The exact center of the encampment was the site of 48 he largest tent of all, colored pure gold: the home of the tribal Kang.
“They’re pretty brazen, camping in the open,” Mcintyre growled as they first saw the meadow.
“They’ve probably got an energy screen that’ll protect ’em against missiles and aircraft, Sarge,” Giradaux said. “You’d either have to hit ’em with heavy beamguns from a starship, or attack ’em overland. They’ve got the approaches bottled up pretty tight,”
Mclntyre muttered to himself.
They were led into the camp, through row after row of gaudy bubble-tents, stared at silently by the solemn Komani warriors, women and children. They stared back intently at this unexpected close-up of their enemy’s base.
“What’re all the natives doin* here?” Mclntyre wondered. “I thought the Komani were raidin’ them. Why’re they actin* so friendly?”
The Shinarians were there, if not in force, then certainly in numbers. Groups of olive-skinned natives were everywhere in the Komani camp, selling food to Komani women, bargaining over jewelry with Komani nobles, demonstrating mobile energy beam projectors to Komani technicians.
But, worse still, Vorgens saw many of the natives were simply talking—quietly and earnestly—with Komani warriors. And the natives wore weapons.
Finally the Terrans were ushered into a bubble-tent. It was furnished with a single low-slung table; nothing elseThe lone doorway was guarded by four heavily armed warriors, the smallest of them a full head taller and seemingly a yard wider than Mclntyre.