"It is from this web, spun by those hideous spiders, that we weave our fabric. It is as strong as leather and as enduring as the rocks of which Ghasta is built."
"Do women of Ghasta spin this wonderful fabric?" I asked.
"The slaves," she said, "both men and women."
"And from whence come your slaves?" I asked, "if you have no intercourse with the upper world?"
"Many of them come down the river from Tjanath, where they have died The Death, and there are others who come from further up the river, but why they come or from whence we never know. They are silent people, who will not tell us, and sometimes they come from down the river, but these are few and usually are so crazed by the horrors of their journey that we can glean no knowledge from them."
"And do any ever go on down the river from Ghasta?" I asked; for it was in that direction that Nur An and I hoped to make our way in search of liberty, as deep within me was the hope that we might reach the valley Dor and the lost sea of Korus, from which I was convinced I could escape, as did John Carter and Tars Tarkas.
"A few, perhaps," she said, "but we never know what becomes of these, for none returns."
"You are happy here?" I asked.
She forced a smile to her beautiful lips, but I thought that a shudder ran through her frame.
The banquet was elaborate and the food delicious. There was a great deal of laughter at the far end of the table where the jed sat, for those about him watched him closely, and when he laughed, which he always did at his own jokes, the others all laughed uproariously.