The room was a maze of instruments, levers, panels about the sides. But it wasn't this that had shocked the Princess, it was the bodies.
Two sprawled on the floor, one on its back still held a weapon in one hand. That weapon pointed to the third body.
Slumped in a chair before an instrument panel, the third body had grown rigid, a look of amazement on the undecomposed face. In the right hand, the weapon that had undoubtedly killed the other two, was still poised.
"You can almost see the smoke curling from the muzzle of that ancient automatic," said Barry grimly. "They fought it out—must have been after the one in the chair landed the ship—and everybody lost!"
"It's—it's horrible," the girl murmured. "Why—"
A sudden commotion, reaching their ears faintly from outside, cut off her question. There were shouts—cries of pain and rage. Running feet pounded up the ship's ramp, came down the passage toward them.
Barry brought up the heat ray in his hand—lowered it as a Martian staggered into the room. He was burned across the face and body.
His pale lips moved. Faint words came forth. Others were choked off as he slumped to the floor. His body sprawled beside the other two already there.
"He says a god comes," Deisanocta explained wildly. "One they cannot harm. The rest of my followers in the room outside have fallen."