Thorn could not stay there. Lying flat along the baseboard, he would be stabbed at any instant by an inquiring sword point.
The six spread a little. A very little. But there was room enough for Thorn to slide between the two men nearest him and roll soundlessly under the table.
There was no sanctuary for him there. The cursed Kori, with his hawk eyes, glanced under the table after stabbing vainly along the wall.
"The carpet!" he bellowed. "See how the nap is pressed down! He is under there, comrades!"
The thrusting swords raked under the table a half second or so after Thorn had rolled out the other side, upsetting a chair in his hurry.
"After him!" panted Soyo. "By the living God, this is wizardry! But he must not get away—"
"He won't!" snapped the elderly leader. "Men, form a line at the far end of the room and march slowly, shoulder to shoulder, to this end. The spy must be caught!"
The move was executed. All the men in the room, save the four guarding the doors, lined up and advanced slowly, swerving and slashing their swords. Like a line of workers hand-harvesting a wheat field they came—foot by foot toward the corner where Thorn turned this way and that in a vain effort to escape.
The line reached the table. Over and under and around it the swords slashed viciously, leaving no space unprobed.