The _dau's_ great arms caught him as the weapon tore loose from the holster. He felt his ribs cracking as it lifted him--crushed him. Desperately, he triggered the beam square into its belly. The hairy arms dropped him. The _dau_ sprawled back, dying. Haral spun round, still firing. The beam caught the first of the onrushing beetles. It seared through a second. A third reeled and stumbled. Haral lunged for the chiefs' stand. Sark stood there, stiff-frozen. Xaymar lurched back in terror. Haral cried: "Die, curse you!" He whipped up the ray-gun. But Sark shrieked, "Wait, blue man--! You and all Ulna die here with me!" His gross body twisted, and Haral saw the fat fingers still locked on the cymosynthesizer switch. In the same instant the raider chief's other hand darted beneath his tent-like tunic, incredibly fast, snatching out a Venusian _xlan_-tube. Blue fire belched at Haral. He threw himself flat. But it was the end. It could be no other way. This was where destiny and the road to empire at last had led him. To failure. To death. To his blood in the dirt of Sark's arena. Why had he picked such a road to travel? What good did it do to die, when even death was empty, without meaning? Unless, perhaps, he could save Ulna.... He triggered the ray-gun as the fire seared down his back. But not at Sark. His target was the cymosynthesizer switch; the cable. Through a haze of pain, he saw them fuse; saw Sark's hand, too, turn to sifting ashes. The raider screamed and surged forward. Haral triggered a final beam. It tore Sark's bulbous head from his shoulders. The roar of the mob, lunging in for the kill, came dimly to the blue man's ears. He was glad. They'd at least put an end to his agony. But the roar seemed to die again, and he wondered if perhaps some dark corner of his brain still functioned in its way after consciousness had left him. Then hands touched his face; soft hands, caressing. * * * * * With a tremendous, wrenching effort, he opened his eyes, and there was Kyla, with tears on her cheeks and soft lips atremble. But where was the crowd, the beetles, the cutthroat crewmen? Another face came ... the face of Xaymar. As from afar, her words came fiercely: "I hate you, warrior, for you spurn me for a stupid _Shamon_ child! But I am of Ulna, and again you have saved my life and planet. So, now, my coleopteran legions shall protect you till my science can give back your daring and make your body whole once more. My projectors, too, my secrets of the wind and rain, the lightning--I leave them in your hands to help you guard this world of mine, till my own day to strike shall come. But for myself, I must go back to frozen sleep again, for another thousand years, lest I should rise and slay you in my fury!"