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Updated: May 31, 2025
Sime pressed a neuro-pistol into Tolto's hand, warned him to sweep the stairs with it, while he coursed around for some of the pellet bombs. He found them, and two of them closed that avenue of attack with a mass of jumbled ruins. Now they had a breathing spell. A combination of blind luck and foolhardiness had given them temporary possession of this desert outpost.
Again he brought his teeth into play, and this time, when the box stood open, Tolto's lips were lacerated by the jagged edges of twisted metal. Triumphantly, he looked inside. The box contained a set of counterweights for the hydrogen integrator motors. No bar, nothing that might be utilized to twist off the eyebolts! Again he set to work. The next box was longer, heavier.
No formal thrust and parry for him, but merely a savage sweep that sent swords, arms and heads flying indiscriminately. Sime, following him, his neuro hissing death from side to side, marveled at his ferocity. He saw a bare-bodied, bleeding fighter leap to Tolto's back, his sword poised for a downward stab for the jugular.
Short lengths of chain led to cargo ringbolts in the floor, holding fast Tolto's cuffed ankles. To anyone looking at Tolto, just then, these extreme precautions might have seemed absurd. Prince Joro, however, was a good judge of men.
Sira recovered quickly from her reaction following the fight. She found a first-aid kit, bandaged Tolto's wounded shoulder skilfully and quickly. She had given no sign of recognition as Sime awkwardly bowed, during Murray's introduction, but now, as Sime held a roll of bandage for her, she gave him a sidewise look, agleam with mischief.
"Tolto's afraid that something's wrong! Smells hot, too!" "Here, take the wheel!" Sime ordered. The explosions of the shells were becoming less dangerous; they were getting too far away. Sime burned his hand opening the narrow door. The paint was already blistering off it. The trouble was immediately apparent.
Neuro-pistols, bearing from every side, spanged briskly. They partly neutralized one another. Their charges were partly reflected by the metal and partly absorbed by Tolto's great bulk. He was thoroughly confused now. Every way he looked in this glaring wilderness of desert and rocks were enemies. But there! An opening loomed, cool and dark. The fortress entrance. Tolto dashed into it.
Strangely, their enemies further up made no move to attack, although there were many left alive. Sime laid his hand on Tolto's arm. "Something wrong here. There's somebody at the bottom of the steps, and the fellows above want to give him elbow room. Well, we'll soon see!"
They may often act so, for their great strength serves as a substitute for the quick wit of smaller men. But in Tolto, at all events, this prejudice was wrong. In Tolto's bullet head was a healthy, active brain, and a primitive cunning. So instead of wasting his strength in vain struggles against the tough steel, he rested, marshalling the facts in his mind.
His thighs were as big around as an ordinary man's body, and the smooth pink skin of his mighty arms and shoulders rippled with every movement that brought into play the broad, flat bands of muscle underneath. A chain of beryllium steel was passed around Tolto's waist, and close in front of him the smooth, shining cuffs of steel around his wrist were locked to the chain.
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