Carse said impatiently, “How can a man know what he’s saying, at a time like that?”
The truth was that he didn’t know himself why he had spoken the Cursed One’s name, except that it had been thrust at him so often that he supposed it had become a sort of obsession. The Dhuvian’s little hypnosis gadget had thrown his whole mind off balance for a while. He remembered only a towering rage—the gods knew he had had enough to make any man angry.
It was probably not so strange that the Dhuvian’s hypnotic science hadn’t been able to put him completely under. After all he was an Earthman and a product of another age. Even so it had been a near thing—horribly near. He didn’t want to think about it any more.
“That’s over now. Forget it. We’ve got to think how to get ourselves out of this mess.”
Boghaz’ courage seemed to have drained away. He said glumly, “We’d better kill ourselves at once and have done with it.”
He meant it. Carse said, “If you feel that way why did you strike out to save my life?”
“I don’t know. Instinct, I suppose.”
“All right. My instinct is to go on living as long as possible.”
It didn’t look as though that would be very long. But he was not going to take Boghaz’s advice and fall upon the sword of Rhiannon. He weighted it in his hands, scowling, and then looked from it to his fetters.
He said suddenly, “If we could free the rowers they’d fight. They’re all condemned for life—nothing to lose. We might take the ship.”