"Oh, stay if you want. I'm going down!" Rayth turned to clap Rikard's shoulder, "You too, my friend. You've done well, oh, excellently well, and you'll have a rich reward!" The Nyracan shrugged. Inwardly, he was filled with a sudden wonder as to whether he had done the right thing or not. He didn't much care, really, who won; they were all Copers to him--but the prince's payment was more certain and tangible than the Temple's, and-- Too late now. He went into the bathroom, where Leda washed and bandaged his hurts and whispered to him: "There is more behind this than you say, my dearest, I know you too well." "Aye, there is, but I can't tell you now. Stay close by me and don't be too surprised at anything I may do." Leda went back to Rayth and said: "Give me a blade too." "You--a woman?" he asked. "I've sent more men to Earth than you ever did," she snapped. "From here on, Rikard and I fight together." "Well--I hate to risk such beauty being hacked up--but far be it from me to oppose that beauty's lightest wish," laughed the Coper. "Remember, though--you'll be among my own troops, and they don't take kindly to traitors." She smiled at him. "How could anyone betray you?" she whispered. "The oldest trick in the world," sighed Rayth, "and it still works. Very well, take what you wish from the armor chest over there." She and Rikard equipped themselves with weapons--a sword for her, an ax for him--cuirasses, and helmets. By that time they could hear the sound of marching feet. Rayth buckled on his own armor, lifted his sword in a mocking salute to his timorous comrades, and walked out into the hall. * * * * * It was a strong and well-trained force, filling the corridor with hard bodies and edged steel, pikes and axes aloft, raising a shout that roared and boomed down the hall as Rayth appeared. He put himself in the van, with the barbarians in the second rank behind his, and the troop started off to battle. Clang of booted feet slammed echoing on the metal floor, rattle and clash of armor, grim jests tossed from lip to bearded lip. These were the killers, the professionals without fear of man or Earth, the trained elite which formed an army within an army and the fulcrum of the noble power. Watching them, marching with them, Rikard felt a sudden sick doubt within him. Untrained barbarians had toppled before this iron weapon-- They came to the closed gate, and Rayth unlocked it and led the way down the ramp beyond. Level after level dropped past them, deserted now, silent and empty, but the broken roaring from below had grown, screaming its outrage, screaming for blood.