"Next, I demand that the Underlings lay down their arms and once more acknowledge fealty to the Masters."
Here a roar of rumbling dissent rose from the ranks of those Underlings who had joined the rescue party. Larry silenced them. "Anything else?"
"And finally," Harg's command bore a snarling vindictiveness, "I require that the woman, Sandra Day, step forward to this turret as hostage until all these other things be accomplished!"
Sandra whisked the thought-revealing menaudo from her head, whispered pleadingly, "Yes, Larry! Say yes! It is the only way to save us all. We'll find another time—"
Larry trembled in an agony of indecision. There was truth in Sandra's words. Harg held them all at the edge of a sword now. Later, perhaps—But could he trust the little man's bargain? Might it not be another falsehood?
And then, suddenly, the decision was made for him. From the colorful knot on his right burst three riders, gay in blue and crimson. Handsome, perfumed, dashing riders with the eyes of hawks, the hands of falcons, the hearts of gallantry. Men to whom the worship of our lady in domnei was a life-long creed. And—
"Make no bargains," cried one gloriously, "with a shrinking rat! Comrades! Pour la femme!"
Before Larry could stay them they had broken past the barrier, were swooping down on the turret chamber. As they rode, their rifles spoke; bullets screamed against the sturdy metal. One pellet found its mark, and Larry glimpsed Harg's body staggering backward, sliding, falling.
Harg's last thought came to them all feebly.