He thought his brain would burst, so many troubles did it hold. To add to them, Kac brought word that the Beast People were massing for another attack. This would be the final battle, with no surcease till one or the other of the clashing forces fell in decisive defeat—and Gene knew with dread that it could only be the Wrong Ones who would go down.
V
The onslaught came the next day. Hundreds of the Beast People poured into the valley—screaming, gibbering, eager to taste blood. They moved over the rocky surface like some evil blight cast up from the uttermost depths of Hell.
Gene's oil trick would not work now, for there was no oil with which to carry it through. The plants from which it was obtained grew outside the valley, and no one had dared venture forth to pluck them. The tribe would not be in misery much longer.
The warriors had thrown up a stone barricade in front of the caves, and from behind this they looked out upon the fast-approaching horde. Not a man among them looked with fear, but with contempt and detestation for the vermin that came to crush them.
The invaders were within range now. Gene raised his energy-ray and tightened his finger around the trigger. Nothing happened. Its power was exhausted by the almost constant use to which he had put it since arriving here. He flung it aside and snatched up a spear.
The first wave of half-men loosed a hail of crude shafts, hurling them with all the venom that was in their black hearts. Some went to the mark, piercing the breasts of those too slow in ducking. Their aim was poor, but they had many spears and many men to throw them.
Gene tossed his own javelin and had the pleasure of seeing it bury itself in the neck of a squat creature, severing the jugular. Then the battle waxed furious.
The tribe fought desperately to stem the tide. Even Old One and the venerable warriors whose day of battle should be past added their bit to the cause. But nothing could turn those squealing, hate-maddened beings that charged.