“They are Shamans, a tribe who live round the gate. They are not yet at war with us, though my father expects war some day. They captured me when I was stopping with an old chief, who is a friend of my father’s, just outside our country.”
I was getting accustomed to her accent now, and she had the sense not to talk too fast.
“Why did they capture you, then?”
“They and certain others attacked the old chief’s house when I was there. He was the old man with me in the gate.” She shuddered a bit.
“Then why were they going to kill you?”
“They weren’t—just yet. But ... the chief Shaman ... wanted me ... and so I thought I’d better make him angry—as angry as I could—so that he would kill me quick. They say once he is angry, nothing but blood pleases him, so I thought that was my only chance.”
The colour had gone from her face again, and she breathed rather quickly, so I turned on to something else.
“Do you think the Shamans”—I hesitated over the word, and she repeated it—“the Shamans will attack us to-night?”
“I do not think they will dare face your weapons that kill with only a noise. Moreover, I think they are afraid of the outside of the gate by night. They say there are devils there. Last night they kept me above the gate to frighten me. But I thought that there were worse devils inside than out.... Also they will not know what you are. No man has ever come into the country for hundreds of years, and I think that the common people do not even believe there are men outside.” She looked at us, and then went on again: “You are certainly men, and of course I know there are other countries. But how came you across the desert, and why? And who are you?”
“We came from very far away, lady. We came because we heard that there were white people like ourselves here, and we wished to see. But we will tell you all about that later on. Now you just said the old man with you was a friend of your father’s. Who is your father?”