"Suspended," mused Jerran. "Temporarily halted. Animation, life. Life held in check? Movement stopped for a time?" "That's it." "Love of freedom, lad, what's it?" * * * * * Revel, glancing up at the soaring spheres, said half to himself, "Man of the 21st century. Century's a hundred years. Twenty-first? John R. Klapham, atomic something ... suspended animation. John sounds like a name. Rest of it, enigmas, but...." "Watch out!" yelled Jerran, turning against his back. "A god comes at us." "How good are you at throwing knives?" "As good as the next rebel. Damned good." "Take one from my belt, and see if you can spit it in the air. If it touches you, you'll be a frizzled-up cinder in a wink." He felt the knife leave his holster, there was a pause, then Jerran said under her breath, "Blast this horse--ugh--got it!" They were almost at the crest of the hill now. None of the ruck watched the chase from here, for it was far from Ewyo's house and none had expected Revel and Company to come so far. There were guards, though: three squires sitting their quiet horses on the brow of the hills, a hundred yards apart. They watched the roan with its double burden beat up toward them, then blinked and peered as they saw that the foremost rider was naked. "Va-yoo," said one uncertainly, then, realization hitting him, "va-yoo hallo! Here he comes!" He came, and the squires bunched to meet him; he aimed his horse's head for their center, they split off wildly at the last instant, and he was through them before they could draw guns from the saddle boots. A crack behind him was the first one speaking tardily, and the roan leaped forward, touched into fury by the slug's creasing its withers. Jerran said calmly, "I'm hit in the leg. Let me see. A flesh wound, no matter. Ride, lad!" "The globes are our only worries now," said Revel exultantly. "And they're some worries, for they descend even now at us." He looked up, and saw that it was true. A multitude of the radiant gods were dropping from their buttons, and the forest of Kamden with its sprawling borders and its secret, protective darknesses lay half a mile before the Mink. Almost he would rather have died by a squire's bullet than a pseudo-god's fierce energy blast. He recalled the feelers that had touched his face yesterday, the searing heat of the aura that before that had crisped off the hair above his ear. It was a filthy way to die. The roan, strongest of all the gentry's horses, was easily distancing them all. But it could not distance a down-slanting globe. Revel the Mink committed his soul to whatever might receive it, and dug in his heels for a last desperate gallop. CHAPTER XI The ruckers all have heard the call The Mink has sounded clear; They come from near, they come from far, To fight the squire and sphere.