They fought, and the wheel was forgotten, the car lurching from side to side across the sand. The cliff blurred ahead of them. How fast were they going? Seventy miles an hour? Eighty? If they struck at that speed....
Gawroi was a man possessed. He didn't care. If the crash would destroy The Book of the Dead, destroy Rhodes, who knew of The Book, it was enough.
Rhodes pushed flank against flank in the narrow front seat of the open sand car. Gawroi's hands tore at his face, ripping skin and flesh. All Gawroi needed was a few seconds, and it would all be over. Gawroi, who was fighting for an idea, fighting to preserve a five thousand year lie. And Rhodes, who was fighting that a people might live, after five thousand years....
Abruptly Gawroi tumbled from the car, clawing at air and screaming before he hit the sand at terrible speed, rolling and tumbling and coming to rest with his head at an impossible angle.
Then Rhodes was battling the car, and for a time which seemed extended over a yawning gap of infinity, he did not know if he would be able to bring it under control in time. The base of the cliff loomed. He could not see above it. He stamped on the brake and still the cliff blurred at him. He felt himself flung forward....
And gazed at the wall of rock, two feet in front of the now motionless car.
In a daze, he watched Haazahri climb in beside him. Close by a guard was shouting something; in the car, Haazahri was saying something about his cut and bleeding face.
The guard would find Felg, his body broken from the fall; would find Gawroi, his neck broken. The guard would summon help.
But by that time, Rhodes knew, The Book of the Dead would be in safe hands. Ever since the earthquake, thieves had been looting Balata 'kai. They were thieves in the eyes of the guard, only that. There was no reason for special pursuit and, in Gawroi's sand-car, they would reach Junction City.