"The goths," she murmured. "Something wrong?"
They came in a moment; two of the weird, round-headed animals, dragging something between them. In the background a pack of the others lurked, shaggy red blobs half hidden by the fantastic tangle of vines, their peering eyes like little lanterns among the foliage and the pallid flowers.
It was a dead goth which was being dragged here to Nada. With Morgan after her, she ran outside. The huge dead goth lay crumpled. Its companions were mumbling at Nada. Queer form of speech, half animal, half human, so that the mouthed, snarled words of anger now, to Morgan, seemed almost but not quite intelligible.
"What happened?" he demanded.
The dead goth's face was leprous. Burned into a noisome, pulpy mass as though by a flash bolt.
"They found him, lying like that," Nada said. Terror was on her face. "Something—someone with a strange gun of lightning, like the one I took from you."
It was dawning on Morgan. Then a flapping of wings sounded. "Coming, Nada. Cah comes."
The beaked-nosed, feathered shape of Cah came fluttering; landed by Nada. Weird chattering bird. "Cah saw it, Nada. Men like this one. Out beyond the tunnels, they killed Tagaro. Cah saw them. Cah sees everything—"
It fluttered away, excited, like an imbecilic child, chattering with its excitement.
Space-pirates! Prowling here, looking for the Zolonite. Doubtless they had seen Morgan's little space-ship; knew he was here, and were looking for him.