"The thing I dislike about working with fanatics," said Nick Sloan boredly, "is that you can't depend on them."
He pressed trigger as he spoke, briefly. The little burst of slugs spun Shan Kar around and flung him into the dust between the pillars.
* * *
Sloan stepped forward, his eyes searching the shadows for Nelson and the girl. "Sorry it has to end this way, Nelson. You always were a fool in some ways. I hope—"
Nelson, almost dully, had watched him step forward. His last card, his hope of setting Shan Kar against Sloan by means of the thought-record, had failed him.
But had it? There was still a thin chance left if he could make it. Sloan stepped between the platinum pillars.
For a heartbeat, as the solemn thought-voice of the ancients automatically spoke to him, Sloan looked startled. That was the moment when Nelson charged him.
The submachine-gun blasted over his head with a fiery breath and voice of thunder as he hit Sloan low and brought him down. They rolled together over the Cavern floor, toward the shaking curtain of cold light, Van Voss running after them to get in a burst that would not hit Sloan.
"This for Barin!" raged a wild wolf-thought and, as he rolled, Nelson glimpsed Tark's great body at the Dutchman's throat.
Sloan was battering him with his knee as he strove to tear loose his heavy gun and bang it against Nelson's skull. Abruptly then Sloan quit that and pulled the trigger. Flame and hot lead plowed along Nelson's forearm — and Sloan instantly wrenched free.