Civilization had brushed over Stark with a light hand. Raised from infancy by half-human aboriginals, his perceptions were still those of a savage. His ear was good.
Malthor lied. That cry of pain was not made by any wind.
"I have known several Earthmen," said Malthor, changing the subject, but not too swiftly. "None of them were like you."
Intuition warned Stark to play along. "I don't come from Earth," he said. "I come from Mercury."
Malthor puzzled over that. Venus is a cloudy world, where no man has ever seen the Sun, let alone a star. The captain had heard vaguely of these things. Earth and Mars he knew of. But Mercury was an unknown word.
Stark explained. "The planet nearest the Sun. It's very hot there. The Sun blazes like a huge fire, and there are no clouds to shield it."
"Ah. That is why your skin is so dark." He held his own pale forearm close to Stark's and shook his head. "I have never seen such skin," he said admiringly. "Nor such great muscles."
Looking up, he went on in a tone of complete friendliness, "I wish you would stay with me. You'll find no better lodgings in Shuruun. And I warn you, there are people in the town who will take advantage of strangers—rob them, even slay them. Now, I am known by all as a man of honour. You could sleep soundly under my roof."
He paused, then added with a smile, "Also, I have a daughter. An excellent cook—and very beautiful."
The woeful chanting came again, dim and distant on the wind, an echo of warning against some unimagined fate.