It was black in here; and almost soundless, just the murmur of the city above us. We stood motionless, listening. Were we alone? Dared we light our lights? I knew that if they caught us in here we could not escape. Yet we could see nothing without lights.
We unshrouded them finally—little pods which threw tiny wavering green beams. With them, we poked around, cautiously, with our swiftly beating hearts seeming about to smother us.
Gahna was a small city. Four thick stalks of vegetation—each about twice the thickness of my body—formed its main stems. I stood beside one of them, dug my sword into it.
Within five minutes, I had hacked through the stem. Nona held the light.
“Quietly,” she whispered. “If they should hear us—”
The stalk was severed. A tremor seemed to run over the upper part, and it moved slightly sidewise.
Trembling ourselves, we attacked another. Severed it; then the third.
The city over us was shifting, toppling. The fourth stalk was twisted and bent by the strain. . . . I severed it with a few blows.
“Swim! Nona! Quickly!”