points fully as long as those of the Shienaran lances

Masema pulled in his horse viciously, sawing the reins. The others also stopped, in a cloud of dust not ten paces from the man, their lances still held steady on the man's chest. He raised a hand to wave away the dust as it drifted toward him; it was the first move he had made.
He was a tall man, with skin dark from the sun and red hair cut short except for a tail in the back that hung to his shoulders. From his soft, laced knee-high boots to the cloth wrapped loosely around his neck, his clothes were all in shades of brown and gray that would blend into rock or earth. The end of a short horn bow peeked over his shoulder, and a quiver bristled with arrows at his belt at one side. A long knife hung at the other. In his left hand he gripped a round hide buckler and three short spears, no more than half as long as he was tall, with points fully as long as those of the Shienaran lances.
"I have no pipers to play the tune," the man announced with a smile, "but if you wish the dance . . . ." He did not change his stance, but Perrin caught a sudden air of readiness. "My name is Urien, of the Two Spires sept of the Reyn Aiel. I am a Red Shield. Remember me."
Ingtar dismounted and walked forward, removing his helmet. Perrin hesitated only a moment before climbing down to join him. He could not miss the chance to see an Aiel close up. Acting like a black-veiled Aiel. In story after story Aiel were as deadly and dangerous as Trollocs - some even said they were all Darkfriends - but Urien's smile somehow did not look dangerous despite the fact that he seemed poised to leap. His eyes were blue. He looks like Rand. Perrin looked around to see that Mat had joined them, too. Maybe Ingtar's right, Matt added quietly. "Maybe Rand is an Aiel. "
Perrin nodded. "But it doesn't change anything. No, it doesn't." Mat sounded as if he were talking about something beside what Perrin meant. We are both far from our homes," Ingtar said to the Aiel, "and we, at least, have come for other things than fighting." Perrin revised his opinion of Urien's smile; the man actually looked disappointed. As you wish it, Shienaran." Urien turned to Verin, just getting down off her horse, and made an odd bow, digging the points of his spears into the ground and extending his right hand, palm up. His voice became respectful. "Wise One, my water is yours. Verin handed her reins to one of the soldiers. She studied the Aiel as she came closer. "Why do you call me that? Do you take me for an Aiel? No, Wise One. But you have the look of those who have made the journey to Rhuidean and survived. The years do not touch the Wise Ones in the same way as other women, or as they touch men.