The whole city seemed to shake at their onslaught. The air was ripped by their great, roaring shouts, polluted by the stink of their incendiary bombs launched from catapults, and by the odor of their very bodies. Flame licked here, crackled there—and the women and children of Varnal struggled valiantly to extinguish it. The sounds of clashing steel, of dying or victorious war-cries, the swish of missiles—blazing balls of some pitch-like substance—as they hurtled overhead and dropped in streets and on roofs. Shizala and I still watched from the balcony but I felt impatient, anxious to join the brave warriors defending the city. Darnad had already gone to rally his men. I turned to Shizala, feeling moved, in spite of myself, at her closeness. "What of your remaining aircraft? Where are they?" "We are keeping them in reserve," she told me. They will be of better use as a surprise later." "I understand," I told her. "But what can I do? How can I help?" "Help? It is not for you—a guest—to concern yourself with our problems.
