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.

* * * * *

They made a brief march before dark, apparently just until the other
slaves were out of sight, then stopped for the night. Jason settled
himself into the lee of a mound that broke the force of the wind a bit
and unwrapped a piece of scorched meat he had salvaged from the
earlier feast. It was tough and oily but far superior to the barely
edible _krenoj_ that made up the greater part of the native diet. He
chewed noisily on the bone and watched while one of the other slaves
sidled over towards him.

"Give me some your meat?" the slave asked in a whining voice, and only
when she talked did Jason realize that this was a girl; all the slaves
were alike in their matted hair and skin wrappings. He ripped off a
chunk of meat.

"Here. Sit down and eat it. What's your name?" In exchange for his
generosity he intended to get some information from his captive
audience.

"Ijale." She tore at the meat, held tightly in one fist, while the
index finger of her free hand scratched for enemies in her tangled
hair.

"Where do you