“She is quite capricious,” Joan observed in a low voice.
“And as deadly as a rattlesnake.”
“I prefer the snake,” Billy put in. “In fact, I think you basely slander the reptile.”
Moawha’s bonds were removed, a number of crickets and pigmy soldiers moved up around her, cleared a space before the throne, and encircled the space. Before she began the dance she was handed a long, sharp two-edged knife. The blade was ten or twelve inches.
“I’d like to get hold of that knife,” Billy remarked whimsically in a low voice.
Moawha flashed upon him an expressive glance, and then began her pirouette mazes. With her long blond hair sweeping around her like a cloak, she soon demonstrated that if she had a moon-wide reputation as a dancer she could maintain it. It was a strange, wonderful, weird, mystical terpsichorean exhibition during which she brandished the knife she held in a seemingly reckless manner. Up to the throne, back again, across the chamber, and each time that she neared the throne her lithe form twisted gracefully, somersaulted over the knife held in a dangerous manner, and the knife flashed wickedly toward the queen.
“Ah, it is so,” Toplinsky suddenly burst out. “Me-thinks that Queen Carza is wise in watching this dance from an elevated platform. If the fair blond came close enough I have an idea that her life would be a short one, if not merry.”
He had scarcely finished his remark when Moawha darted backward, flipped over with an athletic whirl, dropped down behind Billy’s back, and whirled away.
But she had done much with that dexterous movement. Her keen knife had slashed the bonds that bound Billy.
“Keep your hands behind your back,” she whispered to him. “Let them appear tied.”