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Perhaps the flame beam now destroying the cutter was to be turned on the walls of the keep in turn. Foanna chant again, low and clear. Splashes from the water as those on the jetty cast into the sea objects Ross could not define. The Terran's body jerked, his mask smothered a cry of pain. About his legs and middle, immersed in the waves, there was cold so intense that it seared.
But as moments passed and the Throg did not move in to make an easy kill, Shann collected his wits. Only one shot! Was the beetle injured, unable to make sure of even an almost defenseless prey? The Throgs seldom took prisoners. When they did.... The Terran's lips tightened. He worked his hand under his prone body, feeling for the hilt of his knife.
He was on his feet again, pulling his companion up with him, before the startled spectators could guess what had happened. Then half carrying the other prisoner, he ran, not onward to the waiting Raf, but for the gate through which he had come into the arena. At the same time a message beat into the Terran's brain "This way!"
They had no hair on their heads, and their bodies were of this hue " She plucked at one of the coverings they had heaped around her; it was a lavender-blue mixture. Ross sucked in his breath, and Torgul was fast to pounce upon the understanding he read in the Terran's face. "Not your kind but still you know them!" "I know them," Ross agreed. "They are the enemy!"
The Terran's eyes opened, not upon darkness but on dazzling light, flashes of it which tore over him in great sweeping arcs. Dazed, sick, he tried to press his prone body into the unyielding surface on which he lay. But there was no way of burrowing out of this wild storm of light and clashing sound.
In the limited light Ross could be sure of nothing save that it trailed the ships, appeared to rest on or only lightly in the water, and that its speed was less than that of the vessels it doggedly pursued. "A fish that?" Ross asked. "Watch!" Vistur ordered. But the Hawaikan's sight must have been keener than the Terran's. Had there been a quick movement back there? Ross could not be sure.
Now was the moment to bluff. Shann shook his head, hoping that the gesture of negation was common to both their species. "I don't know the code," he said aloud. The Throg's bulbous eyes gazed, at his moving lips. Then the translator was held before the Terran's mouth. Shann repeated his words, heard them reissue as a series of clicks, and waited.
Two of the Throgs back on the firing line started up after their leader. Shann caught a whiff of their odor as the wounded alien advanced with the single-mindedness of a robot. It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted about the Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the gloom, he hesitated to cross that open space.
He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again. Taggi's distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal had made one abortive attack. Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made the alien reckless.
Jonkvank stopped, his face contorted with saurian rage. "What is this?" he demanded. "You told me that I could be King of Skilk; is this how a Terran keeps his word?" "A Terran's word is always good, Jonkvank," von Schlichten replied, omitting the titles, as was proper in one sovereign addressing another. "My word was that you should reign in Skilk, and my word stands.
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