he savored that pain, for it pierced
through the dead blanket of compulsion that was being used against him.
Deliberately he ground his blistered skin against the stone,
concentrating on the sharp torment in his hand as the agony shot up his
arm. While he focused his attention on the physical pain, he could feel
the pressure against him weaken. Summoning all his strength, Ross swung
around in a movement which was only a shadow of his former feline grace.

The beach was still empty, except for the piles of driftwood, the rocks,
and the other things he had originally found there. Yet he knew that
something was waiting to pounce. Having discovered that for him pain was
a defense weapon, he had that one resource. If they took him, it would
be after besting him in a fight.

Even as he made this decision, Ross was conscious of a curious weakening
of the force bent upon him. It was as if his opponents had been
surprised, either at his simple actions of the past few seconds or at
his determination. Ross leaped upon that surprise, adding it to his
stock of unseen weapons.

He leaned forward, still grinding his torn hand against the rock as a
steadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrust its end
into the fire. Having once used fire to save himself, he was ready and
willing to do it again, although at the same time, another part of him
shrank from what he intended.

Holding his improvised torch breast-high, Ross stared across it,
searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies. In spite of the
fire and the light he held before him, the dusk prevented him from
seeing too far. Behind him the crash of the surf could have covered the
noise of a marching army.

"Come and get me!"

He whirled his brand into bursting life and then hurled it straight into
the drift among the dunes. He was grabbing for a second brand almost
before the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted,
bleached roots of a dead tree.

He stood tense, a second torch now kindled in his hand. The sharp vise
of another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment ago was
easing, slowly disappearing as water might trickle away. Yet he could
not believe that this small act of defiance had so daunted his unseen
opponent as to make him give up the struggle this easily. It was more
likely the pause of a wrestler seeking for a deadlier grip.

The brand in his hand--Ross's second line of defense--was a weapon he
was loath to u