Meanwhile, Tharn had not remained passively in a reclining position. As the opening barrage passed over him, he rose to his knees and dispatched his first arrow at the foe Katon had given him.
Maltor was too seasoned a warrior to be caught napping. Even though he had momentarily dismissed Tharn as a source of danger, he had kept an eye on the cave-man. And that precaution enabled him to twist aside barely in time to keep from being struck.
The veteran bowman gasped incredulously as the stone-shod missile whined past. He marvelled that a man's arm could be capable of driving an arrow with such superhuman power.
It was Maltor's last thought in this life.
Even as Tharn released his first arrow, his right hand shot out, snatched a second from its vertical position in the sand, strung it and let go—all within the quiver of an eye-lid. Maltor, still trying to regain balance, was in no position to dodge again.
Those in the stands saw the famed bowman straighten as though jerked upright by an invisible hand. Mouth agape, eyes staring in uncomprehending horror, he remained upright for a long moment, while a red line trickled between the fingers he had clapped to his side. Then he turned in a slow half-circle, his knees buckled; and Maltor sank to the sands, dead where he fell.
So savage had been the force behind Tharn's arrow that head and shaft had passed completely through the Sepharian's body.
Rotark, watching, spellbound by the brief drama, was shocked from his inertia when his bow was torn from his grasp and hurled several yards away. One end struck him, in its flight, full across the face and sent him sprawling.
An arrow intended for Rotark's heart had, instead, crashed against the hardwood bow in his hand. The impact cost Rotark two of his teeth; an inch or so either way would have cost him his life.