"So." The commander's voice was almost gentle. He turned his eyes back toward the accused. "You know the orders. You knew them when you hid this." He gestured negligently toward the small heap of native-wrought metal. "Suppose you'd gotten away with it. You'd have ended up with your own share, _plus_ this, thereby cheating the others out of--" He glanced at the pile. "Hm-m-m--say, twenty-five each. And that's only a little compared with what we'll get from now on." He looked back at the others. "Unless the shares are taken care of _my_ way, the largest shares will go to the dishonest, the most powerful, and the luckiest. Unless the division is made as we originally agreed, we'll end up trying to cut each other's heart out." There was hardness in his voice when he spoke to the accused, but there was compassion there, too. "First: You have forfeited your share in this expedition. All that you have now, and all that you might have expected will be divided among the others according to our original agreement. "Second: I do not expect any man to work for nothing. Since you will not receive anything from this expedition, there is no point in your assisting the rest of us or working with us in any way whatsoever. "Third: We can't have anyone with us who does not carry his own weight." He glanced at the guards. "Hang him." He paused. "Now." As he was led away, the commander watched the other men. There was approval in their eyes, but there was something else there, too--a wariness, a concealed fear. The condemned man turned suddenly and began shouting at the commander, but before he could utter more than three syllables, a fist smashed him down. The guards dragged him off. "All right, men," said the commander carefully, "let's search the village. There might be more gold about; I have a hunch that this isn't all he hid. Let's see if we can find the rest of it." He sensed the relief of tension as he spoke. The commander was right. It was amazing how much gold one man had been able to stash away. IX They couldn't stay long in any one village; they didn't have the time to sit and relax any more than was necessary. Once they had reached the northern marches of the native empire, it was to the commander's advantage to keep his men moving. He didn't know for sure how good or how rapid communications were among the various native provinces, but he had to assume that they were top notch, allowing for the limitations of a barbaric society. The worst trouble they ran into on their way was not caused by the native warriors, but by disease. The route to the south was spotted by great strips of sandy barrenness, torn by winds that swept the grains of sand into the troopers' eyes and crept into the chinks of their armor. Underfoot, the sand made a treacherous pathway; carriers and men alike found it heavy going.