"And you're the one, eh, Qorn?" Retief commented.
Magnan cleared his throat. "I sense that some of you gentlemen are not convinced of the wisdom of this move," he piped, looking along the table at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staring eyes.
"Silence!" Qorn hooted. "No use your talking to my loyal lieutenants anyway," he added. "They do whatever I convince them they ought to do."
"But I'm sure that on more mature consideration—"
"I can lick any Qornt in the house." Qorn said. "That's why I'm Qorn." He belched again.
A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with a crash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrapped three loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place.
"You next!" The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms. Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped around them. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through the ends and closed it.
"Now," Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. "There's a bit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them?"
"Let them go," the blue and flame Qornt said glumly.
"You can do better than that," Qorn hooted. "Now here's a suggestion: we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae, say—and ship them back."