Chapter eight
Prey of the Manhounds of AntaresThe stink of slaves lay in my nostrils with that thick choking odor so familiar to me.
A voice said: “I can guide you out, Golan, by Hito the Hunter! But you must run—”
“I can run, Anko! And I will reward you, liberally, magnificently! I am a Pallan—”
“And me! And me!” other voices lifted, beseeching, begging, pleading to be led to freedom.
I opened my eyes.
I had failed the Star Lords.
The brazen notes of a stentor’s horn filled the caves and passageways and like swirling weeds at the turn of the tide all the slaves raced madly off to the feeding hall. I stood up. By the Black Chunkrah! I’d go down to the feeding cave and take my food if I had to snatch it from all the Khamorros in Havilfar and all the guides in Faol!
So the Princess L
