moving slowly, the girl limping slightly from a bruised
heel, her sandals scuffed and dusty.

The girl stopped and turned to the others. "Is it much farther, Adbor? I
don't think I can take another step."

"Courage, my princess," smiled Adbor, a tall, slender man with a great
shock of blond hair. "A short distance more and we shall be there."

Alurna sank down on a fallen log, removed her sandal and rubbed the
bruised heel.

"I'm afraid you'll have to carry me from here on," she sighed. "My feet
ache terribly."

* * * * *

Silently the foliage parted an arm's length from the girl's half-bent
figure, and in the gap were framed the brutal faces of Urb and Mog, the
sullen. Urb gave the female only a passing glance; his attention was
riveted on the five unsuspecting men. The woman was not armed--the men
were; and it was the males who must die before they could bring their
weapons into use.

Meanwhile, the stunted mind of Mog, the sullen, was laboriously
following an altogether different trend of thought from that of his
leader. His unblinking pig-like eyes were intent on the sweetly curved
back directly in front of him, and he was increasingly aware of what an
altogether desirable bit of femininity this hairless she actually was.
His tongue moistened suddenly dry lips and he shifted his weight
uneasily from one foot to the other.

Urb waited no longer. Slowly he brought up his left hand, caught a small
branch between his fingers, then suddenly clenched his fist.

The wood snapped with a sharp clear sound, freezing the five Sepharian
guards into instant immobility.

But not for long.

As the sound of breaking wood rose on the still air, six grotesque
figures rose in a rough semi-circle about the group in the trail, and
simultaneously five mighty stone-incrusted bludgeons were hurled with
unbelievable force and accuracy.

The startled Sepharians never succeeded in bringing their own weapons
into play. Before they could fully comprehend their danger all five were
stretched on the jungle path. Three were dead as they fell, heads
crushed like brittle twigs; another died almost as quickly, his back
snapped as a dry branch is snapped beneath the broad feet of Pandor, the
elephant.

Only one still lived, a club having dealt him a glancing blow aside the
head, laying his flesh open in a great gash and rendering him senseless.
Gorb was more adept at making clubs than he was in their us