"We will continue with the testing," he said.
"I am ready," Larkin answered, moving toward the altar.
"Hey, wait a minute," his son said, seizing his arm.
Larkin shrugged off the grip. "You idiot!" Anger blazed in his voice. "Don't you know what you face here? This test must be accepted, or you will never do business on Mars."
"All right, you old fool!" His son's voice was shrill with anger too, though not the same kind of anger. "Go on and get your stupid head chopped off and see if I care."
"I did not expect you to care," Larkin answered. He laid his head on the altar.
Malovar lifted the long sword.
Over the coliseum the assembled Martians seemed to catch their collective breath and then to stop breathing. The silence became thick, heavy, like a pall of gray mist. In that voiceless instant it seemed to Boyd Larkin that time itself was standing still. What would Malovar do? Larkin did not know, and had never known, the facts on which the ruler based his decision to strike or not to strike.
What did knowing, or not knowing, matter now, in the moment that might see the end of his life?
The hushed silence was broken by a single sharp cry. Larkin opened his eyes. He saw Malovar catch the movement of the sword. He turned his head in the direction from which the cry had come.