Vorgens replied evenly. “I have come to pay my respects to your chieftainI would like to land in your camp, and do him what little honor I can.”
The warrior looked thunderstruck. “You dare to suggest that you should be allowed to—to ..,” He sputtered with rage.
“Do you dare,” Vorgens asked calmly, “to refuse an honor to your Kang? How many chieftains have had an enemy leader ask to see their pyre?”
The warrior hesitated. Finally he said. “This is not for me to decide. The council must make the choice.”
For nearly an hour, the Terran aircar circled slowly over the camp, with its sullen escort of Komani flyers.
“You’re depending an awful lot on their customs, ain’tcha, sir?” Giradaux asked.
“They’re ruled by custom,” the Watchman replied. At least, that’s what they told us at the Academy.
At last the warrior told them to follow him to a landing. They put down in a cleared area near the edge of the camp. A knot of elders stood there, solemn and hostile, as Vorgens climbed down from the aircar.
“I am Lensor,” said one of the Komani, a grizzled, wrinkled nobleman, slightly stooped with age. Still he towered above the Watchman. “Until a new Kang is chosen, I am leader of the council. By what right do you presume to interrupt our sacred funeral ceremony?”
Vorgens said, “I have come to express my sorrow at Okatar’s death.”
“Sorrow?”
“His death was not by my order. I did not know of it ntil after the assassination took place. I did not wish to have him lolled.”
“Yet you are the leader of his enemies.”