"Good trade, Ch'aka. You pick one of mine, take the best, I'll take two of yours. But hole-in-head gone. Too much trouble. Talk all the time. I got sore foot from kicking him. Got rid of him."
"Did you kill him?"
"Don't waste slave. Traded him to the D'zertanoj. Got arrows. You want arrows?"
"Not this time, Fasimba, but thanks for the information." He rooted around in a pouch and pulled out a krenoj. "Here, have something to eat."
"Where you get poisoned krenoj?" Fasimba asked with interest. "I could use a poisoned krenoj."
"This isn't poisoned, it's perfectly edible, or at least as edible as these things ever are."
Fasimba laughed. "You pretty funny, Ch'aka. I give you one arrow for poisoned krenoj."
"You're on," Jason said throwing the krenoj to the ground between them. "But I tell you it is perfectly good."
"That's what I tell man I give it to. I got good use for a poisoned krenoj." He threw an arrow into the sand away from them and grabbed up the vegetable as he left.
When Jason picked up the arrow it bent, and he saw that it was rusted almost completely in two and that the break had been craftily covered by clay. "That's all right," he called after the retreating slaver, "just wait until your friend eats the krenoj."