A beam lanced out at the doorway. It splashed its pale green color over the scarlet tunics and naked legs of the guards.
The guards changed color.
They glittered yellow, metallic. One or two of them were off balance. They fell with a ringing clangour on the marble floor.
Xax gasped, "Gold. They're all solid gold statues!"
"I told you it was a weapon," rasped Kortha, shoving the machine in front of him, wheeling it toward the square.
There were a few guards left, in front of the fliers. When they saw Kortha, they came running. One by one he picked them off; watched them fall harshly, bouncing a little on the cobblestones. They did not fire. Kortha realized Guantra must have been very explicit about wanting him taken alive.
When he stood alone in the square, Kortha lifted his hammer and brought it down on the glistening orifact. Metal danced and shattered under his blows. Casings split. Magnetizers fell apart. Bolts and shards of metallic rings jangled on the paving, clattering and rolling among the lichen-lifted flaggings.
"Guantra will never use that," said Kortha grimly.
He walked toward the fliers. One after the other, he smashed their radios; and the controls of every ship but one. Holding open the door of the last plane, he said to Xax, "Get in."
"Where are we going?"