He looked up at what she was staring at, and slapped his hook with his remaining true-hand.
"You know that?" he asked.
"I've seen it before," she said carefully. "Or something similar."
The weapon was unlike the others she'd seen in the bazaar, for the steel was damascene. The black and silver water pattern was clear as day. The blade was long for a human, short for a Mardukan, and curved to a slightly widened end. It was neither precisely a katana nor a scimitar, but something in between.
And it was flat out beautiful.
She'd seen swords of that type on several worlds, but all of them were much more advanced than this one's tech level. Or than the local tech level, at least.
"Where is it from?" she asked.
"Ah," the merchant said, clapping his cross hands. "That's the sad part. This is a relic of Voitan. I have heard of you visitors, you 'humans.' You are from a far land, so do you know the story of Voitan?"
"Some of it," Kosutic admitted. "But why don't you tell it to me from the beginning?"
"Have a seat," the local invited, and reached into a bag to extract a clay jug. "Drink?"
"Don't mind if I do." Kosutic looked over her shoulder at the small group which had been following her around. Besides Koberda's squad, it consisted of Poertena and three of Cord's nephews. "You guys go circulate." They'd each been given an Eterna-light and a lighter. "Do a little trading. See what they bring. I'll be here."
"Do you want someone to stay with you, Sergeant Major?" Sergeant Koberda asked. His tone was mild, but the orders had been fairly strict.
Kosutic raised an eyebrow at the merchant, who grunted in reply.
"No," she said with a headshake. "I'm just gonna sit here and shoot the shit for a while. I'll give a holler when I'm ready to head back, and we can link up."
"Aye." Koberda gestured at his squad; he'd seen a place that looked a lot like a bar a few alleys back. "We'll be circulating."
Poertena followed Denat down the alleyway. He figured that three of Cord's nephews counted as "a group," and the Mardukan swore he knew the best pawn shop in the city.
The shopkeepers and artisans to either side of the narrow way looked up with interest as he passed. Word of the humans' arrival had spread through the grapevine, but he was surprised that there wasn't more overt curiosity. On most human planets, there would at least have been a group of children following him around, but not here. For that matter, he didn't see any children or women, and hadn't since they arrived in the area.
"Where are tee women?" he asked Denat as the Mardukan took another turn. Poertena decided that if they got separated he would be in trouble finding his way back.
"The shit-sitters lock them away," the tribesman said with a grunt of laughter. "And the children. A stupid custom."
"Well, I'm glad you got pocking respect for tee locals," Poertena said with a bark of laughter of his own.
"Pah!" Denat spat and made a derisive hand gesture. "Shit-sitters are for killing. But if we kill one, it's the knife for us, as well."
"Yah." Poertena nodded. "I guess they probably give a fair trial and slit your throat."
"No." Denat stopped for a moment to get his bearings. "The town law doesn't apply to us. If we violate a town law, we're turned over to the tribe. But for a killing, the tribe will give us the knife as quickly as the town. And any townsman found violating our laws is turned over to the town. Just as our tribe judges us more harshly than the town would, the town judges its people very harshly.
"Ah." He'd obviously located the landmark he sought. "This way. It's close now."
"Put why do tee town kill t'eir folk for breaking your laws?" Poertena was confused.
"Because if they don't," Tratan said from behind him, "we'll burn their abortion of a shit-city to the ground."
Denat grunted in laughter but clapped his hands in agreement.
"They dare not offend us too greatly, or we'll attack them. Or camp outside Q'Nkok and pick them off in the open until they don't dare step outside their gates to relieve themselves. But they can also attack us, attack our towns. We had a war soon after this city started to grow, and it was terrible on both sides. So we keep the peace."
"For now," Tratan said with a hiss.
"For now," Denat agreed. "And here we are."
The shop was similar to all the others, if a bit smaller. Made of some hardwood, it was abutted on both sides by other shops and looked to be about five meters deep, but the opening was half covered with a leather curtain that shadowed its interior. Inside, dim shapes of piled skins and containers could be barely discerned, but there were more goods piled outside on a leather ground cover spread out into the narrow alley.
The products were a magpie's nest of gewgaws. There were a few spearheads, some jewelry (ranging from decent to quite bad), tools for wood and metalworking, cups and platters, candle holders of ruddy brass, leather and wood boxes (some elaborately decorated), spice containers, and a myriad of other items piled haphazardly.
Squatting in the midst of this disorder was an old scummy. His right horn was broken at the tip, and the mucous covering his body was patched and dry, but for all that, his eyes were bright and interested.
"Denat!" The merchant got creakily to his feet. "You always bring such interesting things!" he continued, eyeing Poertena.
"Time to do a little trading, Pratol," Denat laughed. "I brought a few things, and my friend here wants to show you some others."
"Of course." The merchant pulled a bottle and some cups out of one of the boxes. "Let's see what you brought. I know you'll cheat me, as you always do, but if you promise not to take too much of my money, perhaps we can bargain!"
"T'at sounds like we goin' to tee cleaners," Poertena observed with a chuckle of his own. It felt like home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The "tavern" was a large tent, open on all sides and located on one side of the square that defined the beginning of the bazaar. A series of upended barrels at one end served as the bar, and behind the barrels the carcass of some unknown beast turned slowly over a large brazier.
There were several long tables scattered throughout the tent, and the Mardukans gathered at them shoveled in the barleyrice, meat, and vegetables being served with gusto.
The square was a bazaar in its own right, with temporary booths scattered around its periphery. It wasn't a planned opening—simply a space between one of the Great Houses, a warehouse, the bazaar, and a drop off. Two roads led out of it: one down past the warehouse, and the other up past the Great House. The square was also, clearly, a hangout for the guards from the House. They strode around in their leather armor and carrying their broad headed spears as if they owned the area, which in a way, they did. The merchant eyed them warily, and Koberda doubted that they paid for most of their trifles.
The NCO looked up from his heavily spiced stew and waved to Poertena. The armorer had picked up another scummy, this one an old guy, and he looked pleased with himself.
"Hey, Corp," the Pinopan said. The tables everyone else was standing at came nearly to his head, so he found an empty barrel, rolled it over, and upended it to provide himself with a highchair. "Watcha eating?"
"Some hot shit," Andras said, taking a pull on his beer and waving at his mouth. "I don't know what they're putting on that damn stew, but it is hot, hot, hot."