out of it.

There was no chance to use shockers or bolos either--they were so close to each other that it was hands and fists. They struggled, gripping and striking at each other, their feet slipping on the smooth floor, with the clamor of bells in the background.

A new note was added to that clamor. A dim sound of yelling voices, many of them surging up from the lower part of the Citadel.

"The tribes are in!" shouted Sweetbriar. "By God, I--"

He was knocked back by a flailing green arm. His Vurna antagonist scrabbled to get his shocker out of his belt. Price desperately kicked out at his own personal foe and banged him back against the metal wall. He saw the silver head bang the wall, and the man sagged at the knees.

Price rushed and knocked up the shocker now leveled at Sweetbriar. The hunters yelped, their eyes blazing. It was their kind of a fight. They liked it. After a sullen lifetime, they were using their fists on the Star Lords and they liked that.The surge of sound from levels underneath told of a far bigger melee down there, spreading through the Citadel. And then that sound, and the small, personal noises of their own staggering fight, were cut across by a brutal authoritative new sound. A hooting, loud and commanding, getting louder by the second, braying like the voice of doom through the vast iron pile. 

The two Vurna still left on their feet tried to turn and run down the corridor. The hunter's bolos brought them down quickly. Sweetbriar's leathery old face was wild and startled as he got to his feet. "What the hell--" 

"That's the Vurna's big battle-stations siren!" Price said. "They're a bit late with it. Come on!" He and the hunters began to look for stairs, racing swiftly along the deserted corridors. They found some at last, and sped downward, level after level. Bellowing, deafening in volume now, the siren kept hooting. It could not drown out the tumultuous uproar that filled the lower levels. 

Price and the hunters were met suddenly by a mass of tribesmen boiling up from the ground level. They were screaming, laughing, capering in the halls, dragging with them one or two captured Vurna--triumphant victors, dancing down a hated power under their moccasined feet. Their hair and beards and their clothing were still dripping wet with rain. They swept up Price and Sweetbriar and the six others in their advancing front, pounding their shoulders, 

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