"He must throw for his life
against the six."
Another exclaimed against this. "Old wives' folly," he cried, with an
oath. "Let Cosh go his ways, and swear to amend them. The Brethren of
the Coast cannot be too nice in these little matters. We are not pursy
justices or mooning girls."
But he had no support. The verdict was for the dice, and a seaman
brought Ringan a little ivory box, which he held out to the prisoner.
The latter took it with shaking hand, as if he did not know how to use
it.
"You will cast thrice," said Ringan. "Two even throws, and you are
free."
The man fumbled a little and then cast. It fell a four.
A second time he threw, and the dice lay five.
In that wild place, in the black heart of night, the terror of the
thing fell on my soul. The savage faces, the deadly purpose in Ringan's
eyes, the fumbling miscreant before him, were all heavy with horror. I
had no doubt that Cosh was worthy of death, but this cold and merciless
treatment froze my reason. I watched with starting eyes the last throw,
and I could not hear Ringan declare it. But I saw by the look on Cosh's
face what it had been.
"It is your privilege to choose your manner of death and to name your
successor," I heard Ringan say.
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