"You came here seeking to waken Xaymar, did you not?" Sark smirked. "I merely meant that you should have the chance to do it."
His smile vanished. His words crackled: "Go to the dais, chitza! Awaken Xaymar!"
Haral's captors shoved him forward. Numbly, he clumped across the floor.
Sark and his men drew back to the protection of the archway. Kyla stood in the shadows, pressed against a wall.
For the fraction of a second, the blue man thought of calling out to her to draw the ray-gun she'd hidden in her garments, and blast the raiders with it.
But the fascination that lay in the sleeping goddess pulled even stronger.
He ran his tongue along dry lips. It could be as Sark had guessed—that this was a trap for the unwary; that the first time he touched the bubble would also be the last.
Yet still he stepped onto the dais. Then, breathing deep, he wiped a window through the dust that shrouded the shining globe.
Nothing happened.