He sagged of his own weight
between the spears, breathing in harsh sobs, and the trampled snow
around him was spotted red.

Thord was wielding the lash. He had stripped off his own coat, and his
body glistened with sweat in spite of the cold. He cut his victim with
great care, making the long lash sing and crack. He was proud of his
skill.

Stark did not cry out.

Presently Thord stepped back, panting, and looked at the Lord Ciaran.
And the black helm nodded.

Thord dropped the whip. He went up to the big dark man and lifted his
head by the hair.

"Stark," he said, and shook the head roughly. "Stranger!"

Eyes opened and stared at him, and Thord could not repress a slight
shiver. It seemed that the pain and indignity had wrought some evil
magic on this man he had ridden with, and thought he knew. He had seen
exactly the same gaze in a big snow-cat caught in a trap, and he felt
suddenly that it was not a man he spoke to, but a predatory beast.

"Stark," he said. "Where is the talisman of Ban Cruach?"

The Earthman did not answer.

Thord laughed. He glanced up at the sky, where the moons rode low and
swift.

"The night is only half gone. Do you think you can last it out?"

The cold, cruel, patient eyes watched Thord. There was no reply.

Some quality of pride in that gaze angered the barbarian. It seemed to
mock him, who was so sure of his ability to loosen a reluctant tongue.

"You think I cannot make you talk, don't you? You don't know me,
stranger! You don't know Thord, who can make the rocks speak out if he
will!"

He reached out with his free hand and struck Stark across the face.

It seemed impossible that anything so still could move so quickly. There
was an ugly flash of teeth, and Thord's wrist was caught above the
thumb-joint. He bellowed, and the iron jaws closed down, worrying the
bone.

Quite suddenly, Thord screamed. Not for pain, but for panic. And the
rows of watching men swayed forward, and even the Lord Ciaran rose up,
startled.

"_Hark!_" ran the whispering around the fire. "Hark how he growls!"

Thord had let go of Stark's hair and was beating him about the head with
his clenched fist. His face was white.

"Werewolf!" he screamed. "Let me go, beast-thing! Let me go!"

But the dark man clung to Thord's wrist, snarling, and did not hear.
After a bit there came the dull crack of bone.

Stark opened his jaws. Thord ceased to strike him. He backed off slowly,
staring at the torn