The subaltern chuckled. "Earthmen ... fierce beasts! That's good! No, slave. They are puny creatures from afar who recently dared attempt to storm our planet. They were driven off by our cruisers and crashed, we believe, on Darkside. But a search is being made for them. If they are found, I promise you rare enjoyment at the Games. For they are stupid, weakling creatures. It should be amusing to watch you carve them to bits during the Games." "And," asked Gary in simulated eagerness, "our mates--when will we see them again?" The garrulous young lieutenant grinned. "Oh, by and by, I suppose. When our brother to whom they are being loaned for a little while wearies of them. You see, he has been journeying afar quite a while, and is in need of relaxation. It was he who returned but a day ago to warn us of the invasion of these Earthmen--" It was fortunate that as he spoke the young subaltern did not happen to look at the faces of his two charges. For at his words, both Lark and Gary stiffened, their eyes met in wild surmise. Then Gary spoke for both. "And--and the name of this noble _kraedar_?" he asked. The nobleman laughed curtly. "I do not see that it concerns you, serf. But there is no harm in telling you whose august presence your mate will be permitted to attend. It is our brother, lately returned from tiny Gog. The great and noble _kraedar_ Borisu." CHAPTER XIX Deadlock "Borisu!" There is a limit to which human impassivity can be constrained. Gary Lane had now surpassed his ability to play the ignoramus. The name burst from his lips with explosive force. "Borisu!" O'Day echoed the cry. "Borisu! But my God, Gary, that means--" In his dismay Lark spoke in English. Their captor had been startled enough at Gary's cry, but upon hearing speech in a foreign tongue from the lips of a supposedly uncultured slave, his eyes opened wide in astonishment. He demanded, "What _is_ this? Whence came you twain that you speak a language I do not know?" And his hand reached for the ray gun at his belt. But it never got there. For Lark O'Day called signals in a language the Magogean could never possibly understand. He cried sharply: "All right, Gary, punt formation.... One, two ... _Hep!_" And simultaneously the two Earthmen converged on their guard, one high, one low. Gary, taking his cue from Lark's quarterbacking, made no effort to wrest the weapon from the Magogean's grasp, but kicked straight and true at the young lieutenant's wrist. The gun flew high, and by the time it clattered to the paving Lark had smashed the young _kraedar_ to the ground and battered him into unconscious submission. Gary tugged at his friend's shoulder. "O.Q., Lark, that'll do. You don't have to pound him into hamburger." "Not hamburger," rasped O'Day, withdrawing reluctantly, "just a reasonable facsimile thereof. He's the louse who said he wouldn't mind making a play for Penny himself!"