with empty hands, making gestures of good will and welcome. And they
had had no difficulty in persuading at least three of the exploring
party to accompany them to their own quarters, though Raf had been
separated from the flyer only by the direct order of Captain Hobart,
an order he still resented and wanted to disobey.

The Terrans had been offered refreshment--food and drink. But knowing
the first rule of stellar exploration, they had refused, which did not
mean that the hosts must abstain. In fact, Raf thought, watching the
aliens about him, they ate as if such a feast were novel. His two
neighbors had quickly divided his portion between them and made it
disappear as fast, if not faster, than their own small servings.

At the other end of the room Lablet and Hobart were trying to
communicate with the nobles about them, while Soriki, a small palm
recorder in his hand, was making a tape strip of the proceedings.

Raf glanced from one of his neighbors to the other. The one on his
right had chosen to wear a sight-torturing shade of crimson, and the
material was wound in strips about his body as if he were engulfed in
an endless bandage. Only his fluttering hands, his three-toed feet and
his head were free of the supple rolls. Having selected red for his
clothing, he had picked a brilliant yellow paint for his facial
makeup, and it was difficult for the uninitiated to trace what must be
his normal features under that thick coating of stuff which fashioned
a masklike strip across his eyes and a series of circles outlining his
mouth, circles which almost completely covered his beardless cheeks.
More twists of woven fabric, opalescent and changing color as his head
moved, made a turban for his head.