He, of course, had no interest in the dead thing. A being of his temperament disdained such carrion. He would kill for himself.
It was true that the city-dwellers thrived—in their own fashion. Their superefficient towns and cities exploited the possibilities of the environment better than anyone. But it seemed a pitiable way to live. All city-builders were enslaved by their own system, their precious regimen. T’ang Lang had never tried one of their well-fortified centers. He could do so if he wished, of course. But such was not the way of his folk, as it was not their way to build cities.
He yawned, if such it could be described. Jerkily, he climbed to his feet. It had been rather a wet night. He could erma the dampness in his joints. Carefully he washed his face, cleaned his eyes, then preened himself, making sure his sensors were clear of grime and dirt. As befitted his talents, T’ang Lang was a fastidious killer.
He did this without bothering to glance behind, un-
85
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
concerned. Tang Lang did not feel much need to guard his rear. There were none in his realm who would try him unless terribly, terribly desperate. Only the Great Sky People troubled him. They could drop down almost silently, without warning. An unsporting way to fight. But most of the sky-folk he feared not at all.
The Rite of Clean Knives followed. Each stiletto .had to be kept honed and spotless. It was important to make a clean penetration the first time. T’ang Lang took great pride in his skill. True, even he missed BOW and then. But not often. And when he struck home, his victim always died. He rinsed his mouth and cleared some mud from his feet. It had been a damp night. •