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