A swelling cry of horror from the guards halted Urim's ringing words, and he whirled about as a white-clad figure closed upon him. Before he could lift his hands in defense, a slender blade flashed evilly in a brief arc before striking deep into his breast.
Death came instantly to Urim of Sephar; and his body rolled limply down the steps of the dais, nearly upsetting Pryak as it struck the floor.
Tidor's moment of victory was short-lived. One of the guards snatched a knife from his belt and flung it, point-foremost, with all his strength.
Tidor screamed once in pain and terror as the heavy blade sank hilt-deep into his neck. Then his knees gave way and he fell face down across the great chair. Urim was avenged.
And now the momentary paralysis of the guards snapped like an overdrawn bowstring. Seizing their weapons they threw themselves at the priests with the commendable intention of butchering the lot. But in place of an unarmed and fear-stricken group of priests, they were confronted by an orderly band of unflinching men, each with a long knife drawn from the folds of his left sleeve.
The guards skidded to a halt in open-mouthed astonishment at this feat of legerdemain; and Pryak, quick to take advantage of their baffled state, scrambled atop the dais and cried out to gain their attention.
"Hold!" he shouted. "In the name of your God! Heed my words before His wrath falls upon you! Urim is dead because he would be greater than his God. Would you suffer the same fate?"
The guards shifted uncertainly. The words cut through the red curtain of their fury, weakening the resolution to wipe out, in blood, the result of their own negligence. But fear of their God—already strong enough in man to be basic—stiffened their limbs and flooded their hearts with indecision.
Had they a leader, someone to rally them to action, Pryak and his followers would have been dead within seconds. But the wily arch-priest had foreseen that, with Vulcar away, there would be none hardy enough to oppose him in taking the entire city.