“Great Leader Khassna, Lord of Tsahloose, son of the Lords of Tsahloose unto a dozen generations, chosen of Hissussisthiss for his worthiness, leader of warriors and august in his citizen’s eyes.  I show unto you, your guests Radley Staff, general of the colonial guard, former under-leader of a great ocean vessel whose name is Ghiosa, and chosen of the Governor of their colony.  He has conveyed his finest traders and scholars to dialog with yours.  And he has conveyed Senta the great sorceress, consort of the witch-demon Zurfina, and High Priestess of the false god Yessennar.”

“Figures I’d get left out of the introductions,” whispered Wissinger.

“You’re not left out,” replied Manring.  “You’re one of Staff’s finest scholars.  What am I—chopped liver?”

“I’m happy not to be mentioned at all,” said Bratihn.  “Especially not in association with a ‘witch-demon’.”

The Great King stood up from his throne and slowly stepped down from the dais to stand before Staff.  He was tall and massive, as indeed all the dominant lizardmen seemed to be.  Unlike every member of his species ever seen by the humans from Port Dechantagne, his skin was not mottled and bumpy, but was perfectly smooth.  In those few places that were not completely obscured by body paint; his skin was a uniform shade of emerald.  The rest of it was painted in zigzag designs of teal and red and pearlescent white.  Around his wrists and ankles were dozens of bands of gold, silver, and copper, around his neck many necklaces of precious stones.  He wore a headdress with bright red, white, and teal feathers poking up and long braids of colored strings hanging down behind his head.  He placed his hand on his throat, palm out, in greeting.  He spoke in the native language.  Though the envoy translated, most of the humans already recognized it as a greeting.

Staff raised his hand in a similar gesture and bowed as well.

“On behalf of the King Tybalt III of the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon and the Governor Iolanthe Staff of Port Dechantagne, thank you for your welcome.  We have come hoping that our peoples can share knowledge, wealth, and prosperity.”

Khassna spoke again, and the envoy translated.  “You shall stay as our guests while here.  Your cousins originating in the ancestor land also have arrived at Tsahloose to share their great skills.”

Staff nodded thoughtfully.  Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a small oak box with brass fastenings.  He carefully opened the box, folding its top back on its hinges.  Inside sat a bird, covered with real feathers and with a sprightly green tail, but with a golden beak and lifeless eyes.  Senta marveled.  It was not exactly like the little mechanical bird she had seen so long ago in the toy store window, but it was alike enough to have been made by the same craftsman.  Staff handed the opened box to Khassna.  As the chief took it, Staff whispered something.  The bird began to whistle and flap its wings.  A low hiss was heard around the room.

“I thank you for this gift,” said Khassna, through his translator.  “Wait here on our left.  Later, you shall go to your house in Tsahloose, where you can relax.  When the sun rises, we will talk again.”

Staff, Senta, and the others gathered in a group at the left of the dais.  They watched as other groups of visitors, one after the other, stepped forward from their places on either side of the hall.  Each group presented the great king with its own gift.  Most of what was said between subject and king went untranslated for the humans from Port Dechantagne, though they could pick out most of the unusual dialect.  The gifts were uniformly magnificent.  There was gold jewelry, studded with precious gems.  There were ornate silver goblets and platters.  And there were long robes and capes fashioned from feathers.  Each time a group of lizzie notables presented the king with a gift, he formally thanked them.  Only once, when he was presented with a small golden box filled with some kind of spice, did he react on a more personal level, embracing the giver.

After all the lizardmen present had given their gifts and paid their respects, the men from Freedonia stepped forward.  With the same stiff military posture they had shown when saluting Staff, they greeted the king.  The lizzie envoy who had translated lizard speech to Brech, now translated Freedonian to lizzie.  Between her studies and her friendship with Hero, who had been born in Freedonia, Senta had learned quite a bit of the language.

“Greetings to Great King Khassna from His Imperial Majesty King Klaus II of Freedonia.  We have seen that Khassna is held in great esteem for he has received many wonderful gifts, but we of the fatherland wish him to know that we respect him the most.”

The officer snapped his fingers and six men in the white duck jackets, trousers and vests that were the uniforms of seamen in the Freedonian navy ran out into the room, carrying three large wooden crates.  They sat the crates down in front of the king, opened them, and pulled pieces of equipment from the straw packing within.  One crate contained a black metal tripod, which was quickly set up to serve as a stand for the contents of the second crate—the latest model Freedonian water-cooled machine gun.  The third crate turned out to be full of ammunition belts, one of which the sailors removed and fed into the gun, pulling back on the lever action.

Khassna fairly jumped up and down with excitement, hissing out orders.  According to his apparent instructions, a group of five lizardmen ran out into the hall, near the door through which Senta and the others had entered.  The lizzie King sat down behind the machine gun and aimed it at his own warriors.  For their part, the warriors were either remarkably disciplined or unaware of what was coming, for they did not flinch or move.  With a flick of his clawed finger, Khassna sent a burst of machinegun fire which mowed all five warriors down in a bloody spray.

“Oh Kafira,” muttered Mr. Vever.