Princess of Chaos
after her doggedly. She sprang this way and that like a forest cat. And finally she stopped and her fingers briefly touched the wall. Panels slid noiselessly apart.

"You asked about the girl," she spat. "Look!"

Moljar froze. There was a square there revealed. A mass of electronic equipment. Parts were vaguely familiar, but over-all arrangement completely beyond the grasp of his barbaric desert mind. Within a column of light, stood Mahra, looking at him. Fine glowing filaments imprisoned her.

Somehow, through the weirdly glowing strands that would send her into some hellish land only Alhone could name, she managed a wan smile. Beyond the glowing filaments, grey-furred catmen moved dials and studied gauges and charts.

"Wait!" cried Alhone's grotesque mewing face. "Turn off the matrix power. Do not send the girl yet. Moljar wishes to accompany her to hell!"

V

The three catmen complied without comment. They apparently were highly specialized brains, incapable of normal reaction. Their faces reflected mechanical minds, specially bred, unemotional. Moljar's narrowed eyes followed the motions of one as he turned dials. The light faded from around the girl. The filaments faded to a rusty brown. Mahra's eyes turned, looked directly into Alhone's. A shiver went through Moljar at the strange glow that emanated from them.

Clanking of steel spun him around. The Anghorians whom Alhone had summoned were crashing into the small room, and Moljar sprang to meet them. His sword whipped free, darted, an invisible arc. He killed the first one who came within reach before the Anghorian's sword could move, his straight blade splitting the pink skull.

He saw one raise a peculiar looking device like an electro-gun, though smaller. He heard Alhone's shrill cry, "Swords only! I would watch him fight once again. Before he goes away."

Others joined the Anghorians. Martians. Terrans. Half-breeds. Their eyes were dull, and they fought without heart.

Moljar sidestepped a thrust, even as he parried one slash, and slipped under a third. His black eyes glittered like a basilisk's and his lips froze in the Martian tribal smile without mercy.

His sword darted past a blade that sought to parry. It sheathed a foot of its length in a Martian's belly. He gasped 
 Prev. P 24/28 next 
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