They were the pitiful remnants of a proud world, huddled into slave quarters on Karrar, dying before the cold brutality of the Kraks, seeking the Achilles' heel in the armor of their masters. One man alone still fought them--even he knowing he battled with a lance of straw. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]…
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