"
"Well, his nickname all through the country was 'The Merciful,'
and he didn't get that for nothing. None of our people ever
breathed his proper name. They said 'He' or 'That One,' and they
didn't say it aloud, either. He fought us for eight months."
"I remember. There was a paragraph about it in one of the
papers," I said.
"We broke him, though. No--the slavers don't come our way,
because our men have the reputation of dying too much, the first
month after they're captured. That knocks down profits, you see."
"What about your charming friends, the Sheshahelis?" said the
Infant.
"There's no market for Sheshaheli. People would as soon buy
crocodiles. I believe, before we annexed the country, Ibn
Makarrah dropped down on 'em once--to train his young men--and
simply hewed 'em in pieces. The bulk of my people are
agriculturists just the right stamp for cotton-growers. What's
Mother playing?--'Once in royal'?"
The organ that had been crooning as happily as a woman over her
babe restored, steadied to a tune.
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