That night they supped on a queer animal that Waltk had run down and throttled with his bare hands. It tasted like beef-steak. Waltk ate prodigiously, but Jarl Gare, who wanted to be sharp and quick on the morrow, ate sparingly.
During the night, Jarl awakened several times, his nerves on edge for the test he knew lay ahead, but Waltk slept heavily.
When they awakened the Chameleon men were there.
When they awoke the Chameleon men were there.
Waltk was on his feet instantly, his great hands reaching out. Jarl came to his feet more slowly, wondering that the Chameleon men had not slain them while they slept.
The skins of the Chameleon men were a mottled gray, colored to match the gray background in which they lived, he observed. There were a dozen of them ranged around the big Jovian and the slight Earthman. Their barbed two-pronged spears were held lightly in their webbed hands, and their lidless eyes stared blankly at the naked pair.
Jarl Gare waited quietly, one hand on the powerful biceps of his companion.