At first Tara of Helium had hoped that she might dodge him, for she could not but guess that she was not only more fleet but infinitely more agile than these strange creatures; but soon there came to her the realization that in the time consumed in an attempt to elude his grasp his nearer fellows would be upon her and escape then impossible, so she chose instead to charge straight for him, and when he guessed her decision he stood, half crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting her.  In one hand was his sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of authority.  “Take her alive!  Do not harm her!” Instantly the fellow returned his sword to its scabbard and then Tara of Helium was upon him.  Straight for that beautiful body she sprang and in the instant that the arms closed to seize her her sharp blade drove deep into the naked chest.  The impact hurled them both to the ground and as Tara of Helium sprang to her feet again she saw, to her horror, that the loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling away from her on six short, spider-like legs.  The body struggled spasmodically and lay still.  As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter, it still had been of sufficient duration to undo her, for even as she rose two more of the things fell upon her and instantly thereafter she was surrounded.  Her blade sank once more into naked flesh and once more a head rolled free and crawled away.  Then they overpowered her and in another moment she was surrounded by fully a hundred of the creatures, all seeking to lay hands upon her.  At first she thought that they wished to tear her to pieces in revenge for her having slain two of their fellows, but presently she realized that they were prompted more by curiosity than by any sinister motive.

“Come!” said one of her captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon her.  As he spoke he tried to lead her away with him toward the nearest tower.

“She belongs to me,” cried the other.  “Did not I capture her?  She will come with me to the tower of Moak.”

“Never!” insisted the first.  “She is Luud’s.  To Luud I will take her, and whosoever interferes may feel the keenness of my sword—­in the head!” He almost shouted the last three words.

“Come!  Enough of this,” cried one who spoke with some show of authority.  “She was captured in Luud’s fields—­she will go to Luud.”

“She was discovered in Moak’s fields, at the very foot of the tower of Moak,” insisted he who had claimed her for Moak.

“You have heard the Nolach speak,” cried the Luud.  “It shall be as he says.”

“Not while this Moak holds a sword,” replied the other.  “Rather will I cut her in twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish her all to Luud,” and he drew his sword, or rather he laid his hand upon its hilt in a threatening gesture; but before ever he could draw it the Luud had whipped his out and with a fearful blow cut deep into the head of his adversary.  Instantly the big, round head collapsed, almost as a punctured balloon collapses, as a grayish, semi-fluid matter spurted from it.  The protruding eyes, apparently lidless, merely stared, the sphincter-like muscle of the mouth opened and closed, and then the head toppled from the body to the ground.  The body stood dully for a moment and then slowly started to wander aimlessly about until one of the others seized it by the arm.