Habrunt had not dared to move so much as his eyes during this malignant
promenade.
Then without warning Master Rababull suddenly turned in a whirl and
snatched up the blood-stained bull whip from the pedestal and gripped
it by the pommel as he jerked his arm back and snaked it's slithery
braids out behind him.
"I propose a test," declared Master Rababull, "to see this miracle for
myself. How much more is it my privilege and my delight as one
noble-born to witness the repeat of such a miracle with my own eyes? I
desire to know, and I have a right to know; was the miracle bestowed
upon my loyal Slavemaster, the girl, or the whip?"
Still Habrunt dared not make a reply to this madman.
Master Rababull jerked his whip arm out behind him, turning his head in
the direction of Si'Wren as if about to lash out at her, while watching
cleverly out of the corner of his eye to see if Habrunt might betray
himself.
Habrunt silently, invisibly clenched his right fist as he held it
solidly across his chest, impotent to do the slightest thing to stop
the Master, with Prut and any number of omnipresent slaves ready to
mindlessly oppose him at a moment's notice, and no sword readily to
hand.
Master Rababull froze, and lowered his whip hand, laughing with wicked
indulgence.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172