limp

was already fled.
By the time it stopped thrashing madly, the last of Sharnā's guardsmen had been killed or battered into surrender. Gharnal's bloody left arm hung limp at his side, and Hurthang had lost the little finger off his right hand, but the two of them were still going concerns, and, together with Brandark, they saw to it that none of Sharnā's worshipers who were still breathing got their throats cut. Not because any of them had given oath to Tomanāk , but because live witnesses would be far more useful than a few more lopped-off heads which couldn't confirm what had happened here.
At least eight Horse Stealers lay scattered among the dead. Others were wounded, and Bahzell knew there must be still more of them—dead and wounded alike—strewn along the tunnels down which they'd fought. But they'd accomplished what they'd come for, he thought, and looked up as young Chavâk, the warrior who'd seen no reason to "replace" Sharnā with Tomanāk , came striding up a side passage. Two more Horse Stealers trotted along behind him, and all three of them bore minor wounds to go with their bloody weapons. But Chavâk bore something else, as well; an unconscious body in richly embroidered, blood sodden robes.
"I was thinking as how you might be wanting this one alive," he grunted, and dumped his burden at Bahzell's feet.
Bahzell stretched out his right leg without rising or disturbing Vaijon's head in his lap, and dug a toe under the body's shoulder. He jerked his foot up, flipping it over onto its back, and a cold, hungry light flickered in his eyes as he recognized the amulet of a high priest of Sharnā on the chain about its neck.
"Aye," he said softly, one hand resting on Vaijon's forehead, and looked up at his young kinsman. "Oh, aye, o