather dress, while a wide belt of green, blue, and black plumes encircled his hips.
For a few minutes he sat gloating over the gift, admiring the bone handle, hefting the weight of the long blade, while the subchiefs gazed in envy. When he looked up his face was beaming. But then the sour-faced subchief at his left hand muttered something, and Suba's visage darkened.
"Sign that up, my personal order, and see it's transmitted to everybody down to and including Sector Regional Subchief level," he finished, then hung up the phone and turned to them. "Sorry about this," he said. "Sit down, if you please. Cigarettes?"
Yuara himself had inserted feathers in his nose and donned a headband of tall parrot plumes a trifle more ornate than those worn by the ordinary fighters, and somehow the simple addition seemed to transform him into a bigger, fiercer man. Also, his eyes now held a smoldering light which had not been there before. The older man, Rana, the subchief, glanced swiftly along the line of new faces.
"Comrades, this man is no common hunter, but son of a subchief. Capitao, you have done good work to-day." Through the long, dim shadows of early morning the little column passed on the last leg of its journey to the maloca of Suba, chief of this outlying tribe of the Mayorunas.
When you locate a time line that gives you a picture to correspond to their description, boomerang the main square in Sohram over the whole belt around it, to find Croutha with firearms." The deputy looked at him for a moment then gulped more coffee. "Can do, Assistant Verkan. I think I'll send somebody to wake up Subchief Ranthar, right now. Want to talk to him." "Won't be necessary.
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