"No matter," Vazcled said heavily. "The criminal stands self-accused.... Have you any explanation of your conduct, Torcred the Terrapin?"
Torcred shook his head dumbly.
"Then—" the chief turned to the elders, "there is question only of the punishment."
Helsed thrust himself forward eagerly. "Death!" he mouthed. "Such a crime deserves no less!"
The chief looked at him coldly. "Did I ask your advice?" he inquired bitingly.
Helsed beat a retreat. "I am sorry.... But it is true that I have a special grievance in this matter...."
"Be quiet!" snapped Vazcled.
The oldest member of the council spoke, and the rest listened respectfully. "Everyone knows the story of Fuwu, who took to himself a dragon woman. He was cast out of the tribe according to the ritual, and left to die in the desert with his seductress—a sentence lighter and heavier than mere death, and one which did not stain the hands of the tribe with the blood of a terrapin."
The other judges nodded in token of their remembrance and approval of the precedent. The chief saw their decision, and faced the prisoners again. At this curt command the guards seized Torcred and thrust him forward unresisting. Vazcled, knife in hand, looked him in the eyes, his face a stern formal mask. He intoned:
"Torcred the Terrapin, your sin is past forgiveness. I pronounce you outcast and abhorred; none shall take notice of you any more, either to help or hurt. You are no longer one of us; we give you to the wilderness. Torcred, no longer Terrapin, I mark you as such!"