"I'm not moving," he said. A gun pressed against his back and he knew the time had come to act. Pivoting on the balls of his feet he knocked aside the hand that held the gun with his left arm. As he completed the pivot he aimed his right fist at the stranger's face. His assailant rolled with the blow and it caught him with glancing force on the chin. But it was hard enough to drive him off his feet. Ostby followed swiftly, but his opponent turned like a cat and kicked both feet into his stomach. The kick knocked the breath from Ostby's lungs. Black circles ringed his vision and the only thing that worked then was instinct. He grabbed at the ankles as the man's feet came up again. Letting the momentum of the kick furnish most of the power, he pulled on the ankles in a circular jerk that lifted the man clear off the floor. Ostby swung him around in a wide circle, scraping his head and shoulders on the wall of the hallway, before releasing his grip. The gunman crashed unconscious against the far wall. Ostby took two steps forward, and a blinding light bathed his body! He turned, raising one leg to retreat, and found himself fighting with an awful exertion to set it down again! The air had become viscous, and he took one step that felt as though he were walking in freshly mixed cement. The cement hardened rapidly and held him rigid. Next his vision blurred, and he stood with all power of motion gone. His respiratory function was his only movement. * * * * * He was no longer rational enough to judge when the agony in his muscles changed their tenor to the sensation of a thousand needles being stabbed into his flesh. Somehow he knew that this meant the paralysis was leaving. The first muscles to free themselves were those in the lids of his eyes. He opened them and found himself staring into the iciest, most emotionless eyes he had ever seen. Strangely enough they were brown eyes yet they gave the definite impression of being colorless. The eyes were in a face carved with lines of craglike pride. Strength and ruthlessness breathed in every feature. Ostby needed no introduction to know that the face belonged to the Imperator! A voice said, "He can see and hear now. But his power of speech and movement won't return for a few minutes." The voice came from Ostby's right. He was unable to turn to see who spoke. The Imperator smiled. "My Name is Magogar," he said to Ostby in a voice an octave lower then normal. "I've been waiting a long time to meet you." Ostby returned the look, wordlessly--all he was capable of doing. "We'll begin our discussion," Magogar said, "with my telling you that I know you are the one they call the Berserker, what your mission is, and much else about you that you may not suspect. On the other hand, there are many things you do not know about me, and, strange as it may seem, there are some things concerning yourself that you do not know.