He shot up rapidly from the sanded floor of the Arena. Beneath him for one long instant, he saw Adatha Za with her lovely face upturned: hands clasped between her breasts, red mouth bitten until it swelled, dark eyes misted. Shar Bytu stood beside her, his scaly hide brushing her naked arm. The others were grouped in twos and threes: silent and motionless, watching him.
How long they stood there, Jonathan never knew. His mind was fully occupied in a furious effort of incredible concentrative power: forcing his body into the rigid and alien pattern that his mind knew would alone spell safety from disaster.
Light that never deviated from its straight and ruthless path. Light that would absorb matter, that would shower a stream of electrons from it, releasing the electrons in a blast of power that fed upon the stuff it touched. Such were the black shadows!
And as he hurtled onward into the flames, he forced his body into beams of light, rigid and unbending. He had to merge with the flames, or be destroyed.
He hurtled onward, toward the ebony maw that shook and glistened and bellied against the dark of space like a translucent blob of jelly.
He held out his hands like a diver, going into the shadows. The movement helped him concentrate on straightness. The wind and the blackness was about him, licking at his lighteous form. Along his chest and thighs the flames touched, caressing.
The blackness was himself, now; part of him, a segment of his mind, a portion of his body.
And he went on swiftly.
Toward his goal.
On the planet, Neeoorna, Adatha Za knew the salt taste of her tears. Her red lips were puffed by the teethmarks driven deeply into their softness. Her breasts rose swiftly.