leading them through the labyrinth of the city, her slender legs flying.

"You okay?" Vanning gasped as he ran shoulder to shoulder with the girl for a moment.

Her white teeth were fixed in her lower lip. "I ... I shot at that Swamja's eyes. Blinded him. It's the only way ... ugh!"

"Where now?" Hobbs panted, his white hair rippling with the wind of his racing. Sanderson echoed the question.

"Lysla? Can we—"

"I don't know. We've been heading north. Never been there before. Can't go south—gates are always guarded."

Hobbs panted, "There are only two ways out. The way we came in—guarded, eh?—and another gate at the north."

"We'll try it," Vanning said. "Unless we can get to that space-ship—"

Zeeth wriggled free. "Put me down. I'm all right now. The space-ship—that's guarded too. But there aren't any soldiers at the north gate. I don't know why."

Through the city a rising tumult was growing. Lights were blazing here and there, but the party kept to the shadows. Twice they flattened themselves against walls as Swamja hurried past. Luck was with them; but how long it would last there was no way of knowing.

Suddenly a great voice boomed out, carrying to every corner of the city. It seemed to come from the dome high above.

"Attention! No slaves will be permitted on the streets unless accompanied by a Swamja master! No quarter is to be given to the fugitives who blinded a guard! Capture them alive if possible—they must serve as an example. But show them no quarter!"

Lysla's face had paled. Vanning glanced at her, but said nothing. Things were bad enough as they were. Only Sanderson chuckled sardonically.

"Nice going, Vanning. How about Callahan now?"

The detective grunted. Zeeth panted, "I would—have preferred a—peaceful death. I do not—like torture."

Vanning felt a pang of sympathy for the fat little native. But he couldn't help him. Escape was the only chance.

"Here," Lysla gasped, pausing in the shadow of a tall building. "These outer houses are all deserted. 

 Prev. P 24/35 next