He reeled backward into the black interior. As he staggered for balance the door suddenly slammed shut again. He heard a bar fall and then a low, throaty chuckle from beside him. "That will hold them for a while. But we'd better get out of here quickly, Khond. Those Sark soldiers will cut the door open." Carse swung around, his sword raised, but was blind in the darkness of the room. He could smell rope and tar and dust but could see nothing. A frantic hammering began outside the door. Then Carse's eyes, becoming accustomed to the obscurity, made out a ponderous corpulent figure close beside him. The man was big, fleshy and soft-looking, a Martian who wore a kilt that looked ridiculously scanty on his fat figure. His face was moonlike, creased and crinkled in a reassuring grin as his small eyes looked unfearingly at Carse's raised sword. "I'm not Jekkara or Sark either," he said reassuringly.
