space, in the curve of a far away horizon. He exulted in his machine body, so human in its parts, so more than human in its size and capabilities. The column of the neck, the steel sinews; every muscle, every ligament, every nerve of the human body had its counterpart in the machine. What man could do, the machine did. What affected man, in proportion, affected the machine. Even to pain, the machine was complete.

He withdrew his optics and sent his telescope rising ten feet above his head, searching the gray land for the other detachment. A dozen miles away he could see the dome of the ravished farm. The little specks were scurrying to complete their destruction before the dreaded warriors should appear. They had blocked the entrance of the shallow valley in which the farm lay with their artillery. Behind it the gunners would try to hold off the warriors and give the rest time to escape. Not that it mattered. The enemy cared little for his losses.

His telescope swiveled, found the scarp of an ancient bomb, ringed with what was probably fission produced obsidian, and rested on the bodies of the machines who had beaten his detachment to the scene and now came streaming out to join them.

The two detachments merged, hesitated as each warrior assumed his position and began the attack. They would charge straight at the guns, so much a warrior cared for the marksmanship of former slaves--so much a warrior cared for the power of native shells.

At eight miles the snouts of the cannons began to belch. The gunnery was high. The barrage passed harmlessly overhead. The first strike was for him. The armor-piercing shell clanged and flattened out against his chest, staggering him back. He rallied, caught his balance, sped on. He almost pitied the limited inventiveness of the natives, whose genius ended when they drove man into the fortresses.

Another shell. A warrior whirled and stumbled. Jord crashed into him, steadied him. The explosions blended into an endless sound. He felt a shell bounce from his shoulder, taking six optics with it and leaving the smell of scorched steel. They were too thick now to dodge, too close to bear. Earth and stone sprayed up from a sudden crater before him. He wheeled. Now they were in a range where the shells could disable an arm or leg. An arm! A stiff-hung, motionless limb of steel.

The rush had brought them to the artillery. Their feet trampled the ancient guns. They smashed at belching muzzles with hammer fists. They had breached the defenses. The 

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