He would have to change hotels. That alone had an urgency to it. Wearily he fumbled with his shield. It was still solid. He ran a hand over his forehead, pressing against the temples.
He thought of the sleeping Oholo. He dropped the shield completely, knowing she would realize its absence. He stretched mentally for a long, precious second, and it was with infinite relief.
"Hello," he leered in the direction of Lauri. "Hello," he snarled suddenly, tingling with excitement.
No answer.
"Hello! Hello! Hello!"
He shielded, and hatred of her and of all Oholos—inbred hate, overcame him. It brought an almost pathological bravado with it. The destructive drive for revenge was a surge within him. He dropped the shield and thought to her, slow and gloatingly, of the things in store for her when she was safely disarmed and helpless. And he permitted his hate to leap and caress her, and the details of the torture were etched in passion acid.
After a while, he could feel her shudder at the thoughts, and he simpered. She seemed to lie helpless, stunned under him, spurring him to greater imaginative excesses.
Then she struck out blindly, a shivering blow that caught him unaware between the eyes like a swung club.
He shielded. Instantly he felt the guilt of last night. He was angry at himself, as if he had acted without really wanting to, as a Knoug was supposed to act. And he snarled a curse.