Nebu-hin-Abenoz, swarthy, hook-nosed, with a square-cut graying beard, lounged in a low chair across the patio; near him four or five other Caleras sat or squatted or reclined, all smoking the rank black tobacco of the country and drinking wine or brandy.  Their conversation ceased as Cavu-hin-Avoran and the others approached.  The chief of Careba listened to the introduction, then heaved himself to his feet and clapped the newcomers on the shoulders.

“Good, good!” he said.  “We know you Jeseru people; you’re honest traders.  You come this far into our mountains too seldom.  We can trade with you.  We need weapons.  As for the sort of slaves you want, we have none too many now, but in eight days we will have plenty.  If you stay with us that long—­”

“Careba is a pleasant place to be,” Ganadara said.  “We can wait.”

“What sort of weapons have you?” the chief asked.

“Pistols and rifles, lord of my father’s sister,” Coru-hin-Irigod answered for them.  “The packs have been taken to my house, where our friends will stay.  We can bring a few to show you, the hour after evening prayers.”

Nebu-hin-Abenoz shot a keen glance at his brother-in-law’s son and nodded.  “Or, better, I will come to your house then; thus I can see the whole load.  How will that be?”

“Better; I will be there, too,” Cavu-hin-Avoran said, then turned to Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv.  “You have been long on the road; come, let us drink cool wine, and then we will eat,” he said.  “Until this evening, Nebu-hin-Abenoz.”

He led his son-in-law and the traders to one side, where several kegs stood on trestles with cups and flagons beside them.  They filled a flagon, took a cup apiece, and went over to a pile of cushions at one side.

As they did, three men came pushing through the crowd toward Nebu-hin-Abenoz’s seat.  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.  We have gold obus to spend; we seek a beautiful girl, to be first concubine to our king’s son, who is now come to the estate of manhood.”

Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside, and re-lighted it, frowning.

“Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility,” he said.  “You have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy’s character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers.  How old is the boy?”

“Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us.”

“Then you want a girl older, but not much older.  She should be versed in the arts of love, but innocent of heart.  She should be wise, but teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own—­”

The three men in white gowns were fidgeting.  Then, suddenly, like three marionettes on a single string, they put their right hands to their mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their gowns, whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon Nebu-hin-Abenoz, slashing and stabbing.