ree minutes ago--when the odds had been set at one
in a hundred. He knew that he could not press the wolverines in again.
Taggi's distaste was too manifest; Shann had been lucky that the animal
had made one abortive attack.

Perhaps the Terran's escape and Taggi's action had made the alien
reckless. Shann had no clue to the thinking processes of the non-human,
but now the Throg staggered around the end of the plate, his digits,
which were closer to claws than fingers, fumbling with his weapon. The
Terran snapped another shot from his stunner, hoping to slow the enemy
down. But he was trapped. If he turned to climb the cliff at his back,
the beetle-head could easily pick him off.

A rock hurtled from the heights above, striking with deadly accuracy on
the domed, hairless head of the Throg. His armored body crashed forward,
struck against the ship, and rebounded to the ground. Shann darted
forward to seize the blaster, kicking loose the claws which still
grasped it, before he flattened back to the cliff, the strange weapon
over his arm, his heart beating wildly.

That rock had not bounded down the mountainside by chance; it had been
hurled with intent and aimed carefully at its target. And no Throg would
kill one of his fellows. Or would he? Suppose orders had been issued to
take a Terran prisoner and the Throg by the ship had disobeyed? Then,
why a rock and not a blaster bolt?

Shann edged along until the upslanted, broken side of the Throg flyer
provided him with protection from any overhead attack. Under that
shelter he waited for the next move from his unknown rescuer.

The clak-claks wheeled closer to earth. One lit boldly on the carapace
of the inert Throg, shuffling ungainly along that horny ridge. Cradling
the blaster, the Terran continued to wait. His patience was rewarded
when that investigating clak-clak took off uttering an enraged snap or
two. He heard what might be the scrape of boots across rock, but that
might also have come from horny skin meeting stone.

Then the other must have lost his footing not too far above. Accompanied
by a miniature landslide of stones and earth, a figure slid down several
yards away. Shann waited in a half-crouch, his looted blaster covering
the man now getting to his feet. There was no mistaking the familiar
uniform, or even the man. How Ragnar Thorvald had reached that
particular spot on Warlock or why, Shann could not know. But that he was
there, there was no denying.