As he spoke, his hand dropped below the table's edge, fumbled there, then reappeared, a long knife of stone in his fingers.
"But I dare not do that," he went on, in the same flat monotone. "You might turn up again in Sephar and ruin everything. I cannot risk it."
Was he, Dylara wondered, trying to goad her into some act of resistance, that he might escape the stigma of cold-blooded murder? Fascinated, unable to look away, she watched him lift the keen-edged blade.
Suddenly he rose and lunged across the table toward her. Dylara knew the moment had come.
CHAPTER IX
Torture
Jotan pushed back his plate and sighed wearily.
"I can't eat in this heat," he complained. "Besides, I have no appetite."
"It is hot," Javan agreed through a full mouth; "but then it's always hot at this time of day."