Chapter twelve
The illusion of a Krozair LongswordWe struck an unseen floor in a tumbled mass. Those damned steel tail-blades of the Katakis could do someone a nasty mischief now and I rolled up into a ball and shielded myself as much as possible with the bundles and the rope.
“Help! Help! Help!” Hunch was crying.
“By the Trip-Tails—” was followed by the scrunching wetness of a hard object squashing into a mouth.
“Belzid—”
We squirmed there in the darkness and sorted ourselves out. Tarkshur was raving. Galid was bellowing to his two men.
The musky smell increased as a tiny warm wind blew about us.
“Where is the slave? Where is he? I’ll have his tripes out! I’ll fry his eyeballs!” Tarkshur was frothing.
Dragging myself off and feeling ahead at every step, I eased away from the noise
