"So," Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. "You come from Guzzum, eh? Or Smorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time? A compromise? Negotiations? Peace?" He slammed a bony hand against the table. "The answer is _no_!" Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. "Chain that one." He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. "This one's bigger; you'd best chain him, too." "Why, your Excellency--" Magnan started, stepping forward. "Stay back!" Qorn hooted. "Stand over there where I can keep an eye on you." "Your Excellency, I'm empowered--" "Not here, you're not!" Qorn trumpeted. "Want peace, do you? Well, I don't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries! I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory!" He turned to look down the table. "How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh?" * * * * * There was a momentary silence from all sides. "I guess so," grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue with flame-colored plumes. Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. "We've been all over this," he bassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. "I thought I'd made my point!" "Oh, sure, Qorn." "You bet." "I'm convinced." Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. "All for one and one for all, that's us." "And you're the one, eh, Qorn?" Retief commented. Magnan cleared his throat. "I sense that some of you gentlemen are not convinced of the wisdom of this move," he piped, looking along the table at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staring eyes. "Silence!" Qorn hooted. "No use your talking to my loyal lieutenants anyway," he added. "They do whatever I convince them they ought to do." "But I'm sure that on more mature consideration--" "I can lick any Qornt in the house." Qorn said. "That's why I'm Qorn." He belched again. A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with a crash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrapped three loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place. "You next!" The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms. Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped around them. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through the ends and closed it. "Now," Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. "There's a bit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?" "Let them go," the blue and flame Qornt said glumly. "You can do better than that," Qorn hooted. "Now here's a suggestion: we carve them up a little--lop off the external labiae and pinnae, say--and ship them back." "Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sending us home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal!" "It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming," Retief commented.