He shot off down the hall like a streak of gray lightning, with Nelson beside him.
Chapter XIV
RETURN TO DOOM
For Nelson, it was a strange, weird battle. More so even than his fight with Tark, because this time he was fighting men. There was something beautiful about it. To sweep in under the flash of a falling blade, leap and slash and twist away, then dodge and leap again. He had not realized that men were so slow and weak, their flesh so soft to tear, so naked. He felt contempt for them.
A savage joy in his own wolf-strength swept over him. He hurled himself high in the air, right over the striking sword that would have split him open, saw terror widen in the swordsman's eyes, heard him cry out. Then he felt his own jaws snap and crunch an arm, heard the yell of pain and the clatter of the sword falling to the floor.
But it was no use. Men might be soft and slow, but there were many of them. More came running into the doorway as word went forth that the wolves of Vruun were trapped. And their swords could bite, deep and deadly as fangs.
Nelson and Tark recoiled, panting, and for all their swiftness they had not come off unmarked. Ears flattened, bellies down, they crouched for one brief moment as doom closed in on them. For behind them, Sloan and Van Voss had entered the big hall. Their guns were ready, but they could not fire yet for fear of killing the Humanites.
Nelson licked his own blood off his lips, and said, "I go."
Tark's answer came. "I, too. Farewell, outlander."
The two lean gray shapes gathered themselves for what they knew would be their last charge against that wall of swords.