"We can keep this up forever," Harrell said. "Getting larger and larger. This is only a mental conflict." He shot up until he again towered a foot above the alien's head. He swung downward two-handedly with the machete.... The alien vanished. And reappeared five feet to the right, "Enough of this foolishness, Earthman. Physical conflict will be endless stalemate, since we're only mental projections. You're beaten; there's no possible way you can defeat me, or I defeat you. Don't waste your time and mine. Get out of my mind!" Harrell shook his head doggedly. "I'm in here to do a job and I'm not leaving until I've done it." He sprang forward, sword high, and thrust down at the grinning Dimellian. Again the Dimellian sidestepped. Harrell's sword cut air. "Don't tire yourself out, Earthman," the alien said mockingly, and vanished. Harrell stood alone in the heart of the steaming jungle, leaning on his sword. Maybe he was only a mental projection, he thought, but a mental projection could still get thoroughly drenched with its own mental sweat. The castle still gleamed enigmatically on the distant mountain. He couldn't get there by walking--at least, it hadn't seemed to draw any nearer during his jaunt through the jungle. Hand-to-hand combat with the alien appeared fruitless. A fight in which both participants could change size at will, vanish, reappear, and do other such things was as pointless as a game of poker with every card wild. But there had to be a way. Mental attack? Perhaps _that_ would crumble the alien's defenses. He sent out a beam of thought, directed up at the castle. _Can you hear me, alien?_ Mental laughter echoed mockingly back. _Of course, Earthman. What troubles you?_ Harrell made no reply. He stood silently, concentrating, marshalling his powers. Then he hurled a bolt of mental energy with all his strength toward the mocking voice. The jungle shuddered as it struck home. The ground lurched wildly, like an animal's back; trees tumbled, the sky bent. Harrell saw he had scored a hit; the alien's concentration had wavered, distorting the scenery. But there was quick recovery. Again the mocking laughter. Harrell knew that the alien had shrugged off the blow. And then the counterblow. It caught Harrell unawares and sent him spinning back a dozen feet, to land in a tangled heap beneath a dangling nest of vines. His head rocked, seemed ready to split apart. He sensed the alien readying a second offensive drive, and set up counterscreens. This time he was ready. He diverted the attack easily, and shook his head to clear it. The score was even: one stunning blow apiece. But he had recovered and so had the alien. Harrell aimed another blow and felt the alien sweep it aside. Back came the answering barrage of mental force; Harrell blocked it. _Stalemate again_, the alien said. _We're evenly matched_, Harrell replied. _But I'll beat you._ He looked up at the far-off castle on the mountainside. _I'll beat you yet._