Ketrik bent and lunged forward in one swift motion, flooring the frail Proktol in a vicious tackle. He snatched up the flame-pistol and sprayed it in a semi-circle as other Proktols came rushing in. Four or five fell with holes burned through their frail bodies. Still others came. Ketrik's arms flailed. His fist caught one squarely in the middle, and the brittle shell-like skin popped open in a wide gap as a thick colorless fluid oozed out. He hit another in the head, something snapped and the head dangled grotesquely. Ketrik's knee came up and another Proktol popped open, exuding a viscous stuff. But there had been too many out there waiting. Their bodies were frail but their limbs were like steel cables. The men just inside the room could only look on helplessly as Ketrik went down, still swinging elbows and knees. A dozen wiry arms lashed him to the floor. V'Naric rose to his feet, staggering a little, holding his middle as though he wished to vomit. He snatched a flame-pistol, aimed it, and changed his mind. He gave a staccato command in his own language. "Can't blame me for trying!" Ketrik sang out to his friends, as he was hurried down the stairs. * * * * * Through the window they could see the horde of tiny Proktols still gathered in the square below. Suddenly the murmuring leaped to a louder clamor. Then they saw the reason for it. Ketrik was being dragged out into the square, through the throng toward a little dais. From the dais rose a single pillar of stone. They fastened him securely to the pillar. The clamoring subsided a little. Those savages were waiting for something--just as the three Earthmen were waiting, watching the scene below them. Some of the larger Proktols brought a huge metal disc, perhaps three feet in diameter. A hole was in the center. They put it over Ketrik's head and it rested on his shoulders. "I don't like the looks of that," Janus muttered tensely. "What are they going to do?" But they weren't through. Next, over Ketrik's head they placed a spacious wire cage which clicked into place on the rim of the disc. "My God!" Blake said suddenly, staring. "Do you suppose they're going to run some kind of voltage through that thing?" "That's a nice pleasant thought!" Janus snapped at him. Devries turned away from them both. He knew better. "No," he told Blake hoarsely. "No, not that. Better come away." But they couldn't come away. Horror, especially an unknown horror, has a fascination. They saw some of the Proktols seemingly in consultation. Presently a couple of them hurried away, and all that could be heard from that massed throng was a gentle murmuring as they swayed restlessly, waiting. Then in the room behind them they heard the electrical crackling in the doorway cease. V'Naric stood before them again, ever watchful with the flame-pistol.