across the raider's shoulder to catch the Terran in its full
glare, and Ross fought the need for squinting. But he tried to give back
stare for stare, confidence for self-confidence.

On Terra in the past more than one adventurer's life had been saved
simply because he had the will and nerve enough to face his captors
without any display of anxiety. Such bravado might not hold here and
now, but it was the only weapon Ross had to hand and he used it.

"You--" the Rover broke the silence first, "you are not of the Foanna--"
He paused as if waiting an answer--denial or protest. Ross provided
neither.

"No, not of the Foanna, nor of the scum of the coast either." Again a
pause.

"So, what manner of fish has come to the net of Torgul?" He called an
order aloft. "A rope here! We'll have this fish and its fellow out--"

Loketh and Ross were jerked up to the outer deck, dumped into the midst
of a crowd of seamen. The Hawaikan was left to lie but, at a gesture
from the officer, Ross was set on his feet. He could see the nature of
his bonds now, a network of dull gray strands, shriveled and stinking,
but not giving in the least when he made another try at moving his arms.

"Ho--" The officer grinned. "This fish does not like the net! You have
teeth, fish. Use them, slash yourself free."

A murmur of applause from the crew answered that mild taunt. Ross
thought it time for a countermove.

"I see you do not come too close to those teeth." He used the most
defiant words his limited Hawaikan vocabulary offered.

There was a moment of silence, and then the officer clapped his hands
together with a sharp explosion of sound.

"You would use your teeth, fish?" he asked and his tone could be a
warning.

This was going it blind with a vengeance, but Ross took the next leap in
the dark. He had the feeling, which often came to him in tight quarters,
that he was being supplied from some hard core of endurance and
determination far within him with the right words, the fortunate guess.

"On which one of you?" He drew his lips tight, displaying those same
teeth, wondering for one startled moment if he should take the Rover's
query literally.

"Vistur! Vistur!" More than one voice called.

One of the crew took a step or two forward. Like Torgul, he was tall and
heavy, his over-long arms well muscled. There were scars on his
forearms, the seam of one up his jaw. He looked what he was, a very
tough fighting man, one who was judged