The House of the Falcon
women there had been wrangling and a price to pay. This was different. They gazed idly at the girl's flushed face and indignant eyes.
She saw the serai-keeper approach Abbas servilely and the Alaman toss him some silver coins. It was as if a price had been paid for her capture. The cold expanse of the wall touched her back and Edith leaned against it wearily, as she understood the true nature of these men and the futility of her escape.
Hopelessly, she scanned the smiling Abbas, the leering innkeeper, the two armed followers—and she saw Aravang standing inside the matting.
It did not take an instant for the girl to make up her mind which of her captors was preferable.
"Aravang!" she called appealingly.
The sentry at the matting touched the newcomer wamingly and motioned to the alley. By way of response the scarred follower of Iskander gripped the guard of the scimitar, jerked it from the man, struck him viciously with the hilt between the eyes, and leaped toward Abbas.
Edith stifled a scream and watched, absorbed by the swift flash of weapons and leap of bodies. She saw Abbas bury his knife in the arm of Aravang—saw Aravang fling a useless sword at the remaining enemy with his left hand and spring to grips with the powerful Alaman.
For a moment the two muscular bodies swayed and trampled across the floor, the men cursing and panting. One of Abbas' men gripped Aravang from behind. Whereupon Edith's guardian—for now she thought of him so—thrust Abbas away, to reel back to the opposite wall. Then the other assailant, gripped by the back of the neck, flew head over heels
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