he opposite idea about him. He didn't
talk much, and what he did say was, well ... a little hard to understand
at times."

"Not that kind of talking." Rhes broke in impatiently. "The talkers look
after the animals. They train the dogs and doryms, and the better ones
like Naxa are always trying to work with other beasts. They dress
crudely, but they have to. I've heard them say that the animals don't
like chemicals, metal or tanned leather, so they wear untanned furs for
the most part. But don't let the dirt fool you, it has nothing to do
with his intelligence."

"Doryms? Are those your carrying beasts--the kind we rode coming here?"

Rhes nodded. "Doryms are more than pack animals, they're really a little
bit of everything. The large males pull the ploughs and other machines,
while the younger animals are used for meat. If you want to know more,
ask Naxa, you'll find him in the barn."

"I'd like to do that," Jason said, standing up. "Only I feel undressed
without my gun--"

"Take it, by all means, it's in that chest by the door. Only watch out
what you shoot around here."

* * * * *

Naxa was in the rear of the barn, filing down one of the spadelike
toenails of a dorym. It was a strange scene. The fur-dressed man with
the great beast--and the contrast of a beryllium-copper file and
electroluminescent plates lighting the work.

The dorym opened its nostrils and pulled away when Jason entered; Naxa
patted its neck and talked softly until it quieted and stood still,
shivering slightly.

Something stirred in Jason's mind, with the feeling of a long unused
muscle being stressed. A hauntingly familiar sensation.

"Good morning," Jason said. Naxa grunted something and went back to his
filing. Watching him for a few minutes, Jason tried to analyze this new
feeling. It itched and slipped aside when he reached for it, escaping
him. Whatever it was, it had started when Naxa had talked to the dorym.

"Could you call one of the dogs in here, Naxa? I'd like to see one
closer up."

Without raising his head from his work, Naxa gave a low whistle. Jason
was sure it couldn't have been heard outside of the barn. Yet within a
minute one of the Pyrran dogs slipped quietly in. The talker rubbed the
beast's head, mumbling to it, while the animal looked intently into his
eyes.

The dog became restless when Naxa turned back to work on the dorym. It
prowled around the barn, sniffing, then moved qui