Kirk breathed a little easier as he went through the door. Apparently there was no truth to the rumors that....
A chopping blow took him on the back of the head. He fell forward. He was stunned but not unconscious, and he tried to roll over, thrashing out blindly with his fists and feet. But at once there were men on top of him, heavy solid men grinding his face into the gritty carpet, pounding the wind out of him, holding him down.
In a minute his hands were tied tight behind him and his ankles lashed together. They cut the straps of the porto and pulled it off him. Then, like a sack of meal, he was dragged to the wall and propped upright.
In an absolute fury of rage, he spat blood out of his mouth and looked up dizzily into the light.
There were three or four men here, obviously not natives of this planet, but he did not pay much attention to them. The one he looked at stood apart, directly in front of Kirk, a lean dark iron-faced man with very alert eyes, and the easy, dangerous manner of one who enjoys his work because he is so admirably well fitted for it, as a cat enjoys hunting.
He said to Kirk, "My name is Tauncer."
Kirk nodded. He looked with feral interest at this most famous of Solleremos' agents. "I should be flattered, shouldn't I?"
Tauncer shrugged. "We all do what we can, Commander. Each in his own way."
"Well," said Kirk. "What do you want?"
"The answer to one simple question."