“That will hold them for a while. But we’d better get out of here quickly, Khond. Those Sark soldiers will cut the door open.”
Carse swung around, his sword raised, but was blind in the darkness of the room. He could smell rope and tar and dust but could see nothing.
A frantic hammering began outside the door. Then Carse’s eyes, becoming accustomed to the obscurity, made out a ponderous corpulent figure close beside him.
The man was big, fleshy and soft looking, a Martian who wore a kilt that looked ridiculously scanty on his fat figure. His face was moonlike, creased and crinkled in a reassuring grin as his small eyes looked unfearingly at Carse’s raised sword.
“I’m no Jekkaran or Sark either,” he said reassuringly.
“I’m Boghaz Hoi of Valkis and I’ve my own reasons for helping any man of Khond. But we’ll have to go quickly.”
“Go where?”
Carse had to drag the words out, he was still breathing so painfully.
“To a place of safety.” The other paused as new louder hammering began upon the door. “That’s the Sarks. I’m leaving. Come or stay as you like, Khond.”
He turned toward the back of the dark room, moving with astonishing lightness and ease for one so corpulent. He did not look back to see if Carse was following.