The girl's hair was a deep and lustrous black, flowing back over her shoulders. Her eyes, slightly wet-looking, were faintly slanted, and as dark as the broad one's were light. Her high cheekbones were faintly lighter than the otherwise uniform smooth amber skin. Her soft mouth was set in a small pout above a determined chin.
But it was not her face that caught most eyes. It was her body. It was . . . generous. Women were inclined to say, through slightly pursed lips, that she had just a bit too much of everything. Their husbands would agree, but their eyes would be faintly glazed. Despite the potential for marital discord, men found themselves unable to resist watching her walk away. She radiated sexuality the way a fire radiates heat. Her clothes were tight-cut but simple, and irrelevant; as every heterosexual male undressed her with his eyes anyway. She carried a bow and a quiver of black-fletched arrows, to bring down any man-prey out of range of her other weapon.
The third member of the party, however, put off hopeful young men, and made luxury bed-slave merchants reconsider their immediate ideas of midnight acquisition raids. He was tall, head and shoulders above most men. His square-jawed narrow face was scarred here and there, the scars cutting across the age lines on the slightly sunken cheeks. The nose, however, was the dominant feature of his face. Powerful and aquiline, it led one's gaze into the never-still eagle eyes of a man to whom command was second nature. He might be old, a fact betrayed by the bald head and the lines on his face, but he walked with a powerful and dangerous strut. Instinctively, even hardened troublemakers stepped around this man.
S'kith 235 was trained to note weapons as a first step in his assessment of potential enemies. He could see no obvious signs of any about this man. Why then did S'kith know that the bald man was so dangerous? On the shoulder of his battered jacket was an embroidered patch. It meant nothing to S'kith, but he noted how folk peered at it, and then backed off, sometimes bowing.
At last they came out of the nearest stall, the proprietor still bowing obsequiously and rubbing his hands. His lacquered tones were tinged with regret. "Great Sirs, magnificent Lady, are you sure none of my fine stock suits your needs?"
The broad man's voice was oddly high. "Not unless you're for sale, you fat rogue. I've a use for you." The grin full of big yellow snaggle teeth suggested whatever that use was, it wouldn't be pleasant.
"Enough, Beywulf," the tall man commanded, his voice disapproving. "It's not the most appealing head, but leave it on his shoulders . . . for now. Come, we've a few more of these carrions' stalls to check through."
The slave dealer was left wordless as they strode off.
They walked past the cage. S'kith's eyes followed them . . . especially her. Her voice was deep, husky, fitting the body image. "What about the one in the cage, Cap?"
They stopped, looking in at him. Finally it was the tall one who spoke. "H'mm. I've never actually tested one of those. It's an Alpha-Morkth warrior breed. The hair color is difficult to ascertain, but the physiognomy is plausible. Unfortunately, Leyla, they're castrated at puberty. It would limit their potential."
It was the first of these mongrel humans who had recognized him for what he was. To the others all Morkth-men were alike. A flicker of interest drifted through S'kith's mind, but he refused to let it distract him from staring at the woman.
She snorted. "If he's castrato then I've got nuts. Hey, Morkth-man, have you still got your balls?"
Balls. That was what the warrior brood sows had called them. Like a hypnotized rabbit S'kith nodded.
The tall thin man raised his eyebrows and slowly held out his hand. The broad Beywulf reached into a pouch at his waist, and produced an orb of dark stuff, which he placed in the outstretched hand.
"Look, Morkth-man." He held the ball-like thing aloft, demonstrating. "Put your finger in this hole. Keep it there while I count to five."
Mutely he did as he was told, still staring at the woman. She looked at the tall man questioningly. He looked at the orb, and then with a hiss of indrawn breath, he nodded. Quite calmly she untied her waist sash, the front of her dress falling open. Taking the flaps in either hand, she pulled it wide open, exposing her nakedness to his devouring eyes. S'kith stared, his mouth falling open. Somehow he instinctively knew this was how women should look. Then he reacted with a yelp of pain. The inside of the orb was suddenly icy, and drawing, compelling. He pulled his finger away in fright and the cold and the strange feelings were gone.
"At last!" The tall man's eyes blazed, and a wintry smile played on his thin lips. "Of all the unlikely ones. The emotional readout is strange though . . . I hope . . . I think he will do!"