The light was dim, and in order to read by it Damien and Jenseny had to sit with their backs to the bars. Thus they were positioned now, with various piles of coins and cards and miscellaneous small items spread out between them. They were filthy, worn and bruised, and their attention was clearly fixed on the cards in their hands. Neither of them noticed Tarrant as he approached.
“Two,” the girl said, and she took two cards from her hand and put them on the floor. “Give me two.”
The priest counted two cards off the deck and gave them to her.
[He] counted three cards for himself off the deck.
“Jen?”
“Two coins,” she said. She pushed them to the pile between them, where two other coins already lay.
He considered his cards, then added two coins of his own. “I’ll see you that, and raise you … a piece of chalk.”
“I’m out of chalk.” She dug a grimy hand down into her pocket, searching for any miniscule tidbits that previous searches had not revealed. At last she came up clutching something. She held it up into the light and asked, “What is it?”
He studied the small bits of dark rock and rendered judgment. “Lava.”
“What’s it worth?”
He considered. “Half a chalk each.”
... she counted off two pieces and added them to the pile of wagers. ...
“What have you got?”
“Three Matrias.”
“Damn. Pair of sevens.” He watched as she pulled the booty over to her side, then cast another coin down between them. “Your deal.”