“Have no fear, friend,” said Maya, “they will not do murder so openly.”
By now Tikal stood before us, bowing, and Zibalbay, who as usual was seated brooding at the table, looked up and saw him.
“What do you seek, traitor?” he asked angrily, the blood flushing beneath his withered skin. “Would you kill us? If so, slay on, for thus shall I come the sooner to the bosom of that god whose vengeance I call down upon you.”
“I am no murderer, Zibalbay,” answered Tikal with dignity. “If you die, it will be by the command of the law that you have broken, and not by mine. I am here to speak with you, if you will come apart with me.”
“Then speak on before these others, or leave your words unsaid,” he answered, “for not one step will I stir with you, who doubtless seek some opportunity to stab me in the back.”
“Yet it is necessary that you should hear what I have to say, Zibalbay.”
“Say on then, traitor, or go.”
Tikal thought for a while, looking doubtfully at Maya, from whose fair face, indeed, he rarely took his eyes.
“Is it your wish that I should withdraw?” she asked shortly.
“It is not mine,” said Zibalbay; “stay where you are, daughter.”