But I had been younger then.
Dallisa had picked up two small sharp knives. She weighed them,
briefly, gesturing to the _chak_. Without resisting, I let myself be
manhandled backward, spreadeagled against the wall.
Dallisa commanded, "Drive the knives through his palms to the wall!"
My hands twitched convulsively, anticipating the slash of steel, and my
throat closed in spasmodic dread. This was breaking the compact, bound
as they were not to inflict physical damage. I opened my lips to protest
this breaking of the bond of honor and met her dark blazing stare, and
suddenly the sweat broke out on my forehead. I had placed myself wholly
in their hands, and as Kyral had said, they were in no way bound by
honor to respect a pledge to a Terran!
Then, as my hands clenched into fists, I forced myself to relax. This
was a bluff, a mental trick to needle me into breaking the pact and
pleading for mercy. I set my lips, spread my palms wide against the wall
and waited impassively.
She said in her lilting voice, "Take care not to sever the tendons, or
his hands would be paralyzed and he may claim we have broken our
compact.
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