"They're licked!" shouted Larry."They're--"So quickly I could not follow the movement his automatic leaped to his hand--spoke, once and again and again.Rador leaped to the head of the little path, sword in hand; Olaf, shouting and whirling his mace, followed.I strove to get my own gun quickly.
For up that path were running twoscore of Lugur's men, while from below Lugur's own voice roared.
"Quick! Slay not the handmaiden or her lover! Carry them down.Quick! But slay the others!"The handmaiden raced toward Larry, stopped, whistled shrilly--again and again.Larry's pistol was empty, but as the dwarfs rushed upon him I dropped two of them with mine.It jammed--I could not use it; I sprang to his side.
Rador was down, struggling in a heap of Lugur's men.Olaf, a Viking of old, was whirling his great hammer, and strik-ing, striking through armour, flesh, and bone.
Larry was down, Lakla flew to him.But the Norseman, now streaming blood from a dozen wounds, caught a glimpse of her coming, turned, thrust out a mighty hand, sent her reeling back, and then with his hammer cracked the skulls of those trying to drag the O'Keefe down the path.
A cry from Lakla--the dwarfs had seized her, had lifted her despite her struggles, were carrying her away.One Idropped with the butt of my useless pistol, and then went down myself under the rush of another.
Through the clamour I heard a booming of the _Akka_, closer, closer; then through it the bellow of Lugur.I made a mighty effort, swung a hand up, and sunk my fingers in the throat of the soldier striving to kill me.Writhing over him, my fingers touched a poniard; I thrust it deep, stag-gered to my feet.
The O'Keefe, shielding Lakla, was battling with a long sword against a half dozen of the soldiers.I started toward him, was struck, and under the impact hurled to the ground.
Dizzily I raised myself--and leaning upon my elbow, stared and moved no more.For the dwarfs lay dead, and Larry, holding Lakla tightly, was staring even as I, and ranged at the head of the path were the _Akka_, whose booming advance in obedience to the handmaiden's call I had heard.
And at what we all stared was Olaf, crimson with his wounds, and Lugur, in blood-red armour, locked in each other's grip, struggling, smiting, tearing, kicking, and sway-ing about the little space before the embrasure.I crawled over toward the O'Keefe.He raised his pistol, dropped it.
"Can't hit him without hitting Olaf," he whispered.Lakla signalled the frog-men; they advanced toward the two--but Olaf saw them, broke the red dwarf's hold, sent Lugur reel-ing a dozen feet away.
"No!" shouted the Norseman, the ice of his pale-blue eyes glinting like frozen flames, blood streaming down his face and dripping from his hands."No! Lugur is mine! None but me slays him! Ho, you Lugur--" and cursed him and Yo-lara and the Dweller hideously--I cannot set those curses down here.
They spurred Lugur.Mad now as the Norseman, the red dwarf sprang.Olaf struck a blow that would have killed an ordinary man, but Lugur only grunted, swept in, and seized him about the waist; one mighty arm began to creep up toward Huldricksson's throat.
"'Ware, Olaf!" cried O'Keefe; but Olaf did not answer.
He waited until the red dwarf's hand was close to his shoulder; and then, with an incredibly rapid movement--once before had I seen something like it in a wrestling match between Papuans--he had twisted Lugur around; twisted him so that Olaf's right arm lay across the tremendous breast, the left behind the neck, and Olaf's left leg held the Voice's armoured thighs viselike against his right knee while over that knee lay the small of the red dwarf's back.
For a second or two the Norseman looked down upon his enemy, motionless in that paralyzing grip.And then--slowly --he began to break him!
Lakla gave a little cry; made a motion toward the two.
But Larry drew her head down against his breast, hiding her eyes; then fastened his own upon the pair, white-faced, stern.
Slowly, ever so slowly, proceeded Olaf.Twice Lugur moaned.At the end he screamed--horribly.There was a cracking sound, as of a stout stick snapped.
Huldricksson stooped, silently.He picked up the limp body of the Voice, not yet dead, for the eyes rolled, the lips strove to speak; lifted it, walked to the parapet, swung it twice over his head, and cast it down to the red waters!
