l farther
to the east, beyond the Great Sea." He gripped the blade, flexing it.

"Look you," he commanded, "how this blade has life. Here is none of your
soft bronze or rough iron from the northern hills. Here is a living
metal that will sever a hair, yet not shatter on the hardest helm."

Lanko showed interest. "You say this sword was made beyond the Great
Sea? How, then, came it to Norlar and thence here?"

Musa shook his head. "I am not sure," he confessed. "It is rumored that
the priests of the sea god, Kondaro, by praying to their deity, are
guided across the sea to lands unknown."

"Taking traders with them?"

"So I have been told."

"And you plan to journey to Norlar to verify this rumor, and perhaps to
make a sea voyage?"

Musa stroked his beard, wondering if this man could actually read
thoughts.

"Yes," he admitted, "I had that in mind."

"I see." Lanko reached for the sword. As Musa handed it to him, he
extended it toward the rear of the booth, whipping it in an intricate
saber drill. Musa watched, puzzled. An experienced swordsman himself he
had thought he knew all of the sword arts. The sword flexed, singing as
it cut through the air.

"Merchant, I like this sword. What would its price be?"

* * * * *

Musa was disappointed. Here was strange bargaining. People just didn't
walk in and announce their desire for definite articles. They feigned
indifference. They picked over the wares casually, disparagingly. They
looked at many items, asking prices. They bargained a little, perhaps,
to test the merchant. They made comments about robbery, and about the
things they had seen in other merchants' booths which were so much
better and so much cheaper.

Slowly, and with the greatest reluctance, did the normal shopper
approach the object he coveted.

Then, here was this man.

"_Well_," Musa told himself, "_make the most of it_." He shrugged.

"Nine hundred balata," he stated definitely, matching the frank
directness of this unusual shopper, and incidentally doubling his price.

Lanko was examining the hilt of the sword. He snapped a fingernail
against its blade. There was a musical _ping_.

"You must like this bit of metal far better than I," he commented
without looking up. "I only like it two hundred balata worth."

Musa felt relief at this return to familiar procedure. He held up his
hands in a horrified gesture.

"Two hundred!" he cried. "Why, that is for the