id not appear until after the
Croutha had gone away; they wore different garb. They wore short
jackets, and trousers, and short boots, and they carried small weapons
on their belts--"

"They had whips of great cruelty that burned like fire; we were all
lashed with these whips, as you may see, lord--"

"The Croutha had bound us two and two, with neck-yokes; these the
servants of the Wizard Traders took off from us, and they chained us
together by tens, with the chains we still wore when we came to this
place--"

"They killed my child, my little Zhouzha!" the woman with the horribly
blistered back was wailing. "They tore her out of my arms, and one of
the servants of the Wizard Traders--may Khokhaat devour his soul
forever!--dashed out her brains. And when I struggled to save her. I
was thrown on the ground, and beaten with the fire-whips until I
fainted. Then I was dragged into the forest, along with the others who
were chained with me." She buried her head in her arms, sobbing
bitterly.

Dalla stepped forward, taking the flashlight from the interrogator
with one hand and lifting the woman's head with the other. She flashed
the light quickly in the woman's eyes.

"You will grieve no more for your child," she said. "Already, you are
forgetting what happened at the Wizard Traders' camp, and remembering
only that your child is safe from harm. Soon you will remember her
only as a dream of the child you hope to have, some day." She flashed
the light again, then handed it back to the psychist. "Now, tell us
what happened when you were taken into the forest; what did you see
there?"

The psychist nodded approvingly, made a note on the card, and
listened while the woman spoke. She had stopped sobbing, now, and her
voice was clear and cheerful.

Vall went over to the long table.

"Those slaves were still chained with the Wizard Traders' chains when
they were delivered here. Where are the chains?" he asked Skordran
Kirv.

"In the permanent conveyer room," Skordran Kirv said. "You can look at
them there; we didn't want to bring them in here, for fear these poor
devils would think we were going to chain them again. They're very
light, very strong; some kind of alloy steel. Files and power saws
only polish them; it takes fifteen seconds to cut a link with an
atomic torch. One long chain, and short lengths, fifteen inches long,
staggered, every three feet, with a single hinge-shackle for the
ankle. The shackles were rive