to ignore it and be decent, but I've had about
enough. I've been in this caravan business for a long time. I've dealt
square and I'm used to square dealing. Now, you've been putting out a
lot of side thoughts about thievery and I don't appreciate being treated
like some sneak thief. I'm not about to get used to the idea, either.

"Now, you'd better get the air cleared around here and then we can talk
business. Otherwise, there's going to be a lot of trouble."

Barra felt a surge of fury rising above his fear. This lacklander clown
actually dared to try to establish domination over a member of the
ruling class? He breathed deeply.

"I don't have--"

"All right, listen to me, you termite. You've come way too far out of
your hole. Now, you just better crawl back in there fast, before I turn
on the lights and burn your hide off."

The surge of mental power blazing at Barra was almost a physical force.
He cringed away from it, his face wrinkling in an agony of fright. Makun
looked at him contemptuously.

"All right. Now, I'll tell you--"

Smoothly, Barra's hand went to the haft of his distorter. The jewel
seemed to rise of its own accord as it blazed coldly.

For an infinitesimal time, Makun's face reflected horrified
comprehension before it melted into shapelessness.

Barra put the distorter back in its rack, looking disgustedly at the
mess on the cushions. There was nothing for it, he thought. He'd have to
destroy those, too. Cleaning was out of the question. He shook his head.

Like all these strong types, this Makun had neglected a simple
principle. With fear as his constant companion, Barra had been forced to
learn to live with it.

Extreme mental pressure was merely another form of fright. It could
paralyze a braver soul--and often did. It merely made Barra miserably
uncomfortable without disturbing his control. And the hatred that was
always in him was unimpaired--even amplified by the pounding terror.

The more thoroughly Barra was frightened, the more effectively he
attacked.

He leaned back in his seat, letting the drumming of his heart subside.
Eventually, he would recover enough to guide the boat out of the swamp
and back to the Residence.

Tomorrow? Well, he would have to inventory the freight the man had
carried. He would have to check those draft beasts. Perhaps he could
discern the hidden identification Makun had mentioned.

And he would have to make disposition of some twenty slaves. He sum