Like a broken spider he moved⁠—feebly⁠—once, twice. From the Dweller shot a shimmering tentacle⁠—touched him⁠—recoiled. Its crystal tinklings changed into an angry chiming. From all about⁠—jewelled stalls and jet peak⁠—came a sigh of incredulous horror.

Lugur leaped forward. On the instant Larry was over the low barrier between the pillars, rushing to the Norseman’s side. And even as they ran there was another wild shout from Olaf, and he hurled himself out, straight at the throat of the Dweller!

But before he could touch the Shining One, now motionless⁠—and never was the thing more horrible than then, with the purely human suggestion of surprise plain in its poise⁠—Larry had struck him aside.

I tried to follow⁠—and was held by Rador. He was trembling⁠—but not with fear. In his face was incredulous hope, inexplicable eagerness.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait!”