"Are they dead?" asked the princess, amazed.
"Dead to the world—er, I should say, dead to the Moon," Ross assured her. "They'll stay that way twelve hours, which ought to be long enough for us."
Moore chuckled. "Before then we'll be on top of the world—I mean on top of the Moon—or dead heroes."
The way was easy, a steady down slope, for a while. Then the rock formations began. They slipped and crawled. The princess suffered a cut on her knee, but shrugged at the suggestion of a bandage. The second set of sentries were easily overpowered. They lolled at ease against a ridge, and Ross shot twice to gas them to sleep. Here the light was better, and Ross paused to look them over. They were darker than the Peak men, with less color, and their veins stood out against their blue-white skin. They bore the ray-rifle of all the Moon soldiers, and another curious weapon besides, a jagged-edged sword with a hooked point.
"It's the old Moon sword," said Illeria. "Horta worships the old customs, and swears by the beliefs of the astrologers. It's the astrologers who direct his actions, my mother had said."
"It's a dirty weapon," shuddered Moore. "I'll take a ray-gun any time."
He came within an ace of regretting his choice a moment later, when a whole squad of soldiers rounded an outcrop of rock. Ross whispered a warning, and shot fast. Moore went into action then, but not before one of the Horta men had fired. The ray blasted past them and sheared off a half-ton of rock behind them.