Her hand crept into his as he raised the yellow ring-key. A faint humming, a hollow metallic clang, and the gates slid to either side into their granite walls.
They stepped through into a massive cavern. A cold maw of twilight, green haze and smooth arching walls veined with ruby red and gold. Mahra cried out softly, and Moljar cursed as the two giant furred male Anghorians ran toward them.
Each wore a long straight sword and a slender dagger at his side. Their pink cat-faces masked cold, sadistic evil. Alien. One reached out a paw-like hand at Mahra. His almost lipless mouth slid open, and the incongruous whining speech mewed its travesty of human tones.
"This woman has not been called. She does not belong here." He turned to his fellow. "Take her to the Matrix. Ghils is experimenting with the seventh plain. She will be useful there."
"You are to come with me," he said, turning to Moljar.
The half-breed's hand rested on his dagger. He had fallen instinctively into a half-crouch. "How did you know I was coming here?"
"You will learn many things about Anghore. You have much to learn."
"I'm stubborn about my subjects, and my instructors," growled Moljar. And, as the other Anghorian stepped toward Mahra, Moljar leaped at his throat.
As his left hand clutched the corded body, his right hand whipped the cat man's dagger free. It rested harshly now against the furred man's broad silken chest.
"Do not touch the girl," he warned in the small pointed ear.