He carried in one hand a burned out torch, and in the
other an unsheathed claw knife, its blade reflecting the sunlight with a
wicked glitter. Behind him trotted three couples of retainers, their
cloaks also ragged fringes, their knives drawn.
Standing up on the ramp to receive what could only be a formal deputation
were Captain, Astrogator, Cargo-master and Engineer, the senior officers
of the spacer.
In the rolling periods of the Trade Lingo the torch bearer identified
himself as Groft, son and heir of the late lamented Paft. Until his
chieftain father was avenged in blood he could not assume the high seat
of his clan nor the leadership of the family. And now, following custom,
he was inviting the friends and sometimes allies of the dead Paft to a
gorp hunt. Such a gorp hunt, Dane gathered from amidst the flowers of
ceremonial Salariki speech, as had never been planned before on the face
of Sargol. Salariki without number in the past had died beneath the
ripping talons of the water reptiles, but it was seldom that a chieftain
had so fallen and his clan were firm in their determination to take a
full blood price from the killers.
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