It staggered back from her, its face gone into a terrible oversize mask of awful pain. Those great legs, like dark, gnarled stumps, bowed and bent. It fell uncouthly, supported itself on spread hands. Planter could see the hole Mara had burned in it, a great red raw pit the size of a bushel basket. Then it was down, motionless. Dead. Max had helped Planter up. "Can you run?" he was demanding. "No! No!" Mara interposed, hurrying back to them. "Not run! Fight!" "Fight?" Planter echoed, rather idiotically. "Fight the Skygors! See, your friends have come!" Through the jungle to the water's edge pressed other human figures, in Terrestrial overalls and helmets. * * * * * A slim, square-faced man in the neatest of overall costumes had grabbed Planter's elbow. It was beginning to rain again. Thunder sounded, like Skygors grumbling high in the mist. "Quick!" said the square-faced man. "You're Planter, aren't you? And that other man--but where's Disbro." Planter pointed toward the water-city. "Who are you?" he demanded, as if they had all day. "Dr. Hommerson. Commanding this new expedition. Ten of us in the big new ship started when they reported you landing safely. We cracked up, not far from where your ship bogged down. This girl found us, said--" "Whatever she said was true!" cut in Planter. "Quick, defend yourself against those Skygors." "They'll defend themselves against us," rejoined Dr. Hommerson bleakly. "If they're smart, and if they're lucky." His companions had formed a sort of skirmish line among the thickest stems at the water's edge. With a variety of weapons--force-rifles, machine guns, one or two portable grenade throwers--they had opened on the Skygors. The amphibian dwellers in the water-city had started to chase Planter and Max, but the destruction of their giant kinsman had daunted and immobilized them. Now they had something else to shake their courage, which was never too great. Well-aimed shots were picking them off, in the boats, in the water, on the housetops and bridges. "Don't show yourselves more than is necessary!" Dr. Hommerson was barking. "If they know there's only a handful of us, they might--" He unlimbered a patent pistol, one with a long barrel, a magazine of fourteen rounds in the stock, and a wooden holster that could fit into a slot and form a makeshift butt like that of a rifle. Lifting this to his shoulder, he began to shoot at such of the Skygors as still showed themselves. Mara had rushed to Planter's side. "They're retreating!" she cried. "The spell--remember the _spell_!" True enough, he'd forgotten. That wild, unmanning storm of noise that defended Skygor country, that had knocked him into their webbed fingers as a captive and slave, might begin at any moment. Even now the Skygors were retiring inside their buildings, but with a certain purposeful orderliness. As Planter watched, Max ran up to his other side.