Instantly there was a terrific explosion and a great, bloody gap lay upon the terrace where an instant before a hundred of the flower of the fighting men of Laythe had been so gloriously defending their city and their honor.
“Grenades,” I exclaimed. “Hand grenades!”
“What is it, Julian? What is it that they are doing down there?” cried Nah-ee-lah. “They are murdering my people.”
“Yes, Nah-ee-lah, they are murdering your people, and well may Va-nah curse the day that Earth Men set foot upon your world.”
“I do not understand, Julian,” she said.
“This is the work of Orthis,” I said, “who has brought from Earth the knowledge of diabolical engines of destruction. He first shelled the city with what must have been nothing more than crude mortars, for it is impossible that he has had the time to construct the machinery to build any but the simplest of guns. Now his troops are hurling hand grenades among your men. There is no chance, Nah-ee-lah, for the Laytheans to successfully pit their primitive weapons against the modern agents of destruction which Orthis has brought to bear against them. Laythe must surrender or be destroyed.”
Nah-ee-lah laid her head upon my shoulder and wept softly. “Julian,” she said at last, “this is the end, then. Take me to the Jemadav, my mother, please, and then you must go and make your peace with your fellow Earth Man. It is not right that you, a stranger, who have done so much for me, should fall with me and Laythe.”
“The only peace I can make with Orthis, Nah-ee-lah,” I replied, “is the peace of death. Orthis and I may not live together again in the same world.”
She was crying very softly, sobbing upon my shoulder, and I put my arm about her in an effort to quiet her.
“I have brought you only suffering and danger, and now death, Julian,” she said, “when you deserve naught but happiness and peace.”