ipping the protecting cloak from her body, the green-bronze
one held the struggling girl gingerly but with a grip of iron. His eyes
bulged from their sockets, and the other guard staggered backward with
hands outstretched as if to ward off an evil spell that might be cast
by this supernatural visitant.

Blaine thrust his arm through the folds of his coat, ray pistol in
hand. A crazy laugh forced itself to his lips at sight of the detached
member, stretched there, tensed, drifting in mid-air. The pistol
prodded Ulana's captor viciously.

"Hands off of her!" the voice behind the lone arm was snarling. "Hands
off, or I fire!"

The girl slipped to the floor in a heap as the amazed guard loosed his
grip. And, in the same instant, the blue flame spurted. He had not
intended to press the release; it was useless anyway to battle the
entire outfit. But the blood lust was upon him and a savage joy in the
destruction of this beast who had dared lay hands on Ulana impelled him
to turn on the other. Blindly he swung, clubbing the pistol and beating
in the ghastly face that wobbled there upon the spineless,
superstition-bound body.

Others were coming then, hundreds of them it seemed. The pale face of
Dantor appeared for an instant in the background, through the red haze
that was blinding him. He only knew he was fighting desperately,
viciously, and against impossible odds. The satisfying crunch of his
left fist against a leering green-bronze face was followed by an
excruciating pain as one of his knuckles was driven back. Hardly
knowing he had pressed the release of the ray, he was mildly astonished
to see that two of the guards were enveloped in the blue vapor.
Scintillant tiny sunbursts within the blue. Two less of those devils!
His pistol was empty and he flung it into a grinning face; he saw the
blood spurt and the face change shape, crushed beyond human
resemblance.

He was down then, gasping for breath against the floor plates. The
weight upon him was enormous; crushing. If only they'd quit squirming
so ... and pounding ... reminded him of his old football days ... some
scrimmage!

Abruptly came the blankness of insensibility.

* * * * *

Dimly at first, in the painful throbbings of returning consciousness,
Blaine knew he was in one of the Llott workshops where machines hummed
and pounded and where many operatives were busily engaged. A cool hand
stroked his aching brow and h