The Swamja barked a harsh command. The native gasped a response, tried to rise—and failed.
Instantly the Swamja drew his gun and fired. The Venusian collapsed and lay still. Vanning took a step forward, hot with fury, to find himself drawn back by Hobbs' restraining hand.
"Easy!" the other whispered. "He's dead. No use—"
"Dead? I didn't hear any explosion."
"You wouldn't. That gun fires a charge of pure force that disrupts the nervous system. It was set to kill just now."
The Swamja turned. "I must attend to this carcass. My report must be made. You, Zeeth—take the new slave to Ombara."
"I obey." The native bowed and touched Vanning's arm. "Come with me."
Followed by Sanderson's sardonic grin, Vanning accompanied the Venusian into a corridor, and up a winding spiral ramp. He found it difficult to contain himself.
"Good God!" he burst out finally. "Do those devils do that all the time? Plain cold-blooded murder?"