Garth's mouth felt dry. "We are messengers from the gods—" he declared.
"It is not true." Kharn began to walk forward. "Take them!"
Garth knew he had lost.
It was like a nightmare, the steady, relentless approach of the monstrous beings. Garth held his gun leveled. His arm tightened around Paula's shoulders.
"Keep back," he commanded, conscious of the uselessness of the words.
Instead, Kharn and the others walked on. The creature's shining arm lifted, clamped on Garth's shoulder. He fired.
Kharn did not seem to feel the bullet, though it had not missed. Garth squeezed the trigger again. The pistol jolted against his palm.
The Zarno were—invulnerable!
Garth fought, nevertheless. He could see the silicate men lifting his companions like sacks of meal, hoisting them to gleaming shoulders, and carrying them, unresisting, through the forest. Paula was torn from his grasp. Cursing, he struck out at Kharn's impassive, inhuman face with the revolver-butt. Useless! Nothing could harm these creatures of living stone.