An alarm-bell rang somewhere in the Citadel. Instantly other bells echoed it, a distant confusion of alarms.
"Out of here fast," Price cried. "This is the first place the Vurna will be coming. If we can get down through, we can help the others."
They ran back out of the room, back down the corridor past the unconscious man who still lay on the floor. Whatever happened now, the tribesmen pouring across the Belt were safe from the weapons on the roof.
Without warning the lift-door opened right in front of them and five green-clad Vurna came spilling out of it.
There was no chance to use shockers or bolos either—they were so close to each other that it was hands and fists. They struggled, gripping and striking at each other, their feet slipping on the smooth floor, with the clamor of bells in the background.
A new note was added to that clamor. A dim sound of yelling voices, many of them surging up from the lower part of the Citadel.
"The tribes are in!" shouted Sweetbriar. "By God, I—"
He was knocked back by a flailing green arm. His Vurna antagonist scrabbled to get his shocker out of his belt. Price desperately kicked out at his own personal foe and banged him back against the metal wall. He saw the silver head bang the wall, and the man sagged at the knees.
Price rushed and knocked up the shocker now levelled at Sweetbriar. The hunters yelped, their eyes blazing. It was their kind of a fight. They liked it. After a sullen lifetime, they were using their fists on the Star Lords and they liked that.