A savage kick in the back of the knees caught him from behind in the same instant. His legs buckled. He spilled forward, asprawl on the floor.
"A whip—!" cried Ylana, face white with passion. "A whip for this raider dog they call Jarl Corvett!"
One of the Mercurian guards sprang forward, jerking off his heavy, stanal-buckled belt. "Here, Shi Ylana! The plate will cut deep!"
The girl snatched it from him. Her face contorted.
"No, Ylana—!" It was her father, the kabat-haze fading from his eyes. "Would you drag yourself down to the level of this chitza, here before officers of the fleet—?"
The girl turned on him as a quirst turns on its pursuers. "Who talks of dragging down, and of the fleet?" she lashed fiercely. "Do you dare to speak—you, with your plots and schemes, your secret meetings—?"
The high commissioner flushed to the hair. "Ylana! Silence!"
"Was it you this starbo and his scum dragged out of bed last night? Was it you who screamed and called the guard when they sought to flee in your own carrier?"
Her father's jaws went stiff and set. His clenched fists bore down upon the table. But he broke before Ylana's eyes; said nothing more.
The girl turned her back on him. Furiously, she challenged Jarl: "You were brave enough last night, when you dealt only with a helpless woman! But how is your courage now, bold raider? How does force taste, when another hand holds the lash?"