slowness
of their movements. They were plainly being compelled to render
deference when they longed to refuse it. Then the middle one of the
castle lords spoke first.

"Zahur--" Loketh breathed in Ross's ear, his pointed finger indicating
the speaker.

Ross longed vainly for the ability to ask questions, a chance to know
what was in progress. That the meeting of the two Hawaikan factions was
important he did not doubt.

There was an interval of silence after the castle lord finished
speaking. To the Terran this spun on and on and he sensed the mounting
tension. This must be a showdown, perhaps even a declaration of open
hostilities between Wreckers and the older race. Or perhaps the pause
was a subtle weapon of the Foanna, used to throw a less-sophisticated
enemy off balance, as a judo fighter might use an opponent's attack as
part of his own defense.

When the Foanna did make answer it came in the singsong of chanted
words. Ross felt Loketh shiver, felt the crawl of chill along his own
spine. The words--if those were words and not just sounds intended to
play upon the mind and emotions of a listener--cut into one. Ross wanted
to close his ears, thrust his fingers into them to drown out that sound,
yet he did not have the power to raise his hands.

It seemed to him that the men on the dais were swaying now as if the
chant were a rope leashed about them, pulling them back and forth. There
was a clatter; one of the guards had fallen to the floor and lay there,
rolling, his hands to his head.

A shout from the dais. The chanting reached a note so high that Ross
felt the torment in his ears. Below, the lines of guards had broken. A
party of them were heading for the end of the hall, making a wide detour
around the Foanna. Loketh gave a small choked cry; his fingers tightened
on Ross's forearm with painful intensity as he whispered.

What was about to happen meant something important. To Loketh or to him?
Ashe! Was this concerned with Ashe? Ross crowded against the opening,
tried to see the direction in which the guards had disappeared.

The wait made him doubly impatient. One of the men on the dais had
dropped on the bench there, his head forward on his hands, his shoulders
quivering. But the one Loketh had identified as Zahur still fronted the
Foanna spokesman, and Ross gave tribute to the strength of will which
kept him there.

They were returning, the guards, and herded between their lines three
men. Two were