Jarl Gare's yellow eyes widened. Waltk's test was to hold open the clam, a prodigious feat. For how long? One of the Chameleon men glanced at Jarl Gare and he saw a picture of darkness descending on the pool. Why, that must be six hours.
The four Venusians stepped off the shell. The clam's writhing muscles and the great writhing muscles of the Jovian's back tensed together.
The Chameleon men stared blankly at the striving pair. Jarl Gare watched passively. If the dumb ox couldn't figure out that all he had to do was to shove the clam open still further instead of bracing against closure, he would lose the test.
The moments dripped by, became minutes marked by the jumping back and shoulder muscles of the Jovian.
An hour passed sluggishly.... Waltk's usually white face became suffused with red. His chest was laboring.
At the end of two hours, Waltk glanced appealingly over his shoulder at Jarl Gare. The Earthman laughed. With a convulsive effort, Waltk pushed back the shells six inches either way.
If he had done that at first, he could have won, Jarl Gare thought, but not now. Waltk's strength had been drained too greatly.
The great shells quivered, moving back. Waltk strained, but the Jovian's great muscles could hold no longer. The Jovian's huge body quivered, the skin grew almost black with his great effort.
The clam had the leverage now. Its white muscles pulsed. The Jovian grunted with pain. There was a deep thucking sound. Waltk whimpered.
Then the Jovian stood up. He stared at the blood pulsing from the stumps of his wrists. The clam had sheared off his hands.