Lion Head Mesa II

Suddenly the jackal burst through the throng, not thirty paces from where Legend had delayed the invader. He came out gleaming in the sunshine, pure black with clouds of steamy vapor spurting from his nostrils.

“Circle him!” He made the command in egyptian and in a fleeting instant the mazoi were weaving their impassable ouroboros of muscle and teeth. He slowed, tail signaling high over hips and heavy feet passing through the fray into the makeshift arena so he could look upon the sharp dark face of the sinner.

“What say you, gentleman? Shall we strip the varlet of his manhood right here?” Semer-wati raised amid throaty affirmations. His own teeth gnashed with a laugh as he postured and eyed the man, amusement and cruelty mottling his face. His arm jolted forward, aiming to pin the beast against the dirt with a paw to the throat.

“You were so eager to speak before. Why should a king free a scoundrel coming to his pack, calling for his women? Plead your case.”