Jarl choked, "Sais—! What have they done to you—?"
The woman who was Ktar Wassreck's daughter pulled together the torn bodice of her kirtle. A sudden flush replaced her pallor. "Ask them, Jarl." The fine, dark eyes with which she swept the raider chiefs were bitter, scornful.
Jarl stood very still. Cold-eyed, seething, he looked from one captain to another.
He said tightly: "You know this woman. You know she's under my protection. Who among you saw fit to lay hands on her, in my own quarters?" And then, with special, deadly emphasis: "Who dared to do it?"
But the chieftains' eyes threw back his fury. Their faces stayed hard, bleak, impassive.
"You starbos!" Jarl lashed. "Are you afraid to talk? Have you left your tongues on Pluto?"
The chiefs exchanged glances. Then, almost idly, Bor Legat moved forward—Bor Legat of Mercury, Bor Legat the ruthless. His lean body's shell-plates clacked in the stillness like tiny castinets. The basilisk eyes were like diamonds.
"Corvett," he said gently, "we're not afraid. Maybe this will convince you."
One arm appendage whipped up. The splayed, tentacular digits stung Jarl's face like flicking lashes.