The Moro hadn't given up. He kicked out, his foot catching Scotty under the armpit, breaking his hold. The Moro broke free and started to run.
"Get him!" Zircon bellowed.
Scotty dove, both hands outstretched, with Rick right behind him. One of Scotty's hands caught the Moro by shirt and jacket, stopping him long enough for the other hand to get a grip, too. The Moro plunged wildly and the clothing ripped loose. By then Rick was in position. He delivered a judo chop to the side of the Moro's neck. The man slumped to the ground, the red fez dropping into the dust.
For the first time Rick got a look at the Moro's back, where Scotty's frantic grab had bared it. The man was tattooed with a strange design. A Moro kris was crossed with a barong, and both weapons dripped blood. Above the knives, in bright blue ink, was a symbol composed of a short horizontal line from which three vertical lines rose. The middle vertical line was slightly taller than the other two.
The man's back was tattooed with a strange design
Sound smote Rick's ears. He turned swiftly and saw that the old Chinese had come to frightened life. The old man's eyes were open wide, staring at the tattooed design. His mouth was open, and he was wailing at such high pitch that Rick flinched.