The name of “Khond” meant nothing to Carse, but he recognized it for what it was, an epithet and a curse. The voice of the mob carried to him the warning of death and he tried to rouse himself for the instinct of survival is strong. But his brain was numbed and would not wake.
A stone struck him on the cheek. The physical shock brought him to a little. Blood ran into his mouth. The salt-sweet taste of it told him the destruction already begun. He tried to shake the dark veils aside, far enough at least to see the enemy that threatened him.
He had come out into an open space by the docks. Now, in the twilight, the sea flamed with cold white fire. Masts of the moored ships stood black against it. Phobos was rising, and in the mingled light Carse saw that there were creatures climbing into the rigging of the ships and that they were furred and chained and not wholly human.
And he saw on the wharfside two slender white-skinned men with wings. They wore the loin cloth of the slave and their wings were broken.
The square was filled with people. More of them poured in from the narrow alley-mouths, drawn by the shout of Spy! It echoed from the buildings and the name of “Khondor” hammered at him.
From the wharfside, from the winged slaves and the chained creatures of the ships, a fervent cry reached him.
“Hail, Khondor! Fight, Man!”
Women screamed like harpies. Another stone whistled past his ear. The mob surged and jostled but those nearest Carse held back, wary of the great jeweled sword with its shining blade.
Carse shouted. He swung the sword in a humming arc around him and the Jekkarans, who had shorter blades, melted back.
Again from the wharfside he heard, “Hail, Khondor! Down with the Serpent, down with Sark! Fight, Khond!”