But standing in the middle of the room was an eight-foot Krak, dwarfing even the seven-foot bulk of his guide. The scarlet-kilted Krak turned to him. "Find your answer," the scarlet-kilted Krak said cryptically. He pointed to the Krak, naked save for a kind of breechclout about his loins. "He is your subject." Sean was staring at his guide, startled out of his usual acceptance of the bizarre and the trite. "Our audios picked up your plotting," the scarlet-kilted one said. "We do not wish to kill you, you are much more valuable on Karrar. But we cannot have restless humans fired by one like you who thinks we are vulnerable. "There is a Krak. Kill him if you can." The scarlet-kilted Krak turned to the other standing in the center of the room. "You have understood my words, Klash? You understand that you will allow this human to do all in his power to kill you. Allow him all liberties until you are convinced that he has run out of ways in which to take your life." "Yes, O, Ralk." Klash bent his huge bald head. Ralk called aloud in his own tongue. Another Krak appeared pushing a plastic crate before him. He pushed the crate into the room. Then he went out, followed by Ralk. At the door Ralk stopped and said: "Human, there are many weapons there. Use them, and see if you can kill one of us." Then he went out. Sean McKenna was alone with the brute called Klash. He moved to the box, looked in. He looked up then at Klash, and whistled. "You must be tough, brother." Then he hauled the array of weapons from the crate. He laid them on the duralloy deck beneath his feet. A high-powered rifle, a meat ax, a sledge hammer, an acetylene torch, a sword, a rope, a crowbar. Then a grenade. Sean laid the last item gently aside, and remarked, "That'd kill _me_." Then he dumped the whole mass of weapons out on the deck. * * * * * It was a very good collection of various Earth and Krak weapons. Besides diverse types of guns, powder, electric and air operated, there were blowguns of all lengths, complete with quivers of poison-dipped arrows. There were many weapons made by the Kraks, only one or two of which Sean recognized. He picked up the little hand-gun that emitted the burning ray. He trained it on the Krak's chest, nicked the little button wide open. Such power exploded a human being, instantly converting the moisture in his system to steam. Klash stood there, impassive. Sean pumped a full round of bullets at the Krak from the high-powered rifle, then hurled himself on the floor to dodge the richocheting bullets. He got up, a rueful grin on his thin lips, and shot assorted poisonous darts through the blowguns. The poison was sudden death to any earthly thing. Klash was impassive. Sean hefted a battle-ax that the Kraks apparently had filched from some museum. He walked up slowly toward Klash, the double-bitted ax swinging heavily in his hand.