“Can they fight! My Akka!” Again her eyes flashed. “They will fight to the last of them⁠—with the spears that give the swift rotting, covered, as they are, with the jelly of those Saddu there⁠—” She pointed through a rift in the foliage across which, on the surface of the sea, was floating one of the moon globes⁠—and now I know why Rador had warned Larry against a plunge there. “With spears and clubs and with teeth and nails and spurs⁠—they are a strong and brave people, Larry⁠—darlin’, and though they hurl the Keth at them, it is slow to work upon them, and they slay even while they are passing into the nothingness!”

“And have we none of the Keth?” he asked.

“No”⁠—she shook her head⁠—“none of their weapons have we here, although it was⁠—it was the Ancient Ones who shaped them.”

“But the Three are of the Ancient Ones?” I cried. “Surely they can tell⁠—”