With the assurance of one who was master in his own clan, Van Rycke,
displaying no interest at all in the shifting mass of lower rank
Salariki, marched straight on to the door of the enclosure. Two or three
of the younger warriors got to their feet, their brilliant cloaks
flicking out like spreading wings. But when Van Rycke did not even lift
an eyelid in their direction, they made no move to block his path.

As fighting men, Dane thought, trying to study the specimens before him
with a totally impersonal stare, the Salariki were an impressive lot.
Their average height was close to six feet, their distant feline ancestry
apparent only in small vestiges. A Salarik's nails on both hands and feet
were retractile, his skin was gray, his thick hair, close to the texture
of plushy fur, extended down his backbone and along the outside of his
well muscled arms and legs, and was tawny-yellow, blue-gray or white. To
Terran eyes the broad faces, now all turned in their direction, lacked
readable expression. The eyes were large and set slightly aslant in the
skull, being startlingly orange-red or a brilliant turquoise green-blue.
They wore loin cloths of brightly dyed fabrics with wide sashes forming
corselets about their slender middles, from which gleamed the gem-set
hilts of their claw knives, the possession of which proved their
adulthood. Cloaks as flamboyant as their other garments hung in bat wing
folds from their shoulders and each and every one moved in an invisible
cloud of perfume.

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