Maia полностью

broke out a roar of acclaim and elation, and some ten or twelve young officers wearing the wolf cognizance of Be-lishba sprang up and made their way purposefully to the center of the hall, not far from where she was standing. By no means sure what they might be up to, she made haste to get out of their way.

Having pushed the central table to one side and rather blusteringly persuaded several people near-by to move their benches and couches to make an open space, the young men formed up in a line. Then, Unking arms and taking their time from the tallest of their number, whose bare chest was tattooed with two fighting leopards in red and blue (he could have done with some soap, thought Maia, wrinkling her nose as she made her way back to the Or-telgans), they began to sway and intone all together, gesturing as they did so with uniform, rhythmic motions.

Happening to meet Nennaunir-who had thrown off her cloak to display her transparent robe and silver ornaments to full advantage-she smiled and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Oh, it's an old Belishban custom, dear," said the sheama. "A kind of wild warriors' dance: they call it a straka. In the old days they always used to do it before a battle: I thought somehow we wouldn't get off without one."

The leader had begun a series of what seemed to be chanted adjurations to his followers, though these were in no language even remotely known to Maia.

"Kee-a, kee-a, kee-a! U-ay kee-a, u-ay kee-a!"

"Ah, hi hal" responded his comrades, side-stepping as one.

"Bana, bana, bana! Hi-po lana, hi-po lana!"

"Bah, way mal"

They sniffed at the air like hounds, baring their teeth and tossing their heads as they stamped and turned, grimacing fiercely, clapping their hands and brandishing imaginary spears.

Gradually the ferocity and pace of the dance increased. Their wide-stretched eyes glittered, they stooped their shoulders and bent their heads towards the floor, growling and snarling as they uttered the responses. They turned about with upstretched arms, then paired off and made believe to stab and savage one another. At times the leader's utterances would cease and then, after a moment's silence, they would burst all together into a kind of de-

monic chorus, as inarticulate yet plain in meaning as the baying of wolves.

The unhesitating unanimity with which they pounded the floor, clapped, suddenly paused to thrust out their tongues or slap their buttocks before resuming their ritual clamor, was hypnotic and infectious, stirring the onlookers until the hall was filled with battle-cries, yells of approbation and the hammering of knives and goblets on the tables. The Belishbans, leaving the center of the room, began to prance and stamp their way in a line among the tables, making believe to stab the men and drag the girls away as they maintained their chanting. At length, nearing the door that led out onto the terrace, the leader, suddenly introducing a quicker, pattering chant-"Willa-wa, willa-wa, willa-wa"-snatched the beautiful Otavis-who happened to be the girl nearest to hand-almost out of the arms of Shend-Lador and tossed her bodily to his followers. As two of them caught and held her, the others closed about her in a group, whereupon the whole crowd, setting up a kind of quivering motion with their shoulders, formed a rotating circle about her as she was carried out of the room in their midst.

Maia, who had watched the whole extraordinary act with the breathless absorption always aroused in her by any dance-she would have liked to join in, or at least to have had the chance to learn it-turned to her companions to see Ta-Kominion grinning with excitement and obviously as much affected as herself.

"Oh, that was just about something! I've never seen the like of that before," she said. "Have you?"

"Only once, and that was at Herl, when I was no more than about nine."

"Can you do it?"

He shook his head. "Oh, no; it's not half as easy as it looks. You have to be a Belishban to be able to do it properly. It's the desert blood in them, they say. They used to do it out in the Harridan desert, where the sound carries for miles, to let the enemy know they were coming."

"What enemy?"

"Oh, any old enemy," answered Ta-Kominion, fondling her shoulders. "I'm glad we're going to have them with us: I don't think Erketlis is going to care for them at all,

do you? What do you think of them, my lord?" he asked, turning to Bel-ka-Trazet. "Fierce enough for you?"

The High Baron paused, laying aside his unfinished apricots in sweet wine with an air of having made a sufficient concession to the practice of eating such rubbish.

"Why don't you tell that young Elvair to take along a herd of bulls to drive at the enemy?"

"Oh, you do them an injustice, my lord, I'm sure. There's a lot more to them than that."