“They brought weapons; they want outland slaves, of the sort I took to sell in the Big Valley country,” he whispered. “The weapons are repeating rifles from across the ocean, and six-shot revolvers. They also have much ammunition.”
“Oh, Safar bless you!” the white-beard cried, his eyes brightening. “Name your own price; satisfy yourselves that we have dealt fairly with you; go, and return often again! Come, lord of my daughter; let us make them known to Nebu-hin-Abenoz. But not a word about the kind of weapons you have, strangers, until we can speak privately. Say only that you have rifles to trade.”
Gathon Dard nodded. Evidently there was some sort of power-struggle going on in Careba; Coru-hin-Irigod and his wife’s father were of the party of Nebu-hin-Abenoz, and wanted the repeaters and six-shooters for themselves.
Nebu-hin-Abenoz, swarthy, hook-nosed, with a square-cut graying beard, lounged in a low chair across the patio; near him four or five other Caleras sat or squatted or reclined, all smoking the rank black tobacco of the country and drinking wine or brandy. Their conversation ceased as Cavu-hin-Avoran and the others approached. The chief of Careba listened to the introduction, then heaved himself to his feet and clapped the newcomers on the shoulders.
“Good, good!” he said. “We know you Jeseru people; you’re honest traders. You come this far into our mountains too seldom. We can trade with you. We need weapons. As for the sort of slaves you want, we have none too many now, but in eight days we will have plenty. If you stay with us that long—”
“Careba is a pleasant place to be,” Ganadara said. “We can wait.”
“What sort of weapons have you?” the chief asked.
“Pistols and rifles, lord of my father’s sister,” Coru-hin-Irigod answered for them. “The packs have been taken to my house, where our friends will stay. We can bring a few to show you, the hour after evening prayers.”
Nebu-hin-Abenoz shot a keen glance at his brother-in-law’s son and nodded. “Or, better, I will come to your house then; thus I can see the whole load. How will that be?”
“Better; I will be there, too,” Cavu-hin-Avoran said, then turned to Gathon Dard and Antrath Alv. “You have been long on the road; come, let us drink cool wine, and then we will eat,” he said. “Until this evening, Nebu-hin-Abenoz.”
He led his son-in-law and the traders to one side, where several kegs stood on trestles with cups and flagons beside them. They filled a flagon, took a cup apiece, and went over to a pile of cushions at one side.
As they did, three men came pushing through the crowd toward Nebu-hin-Abenoz’s seat. They wore a costume unfamiliar to Gathon Dard—little round caps with red and green streamers behind, and long, wide-sleeved white gowns—and one of them had gold rings in his ears.
“Nebu-hin-Abenoz?” one of them said, bowing. “We are three men of the Usasu cities. We have gold obus to spend; we seek a beautiful girl, to be first concubine to our king’s son, who is now come to the estate of manhood.”
Nebu-hin-Abenoz picked up the silver-mounted pipe he had laid aside, and relighted it, frowning.
“Men of the Usasu, you have a heavy responsibility,” he said. “You have the responsibility for the future of your kingdom, for a boy’s character is more shaped by his first concubine than by his teachers. How old is the boy?”
“Sixteen, Nebu-hin-Abenoz; the age of manhood among us.”
“Then you want a girl older, but not much older. She should be versed in the arts of love, but innocent of heart. She should be wise, but teachable; gentle and loving, but with a will of her own—”
The three men in white gowns were fidgeting. Then, suddenly, like three marionettes on a single string, they put their right hands to their mouths and then plunged them into the left sleeves of their gowns, whipping out knives and then sprang as one upon Nebu-hin-Abenoz, slashing and stabbing.
Gathon Dard was on his feet at once; he hurled the wine flagon at the three murderers and leaped across the room. Antrath Alv went bounding after him, and by this time three or four of the group around Nebu-hin-Abenoz’s chair had recovered their wits and jumped to their feet. One of the three assailants turned and slashed with his knife, almost disemboweling a Calera who had tried to grapple with him. Before he could free the blade, another Calera brought a brandy bottle down on his head. Gathon Dard sprang upon the back of a second assassin, hooking his left elbow under the fellow’s chin and grabbing the wrist of his knife-hand with his right; the man struggled for an instant, then went limp and fell forward. The third of the trio of murderers was still slashing at the fallen chieftain when Antrath Alv chopped him along the side of the neck with the edge of his hand; he simply dropped and lay still.
Nebu-hin-Abenoz was dead. He had been slashed and cut and stabbed in twenty places; his throat had been cut at least three times, and he had almost been decapitated. The wounded Calera wasn’t dead yet; however, even if he had been at the moment on the operating table of a First Level Home Timeline hospital, it was doubtful if he could have been saved, and under the circumstances, his life-expectancy could be measured in seconds. Some cushions were placed under his head, and women called to attend him, but he died before they arrived.
The three assassins were also dead. Except for a few cuts on the scalp of the one who had been felled with the bottle, there was not a mark on any of them. Cavu-hin-Avoran kicked one of them
