“Grant me this one favor,” again urged Lilla, “and I will try to be a docile slave.”
“You had better be,” Yuri sneered, “favor or no favor. Else will I throw you to the Royal Husbands of Queen Formis when I have done with you. I have spoken.”
Lilla winced. Cabot noted it, and stiffened.
“Sic ’em,” said he, under his breath.
There came a flash of purple and the clink of a taut chain, then a thud, as the largest woofus dropped to the ground with its neck nearly broken. Yuri and Lilla staggered backward affrighted.
“I am content,” Myles said to himself. And that night he drilled his pet as never before.
The next day was uneventful. Yuri did not appear, but along toward evening, Formian guards came with poles, and led the five purple beasts away to cells under the stadium. The earthman was similarly confined.
It was filthy, and hot, and circus-smelling in his cell, and accordingly he spent a bad night; but when morning came, he felt unusually well, buoyed up by the excitement of the occasion. Shortly after breakfast, he heard the crowd tramping over his head, as they began to fill the stadium.
He knew that his army undoubtedly had word of the “games” by means of the black-light signal-telescopes of Toron, and he knew that they would make every effort to reach the city in time to rescue him. But he was not counting on their aid. He hoped, in fact, to have the tables effectually turned on Yuri, long before their arrival.
Thus he mused, until finally he was led out onto the sands. The seats were nearly filled. All the standing-space was crowded with black Formians. The royal box was occupied by Lilla, Yuri and Queen Formis, surrounded by a bodyguard of ants.