Ilse gasped in her throat and whirled around, blue eyes wide. She stood rigid, bent a little forward. She choked, "No, no. Guantra, you wouldn't—not to Kortha. Not that!"
"Not what?" rasped Kortha, scowling in puzzlement.
"The Blue Grotto! It changes men. It makes them different. They aren't the same after they come out of there."
Kortha stared at Ilse, noting the wide ashen eyelashes, the red mouth twisted in pain, the white forehead riven with furrows. Torture! So. It was what he had expected of Guantra: to torture a man until he became a broken thing begging for friendship. Suddenly he looked at Guantra and found the man lost in admiration of Ilse's tanned loveliness.
Kortha leaped like an uncoiling spring. He caught Guantra about the waist and flipped him across a thigh, sending him into a wall. The Premier thudded into the oak and steel, hitting hard. He crouched for long moments on hands and knees, shaking his head. Then he crawled to his feet and looked into his own gun held in Kortha's hand.
"You'll let Ilse and Xax go, Guantra. I remain."
Guantra rubbed his hip, smiling grimly. He nodded.
"Gladly, Kortha. It will be guarantee of our future friendship."
"No," sobbed Ilse, long fingernails biting into Kortha's hairy forearm. "He'll change you. He'll do to you what he did to those—others."
Kortha shook her off. Torture he hated, but he could stand up to it. But if they did anything to Ilse—he wasn't that sure of himself. He had to get rid of her, send her away to Hurlgut. Maybe they could somehow contact Earth or Venus; get help.