The Abulon Dance by Caro Soles Page A

side, the dusty pictures of tall men with their arms on one anothers’ shoulders. He wondered if there was anything here he wasn’t seeing, anything hidden just below the surface. He moved back beside Triani and stood patiently, watching and waiting. Gradually he became aware that the men were staring at him. One reached over to touch his hair.
    “Hands off,” said Triani, not taking his eyes off the game. “He belongs to me.”
    “You’re on a winning streak. Why not put him into the pot? We don’t want any more of your damn credits.”
    Triani laughed. “Find your own lover, sweetie. This one’s not for sale.” Cham pushed back his hair nervously. These men were serious. The fat one was looking uneasy as he watched Triani take a long pull at his ale.
    “What have you got for me of equal value?” Triani cocked an eye at the man with the scar who hesitated, then reached inside his vest. He glanced at Triani’s rings, two of which were already on the table.
    “You look like someone with an eye for gems.” He held out his hand. In his large palm gleamed three enormous mantino stones, flashing fire in the sunlight coming in the open door.
    Triani held one to the light and checked it with a practiced eye. “Flawless,” he murmured.
    Cham felt a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach. He knew Triani’s weakness for precious stones. He laid a small hand on his arm. “What are you doing, love?” he whispered.
    Triani slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a quick hug. “You’re flawless too, baby.” He turned back to study the table. “On the other hand, I can’t lose.”
    “But obviously they think you can,” said Cham, worried. “And besides, it’s the first time you ever played this game.”
    Triani drained his glass. “This is ridiculous.” He backed away from the table.
    “Look here, fellow. You can’t pull out in the middle of a game. One more go. All or nothing.” The man’s fists rested on his hips. He towered over the Merculians.
    Triani moved back to the table. “I didn’t say I was welshing! Back off, mister!”
    “Nobody welshes on us.” The men exchanged glances.
    Triani took Cham’s hand a moment and toyed with the ring on the middle finger. Cham was frightened, too frightened to sense what Triani was trying to tell him. Tears welled up in his clear, grey eyes. He didn’t say a word.
    Triani turned back to the table and rested his hands on the raised edge. His black eyes studied the game intently.
    Watching him, Cham felt cold all over. He sensed violence in the air. He saw Triani tense and spring, heaving the table over and knocking the fat man off his stool. Counters, triangles, chits and beads scattered over the floor.
    “Run, Cham!” Triani sprang at the man with the scar, kicking out with his powerful legs.
    Cham stood rooted to the spot in horror. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. The breath rushed out of him as he was thrown over a man’s shoulder. As the man started to run, Cham fainted. Triani was not a coward. Although he had the instincts of a street fighter, he had very little experience. The other two were obviously trained. The only thing in Triani’s favor had been surprise and the powerful muscles in his thighs. They hadn’t expected a Merculian to fight.
    Several men and women gathered in the doorway to watch. “A hundred to one on the little guy,” someone shouted, but no one took him up on it.
    Triani didn’t last two minutes. By the time the Officers of Concord arrived, the three men had disappeared, taking the money, rings and other valuables with them. Triani lay on the floor, unconscious, blood on his pale face, his red silk tunic torn to shreds.
    The fat man told his story, bobbing his head, rubbing his pudgy hands together. He was a witness. Triani had attacked a man without warning in an effort to get out of paying a gambling debt. Nobody mentioned Cham.
    * * *
    Triani came to in a small cell.