“Did ye think Nordhu slept?” the priest went on mockingly. “Truly ye are babes in intellect, and should be nursed yet a while.”
The taunt stung Seymour to madness. Like a flash his mailed fist shot out, catching Nordhu full upon the mouth, and he crashed heavily backward, giving voice to a piercing cry that rang clear above the din of the machinery.
At the sound the wolfish brutes working in the great cavern dropped their loads and dashed pell-mell towards the comrades. Hundreds there were of the creatures. In a living flood they surged down upon the hapless trio, with whom it would have gone hardly but for the prompt action of Chenobi.
Dropping axe and shield, he snatched the dagger from Seymour’s girdle; then, lifting the senseless form of the priest, he calmly faced the savages.
“Back, you dogs!” he roared. “A step further and your priest dies!”
He placed his gleaming weapon menacingly against Nordhu’s throat as he spoke, and, at the action, the raging mob of wolf-men pulled up.
Whether they heard the words or not, the significance of the king’s threat was clear to them. Their murderous hate was drowned in their fear for the life of their priest.
Then began a retreat in the like of which neither of the friends had ever participated before. Passing his sword to Wilson—now rapidly recovering from the effects of the priest’s fascination—Seymour picked up the Ayuti’s weapons; whereupon, Chenobi still carrying Nordhu, the three commenced to move backward up the passage, their eyes fixed upon the hideous throng at the tunnel end, who stood cowed into momentary inaction by the peril of their ruler.