idiocy on his loose-lipped, slack-jawed face, a pervading dullness.

"One of our best sensitives," a man with a beard, several places down
the table on Dallona's right, said. "You remember him, Dallona; he
produced that communication from the discarnate Assassin, Sirzim.
Normally, he's a low-grade imbecile, but in trance-state he's
wonderful. And there can be no argument that the communications he
produces originates in his own mind; he doesn't have mind enough, of
his own, to operate that machine."

Garnon of Roxor rose to his feet, the others rising with him. He
unfastened a jewel from the front of his tunic and handed it to
Dallona.

"Here, my dear Lady Dallona; I want you to have this," he said. "It's
been in the family of Roxor for six generations, but I know that you
will appreciate and cherish it." He twisted a heavy ring from his left
hand and gave it to his son. He unstrapped his wrist watch and passed
it across the table to the gray-clad upper-servant. He gave a pocket
case, containing writing tools, slide rule and magnifier, to the
bearded man on the other side of Dallona. "Something you can use, Dr.
Harnosh," he said. Then he took a belt, with a knife and holstered
pistol, from a servant who had brought it to him, and gave it to the
man with the red badge. "And something for you, Dirzed. The pistol's
by Farnor of Yand, and the knife was forged and tempered on Luna."

The man with the winged-bullet badge took the weapons, exclaiming in
appreciation. Then he removed his own belt and buckled on the gift.

"The pistol's fully loaded," Garnon told him.