As Barra nodded in agreement, Dar Makun turned, waving. He drew a deep breath and shouted loudly, the sounds resembling those which Barra had often heard from his slaves. The Master Protector felt a twinge of disgust.
[p 28]
Of course, several of the caravan masters who did regular business at Kira Barra shouted at their slaves at times. But somehow, he had never become used to it. He much preferred to do business with those few who handled their pseudomen as they did their draft beasts—quietly, and with the dignity befitting the true race.
He waited till Dar Makun had finished with his growls and hisses. One of the caravan drivers had swung down and was bringing a fiber cloth bundle toward them. Barra looked at it in annoyance.
“This,” he asked himself, “is his baggage?” He recovered his poise and turned to Dar Makun.
“He can put it in the boat,” he told the man. “I’ll have one of my people pick it up for you when we get to the island. Now, if you’ll follow me, the pier is over this way.” He turned and floated toward the dock.
As they pulled out into the lake, Dar Makun settled himself in the cushions.
“I never realized what a big lake this is,” he remarked. “I’ve always made the northern swing through this part of the continent. Oh, I’ve seen the lake region from the hills, of course, but—” He looked at the water thoughtfully.
“You have quite a lot of fresh-water fish in there?”
Barra nodded. “We get a harvest.”
Dar Makun closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I might deal with you for some of those,” he