The gate slid aside, and, after the
caravan had passed through, naked slaves pushed the massive thing shut
again. Although they were familiar with the interior of the town, from
photographs taken with boomerang-balls--automatic-return transposition
spheres like message-balls--they looked around curiously. The central
square was thronged--Caleras in striped robes, people from the south
and east in baggy trousers and embroidered shirts, mountaineers in
deerskins. A slave market was in progress, and some hundred-odd items
of human merchandise were assembled in little groups, guarded by their
owners and inspected by prospective buyers. They seemed to be all
natives of that geographic and paratemporal area.
"Don't even look at those," Coru-hin-Irigod advised. "They are but
culls; the market is almost over. We'll go to the house of
Nebu-hin-Abenoz, where all the considerable men gather, and you will
find those who will be able to trade slaves worthy of the goods you
have with you. Meanwhile, let my people take your horses and packs to
my house; you shall be my guests while you stay in Careba.
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