The exchange was as formal as a _pas de deux_ and just about as warlike. Both men shook their weapons and shouted a few insults, then settled down to a quiet conversation. Fasimba was garbed in the same type of hideous and fear-inspiring outfit as Ch'aka, differing only in unimportant details. Instead of a conch, his head was encased in the skull of one of the amphibious _rosmaroj_, brightened up with some extra tusks and horns. The differences between the two men were all minor, and mostly a matter of decoration or variation of weapon design. They were obviously slave masters and equals. "Killed a _rosmaro_ today, second time in ten days," Ch'aka said. "You got a good piece coast. Plenty _rosmaroj_. Where the two slaves you owe me?" "I owe you two slaves?" "You owe me two slaves, don't play like stupid. I got the iron arrows for you from the D'zertanoj, one slave you paid with died. You still owe other one." "I got two slaves for you. I got two slaves more I pulled out of the ocean." "You got a good piece coast." Ch'aka walked down his line of slaves until he came to the over-bold one he had half-crippled with a kick the day before. Pulling him to his feet he booted him towards the other mob. "Here's a good one," he said, delivering the goods with a last parting kick. "Look skinny. Not too good." "No, all muscles. Works hard. Doesn't eat much." "You're a liar!" "Hate you, Fasimba!" "Hate you, Ch'aka! Where's the other one?" "Got a good one. Stranger from the ocean. He can tell you funny stories, work hard." Jason turned in time to avoid the full force of the kick, but it was still strong enough to knock him sprawling. Before he could get up Ch'aka had clutched Mikah Samon by the arm and dragged him across the invisible line to the other group of slaves. Fasimba stalked over to examine him, prodding him with a spiked toe. "Don't look good. Big hole on the head." "He works hard," Ch'aka said. "Hole almost healed. He very strong." "You give me new one if he dies?" Fasimba asked doubtfully. "I'll give you. Hate you, Fasimba!" "Hate you, Ch'aka." The slave herds were prodded to their feet and moved back the way they had come, and Jason shouted after Ch'aka. "Wait! Don't sell my friend. We work better together, you can get rid of someone else...." The slaves gaped at this sudden outburst and Ch'aka wheeled raising his club. "You shut up. You're a slave. You tell me once more to do what and I kill you." Jason shut up since it was very obvious that this was the only thing he could do. He had a few qualms about Mikah's possible fate: if he survived the wound he was certainly not the type to bow to the inevitabilities of slave-holding life. Yet Jason had done his best to save him and that was that. Now Jason would think about Jason for a while. * * * * *