On, towards the place where the prows of the space-ships stood out against the sky.
Straining his eyes, Jarl could see tiny figures running, the headlong rush of panic in their stride.
But the robot was striding faster.
A roar of rockets echoed dimly. As one, the Knife and Bor Legat's Lightning blasted up into the sky.
But already the robot was leaping, pivoting, with hideous, awkward grace that spoke of awful strength beyond man's feeble understanding. Great, gleaming metal hands shot out and seized the Lightning in mid-air. A lance of light blazed from the force-spot in the forehead and blasted the Knife to shattered fragments before it cleared the rocks.
And even as the light-beam struck, the mighty arms were levering. The Lightning's hull-beam cracked and splintered. The body parted in a spray of shattered shards and clawing, falling crewmen.
Then it was over. With savage force, the robot hurled the broken ship to the ground ... trompled the shattered hull-sections into the dust.
Ylana clung to Jarl—choking, crying, whole body shaking. Tight-lipped, holding her close, he pressed back against the rocks, so hard the ridges gouged his flesh like blunt-edged bayonets.
The metal giant was turning, now. Again its great feet clanged and thundered. Back it came once more, along the same road that had brought it to its terrible festival of carnage and destruction. Again, its shadow swept past Jarl and Ylana, not even pausing. Slowly, the thunder of its footsteps faded. The massive hulk grew smaller, smaller, in the distance.
Then it was gone. Heavily, Jarl Corvett struggled to his feet. Slowly, grimly, he turned.