slid, dragged his heels and toes, and kicked up an excessive amount of dust. He also crashed often into those of his comrades who had received their allotment of trousers and shirt. These suddenly clumsy men fell and rolled, and under cover of dust and movement, cloth miraculously disappeared. Some was bundled and passed to other slaves; occasionally a shirt would unfurl and land, to be picked up by another man. In this manner the clothing passed-at last to the man by the palisade. At opportune moments he stuffed the fabric through a gap and caught the shell counters that served as coin within the Empire that someone slipped through from without. These the Midkemian wiped on his hairy chest. Then he placed them in his mouth and swallowed them.
'There must be beggar boys on the other side.' Lujan shook his head. 'Or perhaps some bargeman's child.
Though why a slave should think he has use for coin is a mystery.'
'They certainly show great ingenuity ... and nerve,'
Mara observed, and Lujan regarded her keenly. That she had mistakenly conceded honourable attributes to men who by the inflexible laws of society were accorded less stature than the lowest scabby beggars in the gutters made the Strike Leader pause. Desperation had taught Mara to reappraise the traditions of her people with sometimes ingenious results. Yet although Lujan himself had sworn to her service through just such an unorthodox twist, even he could not guess what she might see in a lot of barbarian slaves. Trying to fathom her fascination, the warrior regarded the ongoing conflict down below.
The overseer had called in reinforcements. Several brawny guards equipped with curved hooks of roughened needra hide raced into the compound and ran at the unruly redhead; slaves who tried to hamper them were elbowed aside or kicked with sharp-toed sandals. One barbarian fell with a bloodied shin. Seeing that, the others quickly cleared the soldiers' path. The redheaded ringleader also slowed his pace. He allowed himself to be cornered rather than suffer injury from brutal handling. The warriors took him in hand with their hooks and dragged him before the red-faced and dusty factor, whose robe was now sadly in need of a wash.
They pitched their huge captive on his knees and held him, while the overseer yelled for cuffs and straps of hardened needra leather to restrain his unmanageable wildness.
Still the barbarian was not cowed. As if unaware that his life could be taken at a gesture of his overseer's hand, he flung back his tangled hair and regarded his captors with wide blue eyes. At some point in the scuffle he had acquired a slash across one cheekbone. Blood ran down his face and soaked into the fiery brush of his beard. He could not be past his twenties, at a guess, and even harsh handling had not tamed his flamboyance. He said something. Mara and Lujan saw the factor's face go stiff, and one of the guards repressed an un-Tsurani-like burst of laughter behind one lacquered gauntlet. The overseer with the whip proved more in control. He answered with the lash, then kicked the barbarian forward onto his face.
Mara did not flinch at the violence. Disobedient slaves were beaten on her estate for far less cause than this barbarian's outrageous behaviour. Still, the fact that the redhead's actions were inconceivable to the mores of society did not shock her beyond thought. She had acquainted herself with the customs of the cho-ja, and come to respect their ways and wisdom, alien though it might be. As she watched the slaves in the compound, it occurred to her that these men were as human as she, but their world was far different from Kelewan. Being strangers, perhaps they did not comprehend the scope of their lot: for on Kelewan a man left slavery only through the portals of death. He was honourless, soulless, insignificant as an insect, to be raised to comfort or ground down in misery with as little thought as a man might regard a red-bee who gathered his honey.
A Tsurani warrior would die by his own hand rather than allow himself to be taken alive by an enemy - captives were usually wounded, unconscious, or cowards. These Midkemians presumably had the same options, and in living on past honour, they had chosen their lot.
The redhead seemed anything but resigned. He rolled to escape the whip and crashed into the factor's ankles. The fat man yelped and staggered, saved