left too many elements in Zehru's favor.
There was a tube-like weapon thrust in a belt around Zehru's middle and
there were probably a dozen other different weapons lying handy to his
reach among the apparatus on the platform. The deadly purple mists
beyond the wall would alone in all probability overcome Blake before he
could batter Zehru down.

By far the best plan was to stage the battle inside the enclosure where
Blake would be in his own native element. If he could yank Zehru inside
the wall he would have him away from contact with his mechanical weapons
and battling in an atmosphere inherently poisonous to him. Under those
circumstances, Blake felt that he might have an even chance in a
hand-to-hand combat with the powerful but slow-footed Xollarian.

Once Zehru was eliminated, escape back to Earth should be a simple
matter. The silver gate, with its automatic mechanism needing only the
closing of a lever, was ready and waiting there in the enclosure behind
them.

* * * * *

For long tense minutes Blake forced himself to remain rigidly motionless
while Zehru labored over Mapes. Then finally the Xollarian turned his
attention briefly back to Blake, and thrust two tentacles in to grip his
body. No sooner had the tentacles crossed above the border of the cloth
than Zehru realized that something was wrong. He tried to whip his arms
back again but too late.

Blake made a lightning snatch at a tentacle with both hands, and in the
same lithe movement turned from the barrier wall and flung himself
headlong toward the center of the enclosure. Zehru had no time to brace
himself. He was jerked bodily through the shimmering wall and on after
Blake's lunging body.

One of the Xollarian's waving tentacles grasped wildly at the overhead
disk in an effort to stay his flight. The only result was to bring the
entire disk and its supports crashing in ruins to the ground upon the
struggling figures of Blake and himself.

Blake was upon his feet again instantly. Snatching up a yard-long scrap
of metal from the wreckage of the disk, he flung himself upon Zehru.
The Xollarian seemed for the moment too dazed by his fall to fight back.
With tentacles raised to guard his head, he staggered backward in
retreat, every step taking him farther away from the wall and the purple
mists.

Blake was vaguely aware that Helen and Mapes, freed by the wrecking of
the disk, were scrambling to their feet. Mapes w