ce the days of the Old Ones....

He called Chiara and the other groups, quickly, to tell them what he had
learned. "We'll get more blasters--ones they can't know the numbers
of--when we attack," he finished.

He took the blaster from his belt and laid it on the ground. The front
ranks of the Gerns were almost to the wall by then, a column wider than
the gap that had been blasted through it, coming with silent
purposefulness.

Two blaster beams lanced down from the turrets, to smash at the wall.
Dust billowed and thunder rumbled as they swept along. A full three
hundred feet of the wall had been destroyed when they stopped and the
dust hid the ship and made dim glows of the searchlights.

It had no doubt been intended to impress them with the might of the
Gerns but in doing so it hid the Ragnarok forces from the advancing
Gerns for a few seconds.

"Jim--black out their lights before the dust clears," he called.
"Joe--the horn! We attack now!"

The first longbow arrow struck a searchlight and its glow grew dimmer as
the arrow's burden--a thin tube of thick lance tree ink--splattered
against it. Another followed----

Then the horn rang out, harsh and commanding, and in the distance a
unicorn screamed in answer. The savage cry of a prowler came, like a
sound to match, and the attack was on.

He ran with Fenrir beside him and to his left and right ran the others
with their prowlers. The lead groups converged as they went through the
wide gap in the wall. They ran on, into the dust cloud, and the shadowy
forms of the Gerns were suddenly before them.

A blaster beam cut into them and a Gern shouted, _"The natives!"_ Other
beams sprang into life, winking like pale blue eyes through the dust and
killing all they touched. The beams dropped as the first volley of
arrows tore through the massed front ranks, to be replaced by others.

They charged on, into the blue winking of the blasters and the red
lances of the flame guns with the crossbows rattling and strumming in
answer. The prowlers lunged and fought beside them and ahead of them;
black hell-creatures that struck the Gerns too swiftly for blasters to
find before throats were torn out; the sound of battle turned into a
confusion of raging snarls, frantic shouts and dying screams.

A prowler shot past him to join Fenrir--Sigyn--and he felt Tip dart up
to his shoulder. She made a sound of greeting in passing, a sound that
was gone as her jaws closed on a Gern.

Th