Khashdrahr stopped translating and frowned perplexedly. “Please, this average man, there is no equivalent in our language, I’m afraid.” “You know,” said Halyard, “the ordinary man, like, well, anybody—those men working back on the bridge, the man in that old car we passed. The little man, not brilliant but a good-hearted, plain, ordinary, everyday kind of person.” Khashdrahr translated. “Aha,” said the Shah, nodding, “Takaru.” “What did he say?” “Takaru,” said Khashdrahr. “Slave.” “No Takaru,” said Halyard, speaking directly to the Shah. “Ci-ti-zen.” “Ahhhhh,” said the Shah. “Ci-ti-zen.” He
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