And reappeared five feet to the right, "Enough of this foolishness, Earthman. Physical conflict will be endless stalemate, since we're only mental projections. You're beaten; there's no possible way you can defeat me, or I defeat you. Don't waste your time and mine. Get out of my mind!"
Harrell shook his head doggedly. "I'm in here to do a job and I'm not leaving until I've done it." He sprang forward, sword high, and thrust down at the grinning Dimellian.
Again the Dimellian sidestepped. Harrell's sword cut air.
"Don't tire yourself out, Earthman," the alien said mockingly, and vanished.
Harrell stood alone in the heart of the steaming jungle, leaning on his sword. Maybe he was only a mental projection, he thought, but a mental projection could still get thoroughly drenched with its own mental sweat.
The castle still gleamed enigmatically on the distant mountain. He couldn't get there by walking—at least, it hadn't seemed to draw any nearer during his jaunt through the jungle. Hand-to-hand combat with the alien appeared fruitless. A fight in which both participants could change size at will, vanish, reappear, and do other such things was as pointless as a game of poker with every card wild.
But there had to be a way. Mental attack? Perhaps that would crumble the alien's defenses.
He sent out a beam of thought, directed up at the castle. Can you hear me, alien?
Mental laughter echoed mockingly back. Of course, Earthman. What troubles you?
Harrell made no reply. He stood silently, concentrating, marshalling his powers. Then he hurled a bolt of mental energy with all his strength toward the mocking voice.