The _corial's_ flight was checked as by a giant's hand.

The shell swerved sickeningly; there was an oddly metallic splintering; it quivered; shot ahead.

Dizzily I picked myself up and looked behind.
The Shadow had fallen--but too late, a bare instant too late.

And shrinking as we fled from it, still it seemed to strain like some fettered Afrit from Eblis, throbbing with wrath, seeking with every malign power it possessed to break its bonds and pursue.

Not until long after were we to know that it had been the dying hand of Serku, groping out of oblivion, that had cast it after us as a fowler upon an escaping bird.
"Snappy work, Rador!" It was Larry speaking.