WAR IN THE DEPTHS Horrible, unreal as a fever-born nightmare in its sudden frenzy, the Arab's attack drove in at them.

The golden passageway flung from wall to wall screams, curses in shrill barbaric voices, clangor of steel whirled from scabbards, echoes of shots loud-roaring in that narrow space.
Bara Miyan's pistol, struck up by the woman's hand, spat fire over the Master's head just as the Olema himself went down with blood spurting from a jugular severed by the major's bullet.

The Olema's gaudy burnous crimsoned swiftly.
"Got _him_!" shouted Bohannan, firing again, again, into the tangle of sub-chiefs and Maghrabi men.

Adams pitched forward, cleft to the chin by a simitar.
The firing leaped to point-blank uproar, on both sides.

The men of Jannati Shahr numbered more pistols, but the Legionaries had quicker firers.