Cold as death, Jarl made himself stride forward. Thrusting stiff hands between the girdle and his belly, once again he spat a stream of crackling gutturals at his foes.
But then, the high commissioner was suddenly tensing, backing. "What is this?" he cried sharply. "You're no primitive!" His voice went high and raw. "Guards! Seize him—!"
The Fantay lunged. The guards clawed for their ray-guns.
But already Jarl was pivoting, whipping a fistful of sand into the officer's eyes. He leaped back as he threw it, so that one guard was between him and the other. Savagely, he hammered home a blow; crowded close and caught the ray-gun's barrel as it cleared the holster, levering it up till it tore free from the creature's tortured grasp.
Then the other guard was upon him, smashing him to his knees.
But the metal mask broke the force of the blow. Jarl triggered the ray-gun. The beam lanced out, struck home at the base of the bulging jaw.
The guard fell backward.
Jarl fired again. The Fantay died.
But now rey Gundre's own weapon was out. The remaining guard came charging in.
Jarl dropped flat as the high commissioner fired. The beam passed over him; blasted the lunging guard.