The girl called Kyla stared at the creature as if paralyzed with horror. She did not even raise her hands. "I give you your last thought as a chaste priestess!" Sark cried, taunting. "You shared your secret with another--the high priest, him they call Namboina! He, too, knows where Xaymar's crypt lies hidden! So all your stubbornness has gained you nothing, for I'll tear the truth from him even though you die here!" Kyla's tragic eyes went wide--shocked, half-disbelieving. Haral breathed deep. The tension was a tight knot in his stomach now. His hand grew sweaty against the light-lance. Slavering, the Uranian shambled towards Kyla. The mad din of the crowd grew deafening. A churning excitement boiled within the blue warrior. This was the moment for which he'd come; this was the final peak of crisis. The _dau_ lunged. In one smooth flow of motion, Haral whipped up the light-lance. Its beam speared out, stabbing at the _dau_. The lumbering creature stumbled and swerved, twisting in a sudden, agonized frenzy. Smoke curled from the matted hair of its massive torso. It tottered--fell back a step--another--another. Then, arms and legs jerking spasmodically, head out of control, it crumpled into the gory dirt of the arena and lay twitching. A thunderous, stupefied silence fell upon the crowd. Creatures from the far-flung planets of the whole solar system stared in blank disbelief. Then, suddenly, the shocked spell broke; and Sark was on his feet and shrieking, "Seize him! Kill him! Blast him down!" The mob surged forward. But now Haral was moving too, booting his great blue _hwalon_ dragon into the screaming throng, clawing and slashing and trampling. A force ray struck him a hammer blow between the shoulders, but its impact broke on the heavy copronium armor and he paid it no heed. His light-lance blazed--again; again. A _Pervod_ fell. A _Malya_ writhed back in his death throes. Then the _hwalon_ was surging against the fence that bounded the arena. The blue man roared, "Kyla--!" And, to the crowd: "Back! Back--! Stand back or die!" The wave of bodies broke. The milling mass gave way. Savagely, Haral slashed at the cables with his lance-beam. * * * * * Snapping like tight-drawn strings, they parted. Already, beyond, the girl-priestess Kyla was running up beside him. Sweeping low in the saddle, he caught her arm and lifted her bodily to a place in front of him astride the _hwalon_. But if the crowd, the rabble, was falling back, Sark's raiders now were forming. Again Haral spurred the _hwalon_--driving it forward, straight at the mutant chieftain. "You--Sark! Call off your pack if you want to live!" he cried. He leveled the light-lance, like a helium hammer to drive home his words.