In the center of this was a twelve-foot-high stockade of
the bright red, burnished wood which had attracted Weeks on the shore.
Each paling was the trunk of a tree and it had been sharpened at the top
to a wicked point. On the field side was a wide ditch, crossed at the
gate by a bridge, the planking of which might be removed at will. And as
Dane passed over he looked down into the moat that was dry. The Salariki
did not depend upon water for a defense--but on something else which his
experience of the previous night had taught him to respect. There was no
mistaking that shade of purple. The highly inflammable scum the hunters
had burnt from the top of the waves had been brought inland and lay a
greasy blanket some eight feet below. It would only be necessary to toss
a torch on that and the defenders of the stockade would create a wall of
fire to baffle any attackers. The Salariki knew how to make the most of
their world's natural resources.
Chapter VI
DUELIST'S CHALLENGE
Inside the red stockade there was a crowded community. The Salariki
demanded privacy of a kind, and even the unmarried warriors did not share
barracks, but each had a small cubicle of his own.
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