e.

He never remembered the end. He never remembered coming out of that
deadly jungle. He pressed with his palms against moist earth, and
thought he must have been lying there for some time. His left arm was
shredded. His back was shredded. Inside his clothes he felt the warm
stickiness of his own blood. Outside his clothes was other substance
which he knew wasn't his blood.

Something long and shiny lay beneath his hands. The thorn! He clutched
at it frantically.

He felt if he could just lie there a moment, strength would come back
to him. But he didn't lie there. He tottered to his feet, and just a
few yards ahead the foothills sheered up and away from the jungle.

Every step was an agony. He followed along the foothills, trying to
find the gweel village. He had to find it! That much he remembered. A
tiny Martian and a brute of a Jovian were there, and they had
something that belonged to him. He had quite forgotten now what it
was, but it meant something to him, he knew, it meant a great deal.

He came upon the village, a cluster of clay huts high upon an
escarpment. Latham began climbing. He had to be careful now, something
pounded that warning into his brain. He saw groups of frail,
pallid-faced gweels moving about. They were harmless enough, Latham
knew that; but if those other two were here--

He reached the level of the village and moved nearer, staying behind
rocks and clumps of growth. Then he saw Kueelo! The Martian huddled
beside an open fire, stirring some substance in a huge gourd. As
Latham watched, Kueelo opened a leather pouch at his waist and took
something out. The Josmian! He held it up to the flickering firelight,
and the purple sheen of the gem was no more brilliant than the gleeful
look that appeared in Kueelo's yellowish eyes.

In that instant Latham almost leaped forward, but a tightness in his
temples stopped him. The distance was too great. And the Jovian must
be somewhere about! Quick surprise was his only chance. His gaze roved
up to the steepening cliff behind the village, and he saw the way.

Still clutching the thorn-weapon, he followed a little ravine up to a
rocky abutment. Thence along a ledge, to a spot just above the hut
near Kueelo. He judged the distance, decided he could make it in two
leaps; first to the roof of the hut, then to the ground.

Latham paused the merest instant, then launched himself downward. He
struck the roof with a force that jarred him to the teeth. He