Astor, tired of the standoff and frustrated with the spider's hesitancy, pulled the spear back again and made to throw, but the spiders scurried together several feet down the hall. Then it clicked. They were afraid of the spear. Astor could find no explanation for why this was the case, but after poking it at them a few more times and seeing their petrified reaction, he became certain of the fact. As long as he held the spear, he was safe. The spiders would not go near it, perhaps they could smell the fluid still oozing from its end, or maybe they were just craven creatures too pathetic to battle for their prey. In any case, Astor didn't mind, he not only had the means to survive, but he potentially had a means of escape. With the spear pointed forward, he chased the spiders in the hope they might lead him to a way out of the wretched subterranean tombs.