"There's a pool along the trail a way," he said. "Tomorrow, you can swim and clean up in the morning with the other riders. I'll see if I can find a tunic big enough."
"I have nothing to give you for it," said Yorgh, unable to avoid feeling sorry for the man at being received so casually after his hard ride. "Unless you want to keep the knife you took from me as payment."
"Never mind," said Ueln. "You'll earn it before long, if I know Jayn."
"What do you mean?" asked Yorgh warily.
"She isn't a bad wench, in her way," Ueln muttered. "It's just that she tries so hard to keep us all under her thumb because so many have been at her to marry. She would rather continue to be chief."
"I should think," suggested Yorgh, recalling the black hair and flashing eyes, "that one might be found who would wink at letting her keep the power."
"Well, yes ... but she could never be sure," said Ueln. "Of course, if she married a man of another tribe—like you, for instance—it would make no difference. She would still rule, for he would be just a slave, with less rights than even the kitchen flunkies."
"So?" murmured Yorgh. "Still ... just let her give me to choose between the kitchen and a house of her young women, and you will see a notable choice made, my friend!"
"Young women reside with their families," snapped Ueln.
He stared Yorgh up and down, his eyes black pools in the light cast by the flambeaux he carried.