"As we do," said Victor, complacently. "But these people!--some in coats of mail, the majority in garments as thin as spider-webs."
"Of course they will never be true residents of the south; only degenerate northern Barbarians."
"But just look: the magnificence, the lavishness. The wheels, the very fellies, are silvered and then twined with blue or green ribbons."
"And the bodies of the chariots! They glisten like sapphires and emeralds."
"Where did Thrasaric get all this treasure?"
"Stolen, friend, stolen from us all. I've often told you so. But not he himself; this generation has grown almost too lazy even for stealing and robbing. It was his father Thrasamer and especially his grandfather, Thrasafred. He was Genseric's right hand. And what that means in pillaging as well as fighting cannot be imagined."
"Magnificent horses, the five reddish-brown ones! They are not African."
"Yes, but of the Spanish stock, reared in Cyrene. They are the best."
"Yes, if there is a strain of Moorish blood. You know, like the Moorish chief Cabaon's famous stallion. A Vandal is said to have him now."
"Impossible! No Moor sells such a horse."