Chapter eighteen
Of the spitting of Ros Delphor“Cut me down! Cut me down!”
Zankov’s voice cracked with triumph.
The silver-masks rushed in and then halted at the sight before them. One jumped as though stung when Zankov shouted, and leaped forward, dagger lifted. He slashed the bonds and as the thongs fell free so Zankov collapsed forward onto his knees. He breathed in huge gasps. Wiry, vigorous, alive, he wore the green breechclout drawn up tightly.
Green is a perfectly ordinary color for a Vallian, and Zankov was Vallian, if nothing else. Dark blue is the color Vallians shun, to my sorrow. Pale blue is acceptable in seacoast provinces, and the old Vallian Air Service used to wear dark blue and orange in a fashion that did not last upwards of ten seasons. So, the importance of colors
