"What was that for?" he asked.
"Oh ... it don't wave in the air so much when you stop a jab. Looks better, to the judges."
Meyers grunted. He'd like to believe it doesn't show on him! he thought.
Suddenly, he bent down to place an ear against the trap door. A petulant grimace twisted his features.
"They're on the ladder," he whispered. "Wouldn't you know?"
He straightened up and walked softly back to his bench. Taranto remained at the window. It was a perfectly natural place for him to be, he decided.
A few moments later, the trap door creaked up, letting yellow light burst into the cell. It came from a clumsy electric lantern in the grip of the first Syssokan who climbed into the chamber. Two others followed, suggestively fingering pistols that would have been considered crude on Terra two centuries earlier.
The individual with the light was typical of his race, a tall, cadaverous humanoid with pale, greenish-gray skin made up of tiny scales. His nose was flatter than that of a Terran ape, and his chin consisted mostly of a hanging fold of scaly skin. His ears were set very low on a narrow, pointed skull. Occasionally, they made small motions as if to fold in upon themselves.
The Syssokans were clad in garments not unlike loose, sleeveless pajamas, over which they wore leather harness for their weapons. The leader's suit was red, but the other two wore a dull brown.
"Iss all ssatissfactory?" asked the one in charge, staring about the cell with large, black eyes.