The apparent leader of one tiny clan, a tall, strong-thewed earthman whose race Ramey would have identified tentatively as Coptic, had been muttering to himself audibly. Now he rose to his full height, swift decision seeming to fan to a blaze the long-contained flame within him.
"Like dogs! Like mangy dogs filthy with vermin they cage us in this stinking hole! And do we rebel? Nay! Like whipped curs we bow before the cursed Videlians—when even our food and drink must be shared with the castoffs of their race!"
He glowered across the room to another fire, gathered about which was a tiny knot of Videlians. An elderly man looked to be leader of these, for as the Coptic chieftain let loose his blast, one of the Martian prisoners stirred, would have risen to reply had not the older man stayed him.
Fellow of the Copt's clan muttered hoarse approval of his words; from other groups came rumblings of encouragement. But one prisoner—an Erse, Ramey guessed, or perhaps a Cym—laughed sardonically.
"And what would you do about it, Tauthus of Cush?"
The mighty one's eyes glinted in the firelight like shards of flint. "I would talk less," he bellowed in reply, "and act more! I would regain a vestige of my lost manhood, beginning by wreaking vengeance on those who are of the race of our oppressors. Like this!"
And like a cat leaping, so swiftly that none could move to deter him, he rushed from his own fire to that where gathered the Videlians. With one blow he felled a startled Martian youth jumping up to meet him. Then, gripping the old man in strong hands, he yanked him to his feet. Light shone on a scrap of metal in his hands, a rude knife painstakingly wrought from a forgotten file.
"Thus," he roared, "to all Videlians!" The raw blade descended....