Yet he put up his chin and
eyed the other squarely, without giving ground.
"So--yet still my hands are tied." He put into that all the taunting
inflection he could summon. His reception by Tulka had given him one
faint clue to the character of these people; they might be brought to
acknowledge the worth of one who stood up to them.
"Child--" The fist shifted from its grip on the fabric covering Ross's
chest to his shoulder, and now under its compulsion Ross swayed back and
forth.
"Child?" From somewhere Ross raised that short laugh. "Ask Tulka. I be
no child, Foscar. Tulka's ax, Tulka's knife--they were in my hand. A
horse Tulka had to use to bring me down."
Foscar regarded him intently and then grinned. "Sharp tongue," he
commented. "Tulka lost knife--ax? So! Ennar," he called over his
shoulder, and one of the men stepped out a pace beyond his fellows.
He was shorter and much younger than his chief, with a boy's rangy
slimness and an open, good-looking face, his eyes bright on Foscar with
a kind of eager excitement.
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