It passed; silently he resumed his task. From time to time, he tended to the Swamja’s wants. But he also found time to glance at Lysla occasionally.
When the ceremony began, Vanning could not tell. He sensed that the assembly had grown tenser, and noticed that the eye of every Swamja was focused on the black pool. But there was nothing else. Silence, and the deformed figures staring at the jet square in the center.
Was this all? It seemed so, after half an hour had passed. Not once had the Swamja he tended demanded attention. What the devil were the creatures seeing in that pool?
For they saw something, Vanning was certain of that. Once a shiver of pure ecstasy rippled through the Swamja’s gross body. And once Vanning thought he heard a musical note, almost above the pitch of audibility. It was gone instantly.
Zeeth had said that the Swamja possessed other senses than those of humans. Perhaps those strange senses were being used now. He did not know then, nor was he ever to know, the nonhuman psychology of the Swamja, or the purpose of the black pool. Yet Vanning unmistakably sensed that here was something above and beyond the limitations of his own humanity.
He grew tired, shifting from foot to foot, but it seemed the ceremony would never end. He watched Lysla. Thus he saw her bend forward with a filled goblet—and, losing her balance, spill the liquid contents into the lap of the Swamja she tended.
Instantly she shrank back, her tray clattering to the floor. Stark panic fear was in her posture as she cowered there. There was reason. The Swamja was rising, turning, and in his huge hand was a gun. …
He was going to kill Lysla. Vanning knew that. Already he was familiar with the Swamja code that did not forgive errors. And as he saw the stubby finger tightening on the trigger-button, Vanning acted with swift, unthinking accuracy.
His hand closed over the flask on his tray, and he threw it unerringly. The fragile substance crashed into the face of the Swamja menacing Lysla, shattering into glittering shards. The being blinked and pawed at its eyes. In a moment—
Vanning jumped clear over his own Swamja and hurtled down the steps. His shoulder drove into the blinking monster beneath Lysla, and sent the creature head-over-heels into the lap of another of its race below. Vanning caught up the gun the Swamja had dropped. He turned to look into Lysla’s frightened eyes.
“Jerry—” Her voice was choked. “Oh, no!”
Abruptly a crash sounded from above. Vanning looked up to see Sanderson swinging his metal tray like a maniac. The man’s red hair was like a beacon in the strange light. He drove his weapon into the snarling face of a Swamja and yelled down at Vanning:
“Amscray! There’s an oorday on your eftlay!”
Pig-Latin! A door on the left? Vanning saw it. With one hand he caught Lysla’s arm, and with the other smashed the gun-butt viciously into the mask of a Swamja that rose up before him.
The creature did not go down. Its arms closed about Vanning. He reversed the gun and squeezed the trigger-button, but without result. Apparently the things were immune to their own weapons.
The amphitheatre was in an uproar. In a flashing glance Vanning noticed that the black pool far below was curiously disturbed. That didn’t matter. What mattered was the devil that was seeking to break his back—
Lysla tore the gun from Vanning’s hand, firing it twice. The gnarled arms relaxed. But the two humans were almost hemmed in by the aroused Swamjas.
A burly body dived into the mob, followed by another one. Hobbs yelled, “Come on, kid! Fast!”
Hobbs and Zeeth! They, too, had come to the rescue. And none too soon!
The unexpected assault broke the ranks of the Swamja for an instant, and then the Earth-people were through, racing down a slanting corridor. They emerged outside the amphitheatre. Lysla gave them no time to rest. Footsteps were thudding behind them.
“This way. They’ll kill us now if they catch us.”
She sped into an alleyway that gaped nearby. Vanning saw Hobbs and Sanderson racing in pursuit. So Sanderson had got through, too. Good!
Zeeth?
The Venusian reeled against Vanning, his fat face contorted. “I’m—hit. Go on—don’t mind me—”
“Nuts,” the detective growled, and hoisted the flabby body to his shoulder. Zeeth had more courage than any of them, he thought. Weak of physique, hating pain, yet he had not hesitated to join his companions in a hopeless battle. …
IV
Vanning sped after the others, who had waited for him. After that it was a desperate hare-and-hounds chase, with Lysla 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 spaceship—”
Zeeth wriggled free. “Put me down. I’m all right now. The spaceship—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
