Diut said nothing.
Natahk looked at Jules. “You have betrayed your people, Missionary. And you know our way with traitors.” He looked at a huntress who stood just outside the circle. “Build up the fire.” Again he faced Diut. “I think we will make the fire for you too, Tehkohn Hao.”
Diut watched him warily.
“Have no fear though. We will not kill you. We will only revive the old custom—the custom that my people had almost forgotten. Since no Garkohn Hao has been born to us, we will make a Garkohn Hao.”
It was the grisly old custom that Diut had already almost fallen victim to among the desert people. A tribe that could neither buy a Hao nor produce one themselves stole one. They crippled him, kept him. The custom, Diut had told Alanna, was based on the belief that even the most bitter vengeful captive Hao was better than no Hao at all. Such a Hao was not a leader. He was a symbol of power, of unity, of good fortune. This reverence for the Hao, for the blue, was the nearest thing the Kohn had to a religion. But it was a religion that Natahk denied. His people might feel more secure with a captive Hao, but Natahk would not. He was acting solely from vengeance.
Diut’s coloring took on new intensity, became luminescent. He took a long slow look at the Garkohn surrounding him. “You have been without a Hao for too long,” he told Natahk. “You have forgotten how difficult we are to hold.”
“When we have burned your legs, holding you will be a simple matter,” said Natahk.
“Do you think that I will submit to your fire?” said Diut. “Come. Attack! You have forgotten what the blue means. I will refresh your memory!”
The Garkohn of the circle could not quite hide their reaction. There was a slight but general yellowing among them. The Hao were creatures of legendary fighting prowess. Diut was exploiting the fact that the Garkohn were not sure how much was only legend. Or most of them were not.
“You hold him captive in your midst for the second time and you are still afraid,” shouted Natahk. “You still think he is something other than a large Kohn. His size makes him a little stronger than one of you, but not stronger than all of you together. He is no more than a man!” He looked toward the space on the common where the huntress and a hunter who had helped her carry wood from alongside one of the cabins were building up the fire. It was growing promisingly.
“Put him on the ground,” Natahk told his hunters.
The habit of obedience was strong enough to overcome the fear of at least four of them. These four surged toward Diut. And Diut waited for them.
He let the first of them reach him, then he jabbed sharply into the man’s throat. Blocking, turning, he drove a fist into the solar plexus of a huntress, literally lifting her off the ground for a moment.
He moved almost too quickly for the eye to follow, striking, turning, kicking, using his longer reach, his greater strength and speed, to overwhelm his attackers.
In seconds, all four were dead or dying. A fifth who had attacked from directly behind Diut now dragged himself away beyond the Tehkohn Hao’s reach, his right leg broken at the knee by a hard-driven backward kick.
Four dead, one injured before the others could even think. What was left of the circle threatened to dissolve.
“Hokah!” Natahk called out.
The huntress at the fire looked at him.
“Go out and get more fighters.”
And Diut countered, “Stop, Hokah!”
The huntress paused uncertainly.
“Why sacrifice more of your people to the ambitions of a bad leader?” Diut looked around the circle. “It is Natahk who wants me—so that he can say he has bested a Hao. Let him best me then.” He faced Natahk squarely.
“I challenge, First Hunter.”
“You are my prisoner,” said Natahk. “You have no right to challenge. Go, Hokah”
The huntress went.
“So?” said Diut. “Who imprisons me?” He let his gaze rest on individual members of the circle. “Who dies next?”
Natahk called to the hunter still at the fire. “Ihiateh, bring torches.”
The hunter seized two burning brands and passed them to a hunter and huntress within the circle. Instantly, Diut attacked.
He broke through the circle now, lifted the first Garkohn who tried to stop him, and threw the man at the two who were approaching with torches.
The two hunters guarding the Verricks looked anxiously at the deteriorating situation. They seemed fearful of disobeying Natahk and leaving their prisoners, but they could see that their help was needed.
Abruptly, the hunter guarding Jules and Neila hurled himself into the fighting, helping those who had managed to seize more torches and drive Diut back against the wall of a storehouse. Alanna’s guard was more conscientious. He decided to kill her before he joined in.
Without warning, he slashed at her with a stubby hand. Alanna dodged backward swiftly, but seemed to stumble in bumbling Missionary awkwardness. Angry at having missed once, the hunter lunged toward her—directly into the hard jab that she had aimed at his throat. His fur cushioned the blow somewhat, and forced her to strike without the certainty she would have felt in striking a person whose throat she could see. But the hunter’s own momentum helped her—gave her blow more force. He fell, writhing, making gurgling sounds through his ruined larynx.
