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He flung himself around, and began to run back. Almost immediately, there it was again, dead ahead, cutting its ruthless path to meet him. Groaning with fear, he stopped, then looked wildly back over his shoulder. The menace he’d fled was still behind him, still slashing its way after him. There were tioo invisible knives, closing on him inexorably from opposite directions. It was as though he were caught between the blades of immense shears. Panic scattered his senses. He heard someone shouting, but was so confused that he didn’t know whether it was himself or another. He began swinging the machete around him, slashing madly at the seemingly empty air, blindly on the defensive. Somewhere a shout sounded again.

Then his machete jarred against one or other of the closing knife-edges with a flat, dull sound, as if he were hitting stone. The shock all but jolted it from his grasp. A thin crack appeared in the blade.

There came a rush of feet and a loud clang behind him. A powerful arm caught his shoulder and shoved him headlong into the undergrowth. Dazed, he scrambled for a few yards on hands and knees, then looked back. The spectacle was quite fantastic.

Two enormous shapes, each as wide as a house and tall as the tallest tree in the woods, seemed to be attempting to make physical contact with each other. They were curiously flat-looking, resembling a cross section of a sponge. Between them a tall, naked man, muscled like a gymnast, danced a ballet of defiance. He bore a crusader-type shield, thin as pasteboard and glimmering faintly in the blue underwater light. Deftly, he kept the shapes apart, slamming alternately at each of them with the shield. It rang like a gong at every blow. Amazingly, the two shapes backed slowly away from him. They began to sink into the ground.

The man laughed harshly, then came bounding towards Sherret.

“Get up, you poor fool!” he exclaimed in Amaran. “Do you want to be sliced up for a Creedo’s dinner? Follow me.”

He leaped lightly past. Sherret picked himself up, annoyed and ashamed. He resented the other’s contemptuous tone, and was ashamed of his resentment. After all, the man had saved his life. With mixed feelings, he blundered along a path made easy for him by this stranger smashing down the undergrowth with his shield. The man was burning up energy at fourfold Sherret’s rate. But it was Sherret who first began to gasp for breath, with slack, hanging jaw. At last, after a mile of zig-zagging among trees across sloping ground, he swallowed his pride and grunted,

“Wait for me.”

The man waited for him to catch up. He was a handsome imperious brute.

“Do you want me to carry you?” he sneered.

Sherret drew whooping breaths, then complained, “Easy for you to talk. You’re not carrying a load on your back.”

He jerked a thumb at the bulging rucksack.

The man looked at him reflectively.

“Hold that for a moment,” he said suddenly, and proffered the thin shield. Sherret took it automatically. The totally unexpected weight of it dragged him to the ground. The man laughed boomingly.

Sherret sat on the shield and wiped sweat from his face. Then he smiled wrily.

“You’re an objectionable bighead, but let’s face it, you do have something to be conceited about. Thanks for getting me out of that jam, anyhow. Any chance of those perambulating guillotines catching up with us?”

“You mean the Creedos? Don’t worry about them. Take it easy. As long as you’re sitting on the shield, you’ll be safe enough.”

“How d’you mean?”

“They’ve gone underground. They may still be after us or they may not. But they could suddenly surface here. It’s a favorite trick of theirs to attack from below, when you can’t see them coming. That way, they could finish me. But the shield would save you; they can’t cut through it.”

“H’m,” said Sherret, and studied the big man curiously. His face was a striking as his magnificent body. He, too, was bearded, but by comparison Sherret’s beard was a limp wisp. Color was always difficult to name precisely in the changing light of Amara but this man’s beard seemed jet black and thrust itself from his chin like a rock spur. His nose was equally forceful; he looked the most imperious of Caesars. His eyes were like Rosala’s in her stormiest mood. Power radiated from him. Shakespeare’s lines came to mind.

“Nature might stand up,

And say to all the world, ‘This was a man.’ ”

Other memories and comparisons came to mind also, and gave Sherret no comfort.

“What’s your name?” he asked flatly.

“Lee-Gaunt-Lias-Nolla. You may have heard of me.”

“I have.” Sherret felt spiritless. He got to his feet, looking down at the shield. Shakespeare had another apt comment. “The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep

The battery from my heart.”

“I think we have some matters to discuss,” said Sherret, “in another part of the forest. Not here.” Lee picked up the shield easily with one hand. “I know a place. Come.”

CHAPTER FIVE

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AS SHERRET followed Lee through the woods, he found himself accepting second place as a matter of course. Lee was a natural leader, and in a Reparist system would hold office as such. And he would laugh Goffism to scorn. Soon they came to a fair-sized stream gurgling down from the mountains. To Sherret’s surprise, Lee walked into it and, knee-deep, began plowing upstream. Sherret shrugged, then followed the leader.

“No hurry now, and no danger,” said Lee carelessly. “The Creedos can drink only sparingly. Liquid in any quantity—especially fast running water—tends to choke them. They dare not rise through this stream which will lead us clear of the wood belt.”

It was a hard slog uphill against the current, but Sherret set his teeth and endured. At long last the woods thinned, and they emerged on the bare upper slopes. Lee splashed his way to the bank. Relievedly, Sherret joined him on dry ground. The pass was clearly visible now, directly ahead.

“My present home is just at the mouth there,” said Lee, pointing. “A quite cozy cave. Think you can make it or want to rest awhile first?”

“I can make it,” said Sherret grimly.

He did, but his legs were trembling with strain. Almost drained of strength, he flung himself down inside, on a pile of brush. Even Lee seemed glad to rest now. He laid the shield between them and reclined at full length. Presently, Sherret revived enough to examine the shield curiously. He said, “We use a metal something like this on our planet. The molecules are gradually compresed by an artificial magnetic field. It takes years to prepare. We employ it as a cutting tool to shear through the hardest materials. I didn’t realize Amaran science was this far advanced.”

“You’re one of the Earthmen, aren’t you?” said Lee, idly regarding the low-hanging roof. “I’ve heard about you. An effete species, by all accounts. You’ve some shocks coming your way on this planet, my friend. You landed on the barbaric side of Amara. You haven’t contacted any real civilization yet. Don’t imagine you go unwatched. My people have long-range instruments. They could kill you Earthmen without stirring more than a finger, if they chose. But they’re tolerant. The variety of life on Amara teaches one to be tolerant. They won’t harm you so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

“Such as?”

“Trying to force your way of life on them, for instance. Accept a hint, friend. Confine your attentions to the barbarians.”

“To the Three-people, say?”

Lee looked at him sharply. There was a pause. Then Lee said, almost in a whisper, “Stay away from them… if you want to live.”

“They live somewhere in these parts, don’t they?”