"Where I'm going, there's a chance," he said. His body moved lithely beneath her. She clutched him around the ribs as they began to descend a ladder. Blackness, tinged with blue, lay below. She felt her scalp prickle with terror.
The little man, Jerran, said from somewhere above, "Kill all the gods we meet, lad; I'll hide or bring the bodies. And keep your emotions controlled, or they'll follow our scent like zanphs on the trail of a runaway."
"Did the globes follow us?" asked the big man, whose name was Rebel or something like it.
"They were coming down again as I ducked in. Hurry it up."
The swift plunge into the mine speeded. She deliberately worked herself up to silent panic, giving the gods a spoor to chase.
Now they were traveling on the level, and from the reflection of yellow, the brisk jerk of his arm, and the pulpy squish, she knew he had met and slain another globe. Was he inhuman, a visitor from beyond the world, such as were told of in the ancient ballads? Certainly no man was ever this bold!
"Here's the end," said Jerran. "Set the wench down, she can't get away. Hurry!"
She was rudely plumped onto a pile of coal. She looked at her silver gown and shuddered. Her flailing legs had ripped it from hem to midthigh; the coal was staining it irrevocably.
"When I catch that horse," she thought, half aloud, "I'll beat him. Tossing me into all this!"