A circular area some four-hundred yards in diameter had been totally cleared of tall vegetation except for a stand of brakka trees at the centre. About a hundred Gethan tribesmen and women were clustered around the trees, their attention concentrated on an object at the tip of one of the slim, straight trunks. Leddravohr counted the trees and found there were nine — a number which had magical and religious links with the heavenly constellation of the Tree.

He raised his field glasses and saw, as he had expected, that the object surmounting one of the trees was a naked woman. She was doubled over the tip of the trunk, her stomach pressed into the central orifice, and was held immovably in place by cords around her limbs.

“The savages are making one of their stupid sacrifices,” Leddravohr whispered, passing his glasses to Reeff.

The sergeant examined the scene for a long moment before returning the glasses. “My men could put the bitch to better uses than that,” he said, “but at least it makes things easier for us.”

He pointed at the thin glass tube attached to his wrist. Inside it was part of a cane shoot which had been marked with black pigment at regular intervals. A pacebeetle was devouring the shoot from one end, moving at the unchanging rate common to its kind.

“It is past the fifth division,” Reef said. “The other cohorts will be in position by now. We should go in while the savages are distracted.”

“Not yet.” Leddravohr continued watching the tribesmen through his glasses. “I can see two look-outs who are still facing outwards. These people are becoming a bit more wary, and don’t forget they have copied the idea of cannon from somewhere. Unless we take them completely by surprise they will have time to fire at us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to breakfast on flying rock. I find it quite indigestible.”

Reeff grinned appreciatively. “We’ll wait till the tree blows.”