Jarl's heart pounded. "If I die, you can have her!" He did not dare look at Sais.
The mutant moved into the circle. His prehensile fingers flexed and worked. His blank, grey-white face was a bleak mask of menace, the more fearsome for its very lack of expression.
Slowly, they moved around, ever facing—each searching for an opening, seeking some hint of weakness. The tension climbed higher, in a throbbing crescendo.
Jarl could feel the sweat come to his palms. His pulses hammered.
Then, suddenly, arms flailing, Tas Karrel sprang forward.
Jarl leaped back; jarred against the Pervod lieutenant.
Karrel lunged again. Again, Jarl tried to leap aside.
But a clawed Pervod foot hooked out and tripped him. He sprawled on the floor.
In a flash, Tas Karrel was upon him. A bulging dau arm bore down on his windpipe.
Writhing, Jarl tried to tear free. But the arm would not let him. The prehensile fingers gouged at his eye-balls.