Craig caught him from behind by belt and shoulder ... half-hurled him into the path of the roller that now spun forward.
Man and sphere came together with a thud of flesh against flesh.
Man went down, screaming.
But now other guardsmen were charging in. Whirling, Craig dashed for the door to the back room. In another instant he was through it, racing for the window.
A bolt of green fire seared past his head.
He ducked.
But in the same instant, something struck his shoulder a hammer blow from behind. He sprawled on his knees. Through a strange, blurred haze of pain, it dawned on him that now his right arm hung limp and useless.
Only then hands gripped him and dragged him forward, on to the window. Incredulously, he discovered that it was the serving-serf, the grey, stoop-shouldered oldster who had brought the taxat.
"Hurry—!" the man panted. "Climb up! I am not strong enough to lift you...."
With a tremendous effort, Craig dragged himself erect. Clutching the high sill, he tried to pull himself up to it.