Ramey's automatic was heavy in his blistered palm. He fired it once ... twice ... after the rapidly disappearing figure. But in vain. Ravana had scuttled through the door, clanging it closed behind him.
Then, and only then, had Ramey time to look at the others. Lake was still beside him, was even now striving to rise, pawing before him as one who stumbles through a mist. He was groaning, "My eyes, Ramey! Sheila—I can't see!"
Ramey sprang to his side, lifted him.
"Easy, old boy! You'll be all right in a sec. The Bow going off in our faces, that's what did it—" But as he stared into his companion's face, saw that Lake's eyes were wide open, the entire cornea that covered his eyeballs a fog of smoky-blue, he realized all too well what had happened.
Lake had looked directly into the flame of the Bow when its charge was released! And its incandescence flaming before him had blinded him as surely as if his eyes had been gouged from his head. Perhaps soaked up—as it had dried every ounce of moisture from Ramey's skin—the aqueous humor of his eyes. Only Ravana's kick, flattening Ramey, closing his eyes, had kept the young airman from sharing an identical fate!
And—Rakshasi?
He glanced about him wildly ... found her ... and turned away, shuddering. The Lady Rakshasi, great, golden panther whose every movement had been a lure and a temptation, would move no more. For upon her lithe and vital body had spent itself the full strength of the discharging Bow. That which remained of her once breathtaking loveliness was a blackened—something—not pleasant to look upon.
Nauseated, Ramey covered his eyes. Then Sheila was in his arms, crying, "Ramey! Oh, Ramey, she—she saved your life! Tried to tear the Bow from Ravana—Lake!"
Lake said dazedly, frightenedly, "Sheila—I can't see you! Where are you? Everything is black!"
Then a new sound rang clear in the farther chamber; the scuff of hurrying footsteps, the clank of mail. Winters spun to Sheila swiftly.