Master Rababull stared at Habrunt deliberately for a long moment, before speaking.
"Slavemaster, I have found corruption, in the spice tent, of all places," said Rababull. His allusion to the spice tent was especially ironic, as spices were commonly used to cure infections in the living, and to embalm the dead to delay the onset of corruption and rottenness as long as possible. Of course, only those who could pay were so embalmed. Most could not afford it.
Speaking as to the earth, Habrunt declared emphatically, "Speak, Lord, and it shall be my will!"
"My prize green goddess has been broken. For this crime, let Nelatha be slain," said Rababull.
Nelatha's eyes closed as she keened silently in helpless terror.
"And let this little one—" Master Rababull's voice faltered, so strong and so deep were his feelings for her. "Let this foolish one who spoke so rashly against her Master's gods, never speak again, only—let her live."
With that, he hurled both girls to fall prostrate before his kneeling, perplexed Slavemaster.
"Master," Habrunt protested, "perhaps, with sufficient time for reproof and correction—"
"You will carry out my commands immediately or you will be next!" said
Master Rababull harshly.
"I hear and obey, Master," intoned Habrunt, clasping his right fist hard across his chest again as he bowed low in formal acknowledgment.