Now their neighbors came to
life with an efficiency which suggested that they had been waiting for
such a move, it had happened so many times that every man knew just the
right procedure from that point on.
In order for a Sargolian feast to be a success, the Terrans gathered from
overheard remarks, at least one duel must be staged sometime during the
festivities. And those not actively engaged did a lot of brisk betting in
the background.
"Look there--at that fellow in the violet cloak," Rip directed Dane. "See
what he just laid down?"
The nobleman in the violet cloak was not one of Groft's liege men, but a
member of the delegation from another clan. And what he had laid down on
the table--indicating as he did so his choice as winner in the coming
combat, the elder warrior--was a small piece of white material on which
reposed a slightly withered but familiar leaf. The neighbor he wagered
with, eyed the stake narrowly, bending over to sniff at it, before he
piled up two gem set armlets, a personal scent box and a thumb ring to
balance.
At this practical indication of just how much the Terran herb was
esteemed Dane regretted anew their earlier ignorance.
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