Coru-hin-Irigod, riding beside Ganadara, pointed up the trail ahead.
"From up there," he said, speaking in Acalan, the lingua franca of the
North American West Coast on that sector, "we can see across the
valley to Careba. It will be an hour, as we ride, with the
pack-horses. Then we will rest, and drink wine, and feast."
Ganadara nodded. "It was the guidance of our gods--and yours,
Coru-hin-Irigod--that we met. Such slaves as you sold at the
outlanders' plantation would bring a fine price in the North. The men
are strong, and have the look of good field-workers; the women are
comely and well-formed. Though I fear that my wife would little relish
it did I bring home such handmaidens."
Coru-hin-Irigod laughed. "For your wife, I will give you one of our
riding whips." He leaned to the side, slashing at a cactus with his
quirt. "We in Careba have no trouble with our wives, about handmaidens
or anything else."
"By Safar, if you doubt your welcome at Careba, wait till you show
your wares," another Calera said. "Rifles and revolvers like those
come to our country seldom, and then old and battered, sold or stolen
many times before we see them.
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