Korkungal went to the watch-tower and selected a shield and two spears from among Harmesh’s collection of weapons. Then he walked down through the artisan quarter. The streets were filled with an excited and restless throng. Many recognised him. They either drew back in superstitious fear or shook their fists at him for the slaughter of Imperial soldiers. But they gave him passage through the streets, partly through fear and awe, but mostly because he was not the real cause of their unease. He went down past the warehouses and out through the gate, the soldiers on guard there offering no obstacle.
He walked to the hollow where he and Kandrigi had slept the night before going into the Ka. He opened his bundle and took out his stone axe. The throwing sticks did not interest him now, so he thrust them away. He put Kandrigi’s old cloak around his shoulders.
He ate some dried meat and then climbed out of the hollow and sat on his heels in the grass. The white wall of the Ka was touched red by the setting sun. He could hear the shouts and screams in the city clearly. The sight and sound fused with his own deep, incoherent rage. He sat on, working out tactics whereby a force might take the city. He pictured the taking, the destruction and the burning. He trembled with the lust that such a picture aroused in him.