"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."
"Sounds good!" Poertena headed for the bar.
"I made a deal with the guy," Koberda said. "We all eat free for one of those Eterna-lights."
"Ayah!" The new scummy clutched his head. "That I didn't need to hear! I'll go see if I can negotiate being included in it!"
Denat laughed and picked up the jug in the middle of the table. He shook it, took a sip, and grimaced.
"Pah! Shit-sitter piss!"
"Better than that rotgut you served," PFC Ellers said with a laugh. The grenadier took another bite of meat and sipped more beer. "At least you can taste something of the beer."
"Hey," Cranla, the third of Cord's nephews, protested. "We just expect some taste in our drinks."
"Taste, sure," Ellers agreed. "But did you have to add the turpentine?"
Poertena turned back up with a large platter and put it on the table. The table was long, constructed of a thick slab of almost black wood taken from a single trunk. The humans had occupied one end, and the tribesmen gathered around them, snatching at the hot slices of meat on the platter. There were also slices of fruit, and a sliced root the humans didn't recognize. It was good, though—somewhere between a sweet potato and a white potato.
"Smells good," Denat said, popping a piece of the highly spiced meat into his mouth, then choked. "Ayeeeeii! Peruz!" He grabbed for the beer jug as the spice kicked in.
"Pock!" He took a huge gulp of beer and gasped. "Whai-ee! I guess that beer's not so bad after all!" he wheezed.
"Where are you, Koberda?" Kosutic asked over the communicator.
"Ah, my squad is just finishing up lunch, Sergeant Major," the NCO replied, putting down his cards and looking around.
The squad was sprawled around the tables, taking it easy. The heat of the day had been building, and most of the Mardukans had beat it for cooler climates. But it wasn't really all that bad under the tent: no more than 43 Standard, or 110 on the old Fahrenheit scale.
Poertena had started up a poker game. He'd apparently taken the old Mardukan merchant for a ride dickering over a couple of Eterna-lights and lighters. Now the old guy was trying to get his own back... in a game he'd never played before.
Koberda picked his cards back up and looked at them in disgust. Poertena had let him exchange some of his imperial credits for a few pieces of the local silver and copper. He knew he should've kept them in his pocket.
"Fold."
Poertena looked over his cards at the old Mardukan. The merchant looked at his cards, then at the pot.
"I raise you," the Mardukan said. He thought about it, then tossed one of the Eterna-lights into the pot. "That should be worth more than that pile."
"Yeah," Poertena agreed with a smile. "Or lunch for twelve."