"The gods of the giants are exceeding mighty!" breathed Si'Wren,
keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard. To this Nelatha made
no reply, but watched only, and kept her silence.
Because of the six-fingered giants, one could speak of another race.
But the way of ordinary men, throughout the known world, was; one kind,
one race, one speech, easily recognized and understood by all. This was
the way it had always been and it would scarce have occurred to any to
so much as question it.
Only two kinds of men might speak and not be understood; drunkards, and
the possessed, and though foul be the reproaches and slurred speech of
a drunkard, so much the worse be the abuses one risked in knowingly
dealing with some possessed madman!
Giants, Si'Wren was told, were all possessed.
The two frightened girls stayed hidden, watching motionlessly in the
spice tent as the giant stood like a temple god himself and conversed
at great length with the Foundryman. They could not hear clearly what
was said, but the giant gesticulated with his huge hands so much that
it was interesting to watch and try to figure out.
He wanted an idol made. This much was plain to see. Verily, for that,
he had come to the right place.
Si'Wren knew no Polynesians, Asians, Eurasians, or Mongolians.
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