But beyond that, to Burke, it seemed disappointingly ordinary ... hardly colorful enough to rate the trial of a man accused of playing god.
That is, so it appeared until his captors dragged him into a central room ... and there, black-browed and haughty, sat bearded Minos on his throne.
A chill ran through Burke. Never had he seen such malevolence staring out of human eyes.
For his own part, it would be the supreme test of his skill and daring if he even left this room alive. With all his heart, he wished he had the Smith & Wesson back.
Lacking it, he'd have to rely upon his wits and play the scene by ear.
And that brought up another nagging question: why had Ariadne insisted on possessing herself of the weapon? And why did she take such pains to stay well separated from him, with others of his captors always in between?
Studying her now, it once again came home to Burke that she was indeed a strange, a tragic figure, for all her loveliness. For even here, in the presence of the mighty sea-king who was her father, her isolation showed up all too clearly. The guards, the priests, the nobles—as one, they walked wide around her, as if some mark of shame and menace were blazoned on her forehead.
Perhaps—
But now Minos leaned forward upon his carved gypsum throne. "Well, blasphemer? How do you choose to die?"
The monarch's voice echoed the black hatred of all mankind that gleamed with such intensity in his eyes.