Okie brought the drinks.
Sartan smiled broadly. "Thank you ex-ceed-ing-ly."
"That'll be two-fifty."
Toryl raised his glass as though making a toast. "Two-fif-ty!" he repeated.
Okie caught his arm and brought the glass down.
"Two-fifty!" the barkeep said with grim insistence.
Sartan pursed his lips comprehendingly. He removed a large pentagonal piece of metal from his pocket and gave it to Okie.
Okie took the piece between his fingers, examined it and frowned. "I give up. What is it?"
Sartan had to glance at Toryl for an answer. Toryl threw a switch on the crypterpreter.
"Money," Toryl silently advised him.