For suddenly the intention of Captain Thalakka was clear. Full across the courtyard had he and his men marched unchallenged ... past posts they might have taken ... and up to the gates of the slave-pens. And now the little detachment whirled, formed a tight circle before the gates--and a cry rose as Thalakka gripped the sole guardian of those gates, hurled him to the ground, and wrenched the keys from his belt! In an instant, all was bedlam! Too late the Videlian guards realized what had happened, identified this enemy in their very midst. Men turned from the walls, a hundred bows turned on the tiny knot of venturers. Feathered death spangled the court. But the key had grated in the lock! And the gates were open. And Thalakka's voice was raising in clarion cry. "Earthmen! Rise! Freedom awaits the bold--" His cry ended in midsentence, his mouth formed a round O of astonishment ... a circle from which, suddenly, a flood of crimson gushed. His hands leaped to his breast and tore at a shaft buried there almost to its feathered end ... then he sank to his knees, rolled over, and lay still. But not in vain had Captain Thalakka died. For at his words a tremendous surge, like the lifting of high sea-waters, swelled through the prison-pens. And scarce had he fallen than a prisoner had whipped the sword from his hands to spring forward. Another ... and another ... and the slaves were plunging through the gates like an unleashed flood. In vain, now, the arrows of the defenders hurtled into the roaring throng. Where one man fell, there were a dozen to charge forward over his body. This was no trained army, crisp, cool, efficient. This was a mob, a mob of men who had tasted slavery--and were now free to turn on their foes with naked hands and claws. Like beasts they smashed across the courtyard to the ramparts, crushing beneath them all who strove to stay their passage. Like animals they clambered up the walls, flung the Videlians from their posts down to blood-lusting fellows below who literally ripped the Martian guards into bits. And--the ramparts fell! Nor did Vibhishana give his enemy time to recuperate from this mortal below. Cheers rose from the loyalist camp, and up the beach stormed the followers of the former regent. Fighting side-by-side with the rebel slaves, they smashed the last, feeble resistance of Ravana's garrison. Then a guidon raised aloft, calling urgent invitation. The host of skating-bugs stirred into motion. And within the space of minutes, the first Gaanelian craft had moored at the docks of Lanka! * * * * * Not at all surprisingly, it was Red Barrett--the scrapping old redhead himself--who sprang from the first of the skiffs to dock. Close behind him came Syd O'Brien. The two were met and greeted by Ramey Winters who, with Tauthus, had scorned any slower method of gaining the scene of victory than to clamber headlong and recklessly down the rough walls from the balcony.