"Now, by the gods," he marveled, "you two must be madmen. Had I not been passing by, for your rebellion at this moment your bones would be pickings for the curs of the streets."
"The curs of this city," ground O'Day savagely, "are not all four-legged—"
"But in me," continued the newcomer, "you find one who admires a fighting spirit in howsoever an unsuspected source it may be found. Aye, and an eye which needs no stark unveiling to detect beauty. Tisru!" He turned to the auctioneer who, glaring malevolently at his attackers, had cringed back onto the dais. "I will bid me this family of rebel serfs. What is your price?"
The auctioneer pleaded greasily, "I can set no price, my lord. This is an open auction with chattels sold to the highest bidder."
"So?" The Seneschal eyed each of the quintet in turn, appreciatively appraising the two girls, nodding his head slowly at the frames of the two young men. Dr. Kang he dismissed with a glance, then turned to Tisru.
"The old one I do not want. For the young ones, as a lot, ten thousand dwari. Is there a higher bid?"
Tisru knew there would not be. Not only was the price staggeringly high, but none in this audience dared bid against the Seneschal of the Inner Council.
He shook his head, gasping, "Nay, sire, there is no other bid. For that price take also the old one, with the compliments of Tisru's Mart."
The Moranu nodded to a servant, who negligently tossed a bag to the auctioneer. The lord nodded to his new purchases. "Follow me," he commanded, and led the way from the market place.