Marching Sands
caught her about the knees and lifted her easily for all to see. Surprise caused the girl to cry out.
"Gela!" Gray called angrily, "that was ill done. The Kha Rakcha is not for your hands to touch!"
The youth did not understand. Mastered by an impulse of passion, he laughed, pressing the white woman closer. An echoing cry came from the Wusun. Gela kissed the bare arm of the girl, running his free hand through her hair.
The sight was too much for Gray's prudence. Pushing Timur aside, he sprang forward. Several of the tumani stepped into his path. Gray struck at them viciously.
He was in the grip of a cold rage which renders a man doubly dangerous. His powerful body flung forward through the group of his enemies. Love for the girl blinded him to the consequences of his mistake.
An outcry arose. Gray paid no heed to it, his fists smashing into the faces of those who tried to hold him. He wrenched free from men who caught his legs.
"Peace!" cried the great voice of Bassalor Danek.
An injured Wusun, bleeding from the mouth, struck at Gray with his sword. The white man stepped under the blow and twisted the weapon away from its holder.
Aflame with the lust of conflict, he swung his blade against the others that flashed in his face.
278
