What he saw below brought him up short. Evening had come to Sargol but
the scene immediately below was not in darkness. Blazing torches
advanced in lines from the grass forest and the portable flood light of
the spacer added to the general glare, turning night into noonday.

Van Rycke and Jellico sat on stools facing at least five of the seven
major chieftains with whom they had conferred to no purpose earlier. And
behind these leaders milled a throng of lesser Salariki. Yes, there was
at least one carrying chair--and also an orgel from the back of which a
veiled noblewoman was being assisted to dismount by two retainers. The
women of the clans were coming--which could mean only that trade was at
last in progress. But trade for what?

Dane strode down the ramp. He saw Paft, his hand carefully covered by his
trade cloth, advance to Van Rycke, whose own fingers were decently veiled
by a handkerchief. Under the folds of fabric their hands touched. The
bargaining was in the first stages. And it was important enough for the
clan leaders to conduct themselves. Where, according to Cam's records, it
had been usual to delegate that power to a favored liege man.

Catching the light from the ship's beam and from the softer flares of the
Salariki torches was a small pile of stones resting on a stool to one
side. Dane drew a deep breath. He had heard the Koros stones described,
had seen the tri-dee print of one found among Cam's recordings but the
reality was beyond his expectations. He knew the technical analysis of
the gems--that they were, as the amber of Terra, the fossilized resin
exuded by ancient plants (maybe the ancestors of the grass trees) long
buried in the saline deposits of the shallow seas where chemical changes
had taken place to produce the wonder jewels. In color they shaded from a
rosy apricot to a rich mauve, but in their depths other colors, silver,