III
As Ardelan's reserve thawed out, Verrill pressed him with questions. "Your men talk about nothing but raids on your neighbors' flocks, and about feuds. Haven't you enough sheep?"
"Doctor, you know how to save lives, but you know nothing at all about living."
Ardelan pointed toward the gateway, which opened from courtyard to the square. Half a dozen women, high-breasted and long-limbed, were gossiping at the well. Their wild gracefulness was blood-stirring. Verrill contrasted them with the studiedly elegant ladies of Venus, and with Linda particularly.
"We have enough sheep, and enough women," the chief explained. "The sheep don't make trouble. The women do. If my men are not to cut each other's throats, they must have outside enemies to keep them busy. Or the jealousies of their wives would prod them to too much competition with each other."
Thinking back to his quarrel with Gil Dawson, Verrill had to concede Ardelan's point and principle. And then he got back to the perils of being a stranger. The following day, he proposed, "Let me take part in the fire ceremony of an evening. In that way, I won't be a stranger so long."
The chief got up, presently, and clapped his hands. A retainer came forward with two horses. They were hammer-headed, shaggy, Roman-nosed, and with fierce eyes. The saddles were sheepskin pads. There were no stirrups.
Verrill said, "Excellency, you ride. I'll walk."
They set out for the shrine. Meanwhile, half a dozen horsemen came in from the other end of the shelf. One, overtaking Verrill and the chief, slowed down enough to exchange a hail, and then pressed on. Before they came to the shrine, the rider had finished his business with Kwangtan, and was leaving.
He circled wide, to avoid an encounter. This made Verrill uneasy. The man was dust-caked, sweat-drenched, and sagging.