Brilliant as the assemblage of liege men without had been, the gathering
of clan leaders and their upper officers within the council place was a
riot of color--and odor. The chieftains were installed on the wooden
stools, each with a small table before him on which rested a goblet
bearing his own clan sign, a folded strip of patterned cloth--his "trade
shield"--and a gemmed box containing the scented paste he would use for
refreshment during the ordeal of conference.
A breeze fluttered sash ends and tugged at cloaks, otherwise the assembly
was motionless and awesomely quiet. Still making no overtures Van Rycke
crossed to a stool and table which stood a little apart and seated
himself. Dane went into the action required of him. Before his superior
he set out a plastic pocket flask, its color as alive in the sunlight as
the crudely cut gems which the Salariki sported, a fine silk
handkerchief, and, last of all, a bottle of Terran smelling salts
provided by Medic Tau as a necessary restorative after some hours
combination of Salariki oratory and Salariki perfumes. Having thus done
the duty of liege man, Dane was at liberty to seat himself, cross-legged
on the ground behind his chief, as the other sons, heirs, and advisors
had gathered behind their lords.
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