Dane
shielded his eyes against the glare and tried to watch the water, with
some idea that this move must be provocation and what they hunted would
so be driven into view.
He held his sleep rod ready, just as the Salarik on his right had claw
knife in one hand and in the other, open and waiting, the net intended to
entangle and hold fast a victim, binding him for the kill.
But it was at the far tip of the barrier--the post of greatest honor
which Groft had jealously claimed as his, that the gorp struck first. At
a wild shout of defiance Dane half turned to see the Salarik noble cast
his net at sea level and then stab viciously with a well practiced blow.
When he raised his arm for a second thrust, greenish ichor ran from the
blade down his wrist.
"Dane!"
Thorson's head jerked around. He saw the vee of ripples headed straight
for the rocks where he balanced.
But he'd have to wait for a better target than a moving wedge of water.
Instinctively he half crouched in the stance of an embattled spaceman,
wishing now that he did have a blaster.
Neither of the Salariki stationed on either side of him made any move and
he guessed that was hunt etiquette.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86