And as he did so, his weariness fell away a little. A tiny spark of his old fire came alive again. A thread of the strength he'd thought was gone flowed slowly through him. He found that he could even stand straight without staggering. Bleakly, he laughed. Then, breathing deep, throwing back his head, he howled the wild, harsh howl the charging primitives had uttered--pushed it out with all the volume he could muster. He could see the guards jerk, in the light-ring round the ship. A ray-gun blazed. * * * * * Jarl crouched behind a pile of debris. After a moment, when the guards' first excitement had subsided, he moved in closer; howled again. This time, the crewmen showed less tension. Grim, purposeful, they crouched by their weapons, watching and waiting. Jarl moved still closer. He shouted--a guttural, clacking diatribe that went on for half a minute. Two officers came to the nearest point of the defense perimeter. Uncertainly, they peered out into the echoing sea of darkness. Again Jarl shouted; kept up the stream of clacking sound still longer. One of the officers stepped back; gestured. A Forspark light swung round and focussed on the area where Jarl lay hidden. Jarl scraped his palms against his legs. Drum-like, his heart pounded. His belly writhed as he weighed the odds against this madman's gamble. But there was no other way. Once more he shouted; kept the clatter running. And as he did so--slowly; open hands upthrust and empty--he rose to full height. Still shouting, he moved step by step into the beam of searching light. He was close to the perimeter, now--close enough to hear the guards' excited babble. Still no shot came; no ray-beam lanced out to burn him down. Boldly, he strode forward, straight towards the defenses. Crewmen moved up to meet him--cold-eyed, weapons leveled. He reached the edge of the perimeter; stood there, waiting. A _Fantay_ officer came out. Ray-gun in hand, throat-sac aquiver, he circled Jarl, uncertainty and puzzlement written on his ugly face. Jarl threw out more of the meaningless, clacking syllables. The mask distorted them even further. They came out a guttural rattle like nothing ever heard on any planet. A _Pervod_ said, "Better take him in to the commissioner. Maybe the vocodor can make something of his gabble." The _Fantay_ nodded briefly. His pad-like hands moved over Jarl, probing the plumes, the wrist-bands, the girdle. A trickle of sand spilled to the ground. The _Fantay_ brushed it off, unheeding. He reached up; started to fumble at the catches of the metal mask. Jarl's heart leaped. He knocked away the officer's hand and hurled an angry cascade of gutturals at the creature. The _Fantay_ fell back a step, startled and even more uncertain; and an Earthman clipped, "Leave that tin hat alone, Beyno! This thing's a primitive. Maybe he thinks it's bad luck or something to take off his mask in front of strangers."