The two men at the gaming table rose, their faces flushed and angry. One of them strode forward and gripped the girl's arm roughly.
"So I am not a man," he said, with surprising gentleness. "A sad thing, for one who is to be your husband. It's best that we settle that now, before we wed."
Varra nodded. Stark saw that the man's fingers were cutting savagely into the firm muscle of her arm, but she did not wince.
"High time to settle it all, Egil. You have borne enough from me. The day is long overdue for my taming. I must learn now to bend my neck, and acknowledge my lord."
For a moment Stark thought she meant it, the note of mockery in her voice was so subtle. Then the woman in white, who all this time had not moved nor changed expression, voiced again the thin, tinkling laugh he had heard once before. From that, and the dark suffusion of blood in Egil's face, Stark knew that Varra was only casting the man's own phrases back at him. The boy let out one derisive bark, and was cuffed into silence.
Varra looked straight at Stark. "Will you fight for me?" she demanded.
Quite suddenly, it was Stark's turn to laugh. "No!" he said.
Varra shrugged. "Very well, then. I must fight for myself."
"Man," snarled Egil. "I'll show you who's a man, you scapegrace little vixen!"
He wrenched off his girdle with his free hand, at the same time bending the girl around so he could get a fair shot at her. The creature of prey, a Terran falcon, clung to her wrist, beating its wings and screaming, its hooded head jerking.