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Lanu was an extravagant gift; while the set of ornaments for which Loa was now negotiating was worth a wife -- was worth a pension for life, in other words. Litti's iron tools represented a prodigious capital investment. The few iron cooking pots in the town were precious heirlooms, and no one ever dreamed of using iron in arrowheads; sharpened points of hard wood were always used for those. In fact these dwellers among the trees naturally made use of wood for as many purposes as possible, and iron was mostly used for the cutting of wood.
    Tali had now perfected the rhythm he had been striving for. There was a neat series of beats, and then a hesitation, like a man stumbling, a recovery, and then another stumble. A man could hardly keep from laughing when he heard that rhythm. It was a good joke, something really funny, catching and captivating. The dancers were grinning with pleasure and excitement. They had formed round Tali in a semicircle, and the dance to suit that rhythm rapidly evolved itself. They closed slowly in on him with mock tenseness and dignity. Then a sudden sideways shuffle, half in one direction and half in the other. A quick interchange of places, a backward swirl, and they were ready in the nick of time to begin the cycle again. It was an exciting and stimulating dance, amusing and yet at the same time intensely gratifying artistically. People came swarming from all points to join in, and the semicircle grew wider and wider. Soli, mother's brother's son of the dying Uledi, leaped into the centre.
    “Hey!” he shouted. “Hey hey hey!”
    He was up on his toes, posturing picturesquely. He reeled to one side, he reeled to the other side, while behind him the crowd neatly shifted in time with him, interchanging in a geometrical pattern vastly gratifying. Tali thumped and thundered on his drum. His eyes were staring into vacancy over the heads of the dancers. He touched the side of the drum with his elbow to mute it, and its tone changed from loud mirth to subtle mockery,
    “Hey!” shouted the crowd.
    Tali introduced a new inflection into the rhythm. He made no break in it; perhaps not even a metronome could have measured the subtle variation of time. But now the drumbeat told of high tragedy, of vivid drama. Soli in the centre caught the change of mood, and found words for it.
    “The tall tree totters!” he intoned. “Run, men, run!”
    The drum thundered, the dancers interchanged.
    “Run, men, run!” roared the crowd, catching the final beats.
    “It hangs upon the creepers,” sang Soli in his nasal monotone. “Down it falls!”
    Beat -- beat -- shuffle -- shuffle.
    “Down it falls!” roared the crowd.
    Tali remembered the shrieking monkey which a few months back had been brought down entangled in the vines when a tree had been felled. He muted the drum again, and Soli followed his line of thought.
    “Silly little monkey!” wailed Soli. “How he cries!”
    The drum fell almost silent, so that the united tread of bare feet could be plainly heard in the dust.
    “How he cries!” mocked the crowd.
    Now the drum changed to a savage mood.
    “Watch him as he struggles!” sang Soli.
    He allowed a whole cycle of the rhythm to go by to allow the tension to build up. The drum roared savagely.
    “Watch him as he struggles,” sang Soli. “Cut his throat!”
    Beat -- beat -- shuffle -- shuffle.
    “Cut his throat!” shrieked the crowd.
    Practically everybody in the town had come to join in the dancing now. On one wing Indeharu's grey head was conspicuous, bobbing about as he capered on his skinny legs amid a group of excited girls. Loa stood alone behind Tali; he might perhaps have capered with the crowd, for his divinity was such that he need never fear for his dignity, but the habits of a lifetime kept him by himself. Alone behind Tali he leaped and bounded to the intoxicating rhythm. Strange feelings were stirred up within him by it. Inwardly he was seething; he was bursting with inexpressible