There were screams in the coliseum, of wounded and dying Martians, and a vast stir as Martian friends ran to help those who had been injured, and a babble of voices rising in anger. The elders were moving. Some of them were attending to the stricken. Others were directing the removal of Docker and the men with him from the top of the coliseum. Docker and his men were being carried down by Martians. They seemed incapable of movement of their own.
The whole group was brought before Malovar.
The face of the Martian was the face of a tribal god, furious with anger. He made a motion with his hand toward Docker. The Martians carrying the man laid him face down on the altar. Malovar handed his metal staff to the nearest elder, took up the sword.
There was no mistaking the intention of the Martian. He lifted the sword, brought it down. Just before it reached its target, the plastic envelope collapsed as the elder holding the staff made a slight shift with it.
Docker had time to start a scream. The scream ended. A head skittered across the stone, blood spurted.
A moan went over the watching throng.
Larkin watched, appalled. He had seen Martian heads roll here before but somehow this scene was different. Here was Martian justice, swift, sure, and final.
Malovar made another motion with his hand. The nearest human, one of the men with Docker, was lifted, carried to the altar. Larkin saw the man's muscles writhe against the plastic force envelope that held him, writhe unavailingly.
Sunlight glinted on the red blade of the sword as it came down.
Again a moan went up from the audience.