The sweat stood out on the priest's forehead in great beads now. With shaking fingers, he wiped it away. "I--I see I must tell you all, _Sha_ Haral. The--the woman is Kyla, a virgin priestess to our goddess Xaymar. Her life, her body, are consecrated to the goddess. She is not for mortal men. But Sark and his raiders care nothing for our Xaymar. In their blood-lust and madness they would defile even her priestess, Kyla. But it cannot be! Better that Kyla die--" He broke off, stared at Haral. "I, Namboina, am high priest to Xaymar. It is my duty to save Kyla from shame, our goddess from defilement--" Haral said: "You lie in your teeth, Namboina! I've heard enough of your thrice-plagued Xaymar to know that she's called the passionate goddess--and her priestesses pattern themselves upon her! If there's a virgin still among them, it's news to the raider fleets that comb these warrens in search of women." "No, no--! Not Kyla!" The _Shamon's_ loose mouth worked. His face was a mask of desperation. "She is a votary, consecrated. She is not as the others--" Haral shoved back his chair; surged to his feet. "I've had enough of your lies, old man!" he slashed. "Sing someone else your song of murder!" Namboina's quavering voice rose, thin with fury: "A curse on you, alien! A curse on all your outland breed that have made a cesspool out of Ulna--" But now a new voice cut him short, thundering through the shadows: "This is the one we want! The old one, the priest they call Namboina!" Haral spun about. A dozen fighting men from Sark's raider crews were coming towards him and Namboina. Spread in a menacing arc, weapons out and ready, they closed in like cold-eyed, deadly shadows. Haral fell back a step, till he stood with his back against the wall. Big-eyed with fear, Namboina slumped in his seat, as if trying to hide behind the table. It came to Haral that a hush had fallen over the _kabat_ dive. The raucous voices had faded into silence. The rattle of glasses was suddenly stilled. Then a glowering Martian who seemed to be in charge of the raider gang snapped orders: "Yes. This is the one. Bring him along!" A Thorian's tentacle lashed out to grip Namboina and drag him bodily from his chair. Now a _Pervod_ jerked his scaly head towards Haral. "What of this one here? They were together." The Martian pivoted for a brief, disdainful glance at the blue man. "That _kabat_-soaked scum?" And then: "But bring him, too. We'll take no chances." Almost as if in intentional added insult, he turned away and sheathed his ray-gun. * * * * * A hot, tempestuous tide of anger swirled up within the warrior. But he did not move; he did not speak. A second Martian caught his arm. "Come along, you _zanat_, before we stave in your ugly head!" For an instant, in spite of himself, Haral's arm went rigid. Then, thin-lipped, he sucked in air, and fell in beside the quaking, shaking priest.