that disposal we must all take counsel, you, Larry, and Rador, Olaf and Goodwin and Nak, the ruler of the Akka."
	"Did the messenger give any idea when Yolara expects to make her little call?" asked Larry.
	"Yes," she answered. "They prepare, and we may expect them in - " She gave the equivalent of about thirtysix hours of our time.
	"But, Lakla," I said, the doubt that I had long been holding finding voice, "should the Shining One come - with its slaves - are the Three strong enough to cope with it?"
	There was troubled doubt in her own eyes.
	"I do not know," she said at last, frankly. "You have heard their story. What they promise is that they will help. I do not know - any more than do you, Goodwin!"
	I looked up at the dome beneath which I knew the dread Trinity stared forth; even down upon us. And despite the awe, the assurance, I had felt when I stood before them I, too, doubted.
	"Well," said Larry, "you and I, uncle," he turned to Rador, "and Olaf here had better decide just what part of the battle we'll lead - "
	"Lead!" the handmaiden was appalled. "You lead, Larry? Why you are to stay with Goodwin and with me - up there, there we can watch."
	"Heart's beloved," O'Keefe was stern indeed. "A thousand times I've looked Death straight in the face, peered into his eyes. Yes, and with ten thousand feet of space under me an' bursting shells tickling the ribs of the boat I was in. An' d'ye think I'll sit now on the grandstand an' watch while a game like this is being pulled? Ye don't know your future husband, soul of my delight!"
	And so we started toward the golden opening, squads of the frogmen following us soldierly and disappearing about the huge structure. Nor did we stop until we came to the handmaiden's boudoir. There we seated ourselves.
	"Now," said Larry, "two things I want to know. First - how many can Yolara muster against us; second, how many of these Akka have we to meet them?"
	Rador gave our equivalent for eighty thousand men as the force Yolara could muster without stripping her city. Against this force, it appeared, we could count, roughly, upon two hundred thousand of the Akka.
	"And they're some fighters!" exclaimed Larry. "Hell, with odds like that what're you worrying about? It's over before it's begun."
	"But, Larree," objected Rador to this, "you forget that the nobles will have the Keth - and other things; also that the   soldiers have fought against the Akka before and will be shielded very well from their spears and clubs - and that their blades and javelins can bite through the scales of Nak's warriors. They have many things - "
	"Uncle," interjected O'Keefe, "one thing they have is your nerve. Why, we're more than two to one. And take it from me - "
	Without warning dropped the tragedy!


CHAPTER XXXII
"Your Love; Your Lives; Your Souls!"

	LAKLA had taken no part in the talk since we had reached her bower. She had seated herself close to the O'Keefe. Glancing at her I had seen steal over her face that brooding, listening look that was hers whenever in that mysterious communion with the Three. It vanished; swiftly she arose; interrupted the Irishman without ceremony.
	"Larry darlin'," said the handmaiden. "The Silent Ones summon us!"
	"When do we go?" I asked; Larry's face grew bright with interest.
	"The time is now," she said - and hesitated. "Larry dear, put your arms about me," she faltered, "for there is something cold that catches at my heart - and I am afraid."
	At his exclamation she gathered herself together; gave a shaky little laugh.
	"It's because I love you so that fear has power to plague me," she told him.
	Without another word he bent and kissed her; in silence we passed on, his arm still about her girdled waist, golden head and black close together. Soon we stood before the crimson slab that was the door to the sanctuary of the Silent Ones. She poised uncertainly before it; then with a defiant arching of the proud little head that sent all the bronzeflecked curls flying, she pressed. It slipped aside and once more the opalescence gushed out, flooding all about us.
	Dazzled as before, I followed through the lambent cascades pouring from the high, carved walls; paused, and my eyes clearing, looked up - straight into the faces of the Three. The angled orbs centred upon the handmaiden; softened as I had seen them do when first we had faced them. She smiled up; seemed to listen. 
	"Come closer," she commanded, "close to the feet of the Silent Ones."
	We moved, pausing at the very base of the dais. The sparkling mists thinned; the great heads bent slightly over us; through the veils I caught a glimpse of huge columnar necks, enormous shoulders covered with draperies as of paleblue fire.
	I came back to attention with a start, for Lakla was answering a question only heard by her, and, answering it aloud, I perceived for our benefit; for whatever was the mode of communication between those whose handmaiden she was, and her, it was clearly independent of speech.
	"He has been told," she said, "even as you commanded."
	Did I see a shadow of pain flit across the flickering eyes? Wondering, I glanced at Lakla's face and there was a dawn of foreboding and bewilderment. For a little she held her listening attitude; then the gaze of the Three left her; focused upon the O'Keefe.
	"Thus speak the Silent Ones - through Lakla, their handmaiden," the golden voice was like low trumpet notes. "At the threshold of doom is that world of yours above. Yea, even the doom, Goodwin, that ye dreamed and the shadow of which, looking into your mind they see, say the Three. For not upon earth and never upon earth can man find means to destroy the Shining One."
	She listened again - and the foreboding deepened to an amazed fear.
	"They say, the Silent Ones," she went on, "that they know not whether even they have power to destroy. Energies we know nothing of entered into its shaping and are part of it; and still other energies it has gathered to itself" - she paused; a shadow of puzzlement crept into her voice "and other energies still, forces that ye do know and symbolize by certain names - hatred and pride and lust and many others which are forces real as that hidden in the Keth; and among them - fear, which weakens all those others - " Again she paused.
	"But within it is nothing of that greatest of all, that which can make powerless all the evil others, that which we call - love," she ended softly.
	"I'd like to be the one to put a little more fear in the   beast," whispered Larry to me, grimly in our own English. The three weird heads bent, ever so slightly - and I gasped, and Larry grew a little white as Lakla nodded -
	"They say, Larry," she said, "that there you touch one side of the heart of the matter - for it is through the way of fear the Silent Ones hope to strike at the very life of the Shining One!"
	The visage Larry turned to me was eloquent of wonder; and mine reflected it - for what really were this Three to whom our minds were but open pages, so easily read? Not long could we conjecture; Lakla broke the little silence.
	"This, they say, is what is to happen. First will come upon us Lugur and Yolara with all their host. Because of fear the Shining One will lurk behind within its lair; for despite all, the Dweller does dread the Three, and only them. With this host the Voice and the priestess will strive to conquer. And if they do, then will they be strong enough, too, to destroy us all. For if they take the abode they banish from the Dweller all fear and sound the end of the Three.
	"Then will the Shining One be all free indeed; free to go out into the world, free to do there as it wills!
	"But if they do not conquer - and the Shining One comes not to their aid, abandoning them even as it abandoned its own Taithu - then will the Three be loosed from a part of their doom, and they will go through the Portal, seek the Shining One beyond the Veil, and, piercing it through fear's opening, destroy it."
	"That's quite clear," murmured the O'Keefe in my ear. "Weaken the morale - then smash. I've seen it happen a dozen times in Europe. While they've got their nerve there's not a thing you can do; get their nerve - and not a thing can they do. And yet in both cases they're the same men."
	Lakla had been listening again. She turned, thrust out hands to Larry, a wild hope in her eyes - and yet a hope half shamed.
	"They say," she cried, "that they give us choice. Remembering that your world doom hangs in the balance, we have choice - choice to stay and help fight Yolara's armies - and they say they look not lightly on that help. Or choice to go - and if so be you choose the latter, then will they show another way that leads into your world!" 
	A flush had crept over the O'Keefe's face as she was speaking. He took her hands and looked long into the golden eyes; glancing up I saw the Trinity were watching them intently - imperturbably.
	"What do you say, mavourneen?" asked Larry gently. The handmaiden hung her head; trembled.
	"Your words shall be mine, O one I love," she whispered. "So going or staying, I am beside you."
	"And you, Goodwin?" he turned to me. I shrugged my shoulders - after all I had no one to care.
	"lt's up to you, Larry," I remarked, deliberately choosing his own phraseology.
	The O'Keefe straightened, squared his shoulders, gazed straight into the flameflickering eyes.
	"We stick!" he said briefly.
	Shamefacedly I recall now that at the time I thought this colloquialism not only irreverent, but in somewhat bad taste. I am glad to say I was alone in that bit of weakness. The face that Lakla turned to Larry was radiant with love, and although the shamed hope had vanished from the sweet eyes, they were shining with adoring pride. And the marble visages of the Three softened, and the little flames died down.
	"Wait," said Lakla, "there is one other thing they say we must answer before they will hold us to that promise - wait - "
	She listened, and then her face grew white - white as those of the Three themselves; the glorious eyes widened, stark terror filling them; the whole lithe body of her shook like a reed in the wind.
	"Not that!" she cried out to the Three. "Oh, not that! Not Larry - let me go even as you will - but not him!" She threw up frantic hands to the womanbeing of the Trinity. "Let me bear it alone," she wailed. "Alone - mother! Mother!"
	The Three bent their heads toward her, their faces pitiful, and from the eyes of the woman One rolled - tears! Larry leaped to Lakla's side.
	"Mavourneen!" he cried. "Sweetheart, what have they said to you?"
	He glared up at the Silent Ones, his hand twitching toward the highhung pistol holster.
	The handmaiden swung to him; threw white arms around   his neck; held her head upon his heart until her sobbing ceased.
	"This they - say - the Silent Ones," she gasped and then all the courage of her came back. "O heart of mine!" she whispered to Larry, gazing deep into his eyes, his anxious face cupped between her white palms. "This they say - that should the Shining One come to succour Yolara and Lugur, should it conquer its fear - and - do this - then is there but one way left to destroy it - and to save your world."
	She swayed; he gripped her tightly.
	"But one way - you and I must go - together - into its embrace! Yea, we must pass within it - loving each other, loving the world, realizing to the full all that we sacrifice and sacrificing all, our love, our lives, perhaps even that you call soul, O loved one; must give ourselves all to the Shining One - gladly, freely, our love for each other flaming high within us - that this curse shall pass away! For if we do this, pledge the Three, then shall that power of love we carry into it weaken for a time all that evil which the Shining One has become - and in that time the Three can strike and slay!"
	The blood rushed from my heart; scientist that I am, essentially, my reason rejected any such solution as this of the activities of the Dweller. Was it not, the thought flashed, a propitiation by the Three out of their own weakness - and as it flashed I looked up to see their eyes, full of sorrow, on mine - and knew they read the thought. Then into the whirling vortex of my mind came steadying reflections - of history changed by the power of hate, of passion, of ambition, and most of all, by love. Was there not actual dynamic energy in these things - was there not a Son of Man who hung upon a cross on Calvary?
	"Dear love o' mine," said the O'Keefe quietly, "is it in your heart to say yes to this?"
	"Larry," she spoke low, "what is in your heart is in mine; but I did so want to go with you, to live with you - to - to bear you children, Larry - and to see the sun."
	My eyes were wet; dimly through them I saw his gaze on me.
	"If the world is at stake," he whispered, "why of course there's only one thing to do. God knows I never was afraid when I was fighting up there - and many a better man than   me has gone West with shell and bullet for the same idea; but these things aren't shell and bullet - but I hadn't Lakla then - and it's the damned doubt I have behind it all."
	He turned to the Three - and did I in their poise sense a rigidity, an anxiety that sat upon them as alienly as would divinity upon men?
	"Tell me this, Silent Ones," he cried. "If we do this, Lakla and I, is it sure you are that you can slay the - Thing, and save my world? Is it sure you are?"
	For the first and the last time, I heard the voice of the Silent Ones. It was the manbeing at the right who spoke.
	"We are sure," the tones rolled out like deepest organ notes, shaking, vibrating, assailing the ears as strangely as their appearance struck the eyes. Another moment the O'Keefe stared at them. Once more he squared his shoulders; lifted Lakla's chin and smiled into her eyes.
	"We stick!" he said again, nodding to the Three.
	Over the visages of the Trinity fell benignity that was - awesome; the tiny flames in the jet orbs vanished, leaving them wells in which brimmed serenity, hope - an extraordinary joyfulness. The woman sat upright, tender gaze fixed upon the man and girl. Her great shoulders raised as though she had lifted her arms and had drawn to her those others. The three faces pressed together for a fleeting moment; raised again. The woman bent forward - and as she did so, Lakla and Larry, as though drawn by some outer force, were swept upon the dais.
	Out from the sparkling mist stretched two hands, enormously long, sixfingered, thumbless, a faint tracery of golden scales upon their white backs, utterly unhuman and still in some strange way beautiful, radiating power and - all womanly!
	They stretched forth; they touched the bent heads of Lakla and the O'Keefe; caressed them, drew them together, softly stroked them - lovingly, with more than a touch of benediction. And withdrew!
	The sparkling mists rolled up once more, hiding the Silent Ones. As silently as once before we had gone we passed out of the place of light, beyond the crimson stone, back to the handmaiden's chamber.
	Only once on our way did Larry speak.
	"Cheer up, darlin'," he said to her, "it's a long way yet   before the finish. An' are you thinking that Lugur and Yolara are going to pull this thing off? Are you?"
	The handmaiden only looked at him, eyes love and sorrow filled.
	"They are!" said Larry. "They are! Like hell they are!"


CHAPTER XXXIII
The Meeting of Titans

	IT IS NOT my intention, nor is it possible no matter how interesting to me, to set down ad seriatim the happenings of the next twelve hours. But a few will not be denied recital.
	O'Keefe regained cheerfulness.
	"After all, Doc," be said to me, "it's a beautiful scrap we're going to have. At the worst the worst is no more than the leprechaun warned about. I would have told the Taitha De about the banshee raid he promised me; but I was a bit taken off my feet at the time. The old girl an' all the clan'll be along, said the little green man, an' I bet the Three will be damned glad of it, take it from me."
	Lakla, shiningeyed and half fearful too:
	"I have other tidings that I am afraid will please you little, Larry - darlin'. The Silent Ones say that you must not go into battle yourself. You must stay here with me, and with Goodwin - for if - if - the Shining One does come, then must we be here to meet it. And you might not be, you know, Larry, if you fight," she said, looking shyly up at him from under the long lashes.
	The O'Keefe's jaw dropped.
	"That's about the hardest yet," he answered slowly. "Still - I see their point; the lamb corralled for the altar has no right to stray out among the lions," he added grimly. "Don't worry, sweet," he told her. "As long as I've sat in the game I'll stick to the rules."
	Olaf took fierce joy in the coming fray. "The Norns spin close to the end of this web," he rumbled. "Ja! And the threads of Lugur and the Heks woman are between their fingers for the breaking! Thor will be with me, and I have fashioned me a hammer in glory of Thor." In his hand was an enormous mace of black metal, fully five feet long, crowned with a massive head. 
	I pass to the twelve hours' closing.
	At the end of the coria road where the giant fernland met the edge of the cavern's ruby floor, hundreds of the Akka were stationed in ambush, armed with their spears tipped with the rotting death and their nailstudded, metalheaded clubs. These were to attack when the Murians debauched from the corials. We had little hope of doing more here than effect some attrition of Yolara's hosts, for at this place the captains of the Shining One could wield the Keth and their other uncanny weapons freely. We had learned, too, that every forge and artisan had been put to work to make an armour Marakinoff had devised to withstand the natural battle equipment of the frogpeople - and both Larry and I had a disquieting faith in the Russian's ingenuity.
	At any rate the numbers against us would be lessened.
	Next, under the direction of the frogking, levies commanded by subsidiary chieftains had completed rows of rough walls along the probable route of the Murians through the cavern. These afforded the Akka a fair protection behind which they could hurl their darts and spears - curiously enough they had never developed the bow as a weapon.
	At the opening of the cavern a strong barricade stretched almost to the two ends of the crescent strand; almost, I say, because there had not been time to build it entirely across the mouth.
	And from edge to edge of the titanic bridge, from where it sprang outward at the shore of the Crimson Sea to a hundred feet away from the golden door of the abode, barrier after barrier was piled.
	Behind the wall defending the mouth of the cavern, waited other thousands of the Akka. At each end of the unfinished barricade they were mustered thickly, and at right and left of the crescent where their forest began, more legions were assembled to make way up to the ledge as opportunity offered.
	Rank upon rank they manned the bridge barriers; they swarmed over the pinnacles and in the hollows of the island's ragged outer lip; the domed castle was a hive of them, if I may mix my metaphors - and the rocks and gardens that surrounded the abode glittered with them.
	"Now," said the handmaiden, "there's nothing else we can do - save wait." 
	She led us out through her bower and up the little path that ran to the embrasure.
	Through the quiet came a sound, a sighing, a halfmournful whispering that beat about us and fled away.
	"They come!" cried Lakla, the light of battle in her eyes. Larry drew her to him, raised her in his arms, kissed her.
	"A woman!" acclaimed the O'Keefe. "A real woman - and mine!"
	With the cry of the Portal there was movement among the Akka, the glint of moving spears, flash of metaltipped clubs, rattle of horny spurs, rumblings of battlecries.
	And we waited - waited it seemed interminably, gaze fastened upon the low wall across the cavern mouth. Suddenly I remembered the crystal through which I had peered when the hidden assassins had crept upon us. Mentioning it to Lakla, she gave a little cry of vexation, a command to her attendant; and not long that faithful if unusual lady had returned with a tray of the glasses. Raising mine, I saw the lines furthest away leap into sudden activity. Spurred warrior after warrior leaped upon the barricade and over it. Flashes of intense, green light, mingled with gleams like lightning strokes of concentrated moon rays, sprang from behind the wall - sprang and struck and burned upon the scales of the batrachians.
	"They come!" whispered Lakla.
	At the far ends of the crescent a terrific milling had begun. Here it was plain the Akka were holding. Faintly, for the distance was great, I could see fresh force upon force rush up and take the places of those who had fallen.
	Over each of these ends, and along the whole line of the barricade a mist of dancing, diamonded atoms began to rise; sparking, coruscating points of diamond dust that darted and danced.
	What had once been Lakla's guardians - dancing now in the nothingness!
	"God, but it's hard to stay here like this!" groaned the O'Keefe; Olaf's teeth were bared, the lips drawn back in such a fighting grin as his ancestors berserk on their raven ships must have borne; Rador was livid with rage; the handmaiden's nostrils flaring wide, all her wrathful soul in her eyes.
	Suddenly, while we looked, the rocky wall which the Akka   had built at the cavern mouth - was not! It vanished, as though an unseen, unbelievably gigantic hand had with the lightning's speed swept it away. And with it vanished, too, long lines of the great amphibians close behind it.
	Then down upon the ledge, dropping into the Crimson Sea, sending up geysers of ruby spray, dashing on the bridge, crushing the frogmen, fell a shower of stone, mingled with distorted shapes and fragments whose scales still flashed meteoric as they hurled from above.
	"That which makes things fall upward," hissed Olaf. "That which I saw in the garden of Lugur!"
	The fiendish agency of destruction which Marakinoff had revealed to Larry; the force that cut off gravitation and sent all things within its range racing outward into space!
	And now over the debris upon the ledge, striking with long sword and daggers, here and there a captain flashing the green ray, moving on in ordered squares, came the soldiers of the Shining One. Nearer and nearer the verge of the ledge they pushed Nak's warriors. Leaping upon the dwarfs, smiting them with spear and club, with teeth and spur, the Akka fought like devils. Quivering under the ray, they leaped and dragged down and slew.
	Now there was but one long line of the frogmen at the very edge of the cliff.
	And ever the clouds of dancing, diamonded atoms grew thicker over them all!
	That last thin line of the Akka was going; yet they fought to the last, and none toppled over the lip without at least one of the armoured Murians in his arms.
	My gaze dropped to the foot of the cliffs. Stretched along their length was a wide ribbon of beauty - a shimmering multitude of gleaming, pulsing, prismatic moons; glowing, glowing ever brighter, ever more wondrous - the gigantic Medusae globes feasting on dwarf and frogman alike!
	Across the waters, faintly, came a triumphant shouting from Lugur's and Yolara's men!
	Was the ruddy light of the place lessening, growing paler, changing to a faint rose? There was an exclamation from Larry; something like hope relaxed the drawn muscles of his face. He pointed to the aureate dome wherein sat the Three - and then I saw!
	Out of it, through the long transverse slit through which   the Silent Ones kept their watch on cavern, bridge, and abyss, a torrent of the opalescent light was pouring. It cascaded like a waterfall, and as it flowed it spread whirling out, in columns and eddies, clouds and wisps of misty, curdled coruscations. It hung like a veil over all the islands, filtering everywhere, driving back the crimson light as though possessed of impenetrable substance - and still it cast not the faintest shadowing upon our vision.
	"Good God!" breathed Larry. "Look!"
	The radiance was marching - marching - down the colossal bridge. It moved swiftly, in some unthinkable way intelligently. It swathed the Akka, and closer, ever closer it swept toward the approach upon which Yolara's men had now gained foothold.
	From their ranks came flash after flash of the green ray - aimed at the abode! But as the light sped and struck the opalescence it was blotted out! The shimmering mists seemed to enfold, to dissipate it.
	Lakla drew a deep breath.
	"The Silent Ones forgive me for doubting them," she whispered; and again hope blossomed on her face even as it did on Larry's.
	The frogmen were gaining. Clothed in the armour of that mist, they pressed back from the bridgehead the invaders. There was another prodigious movement at the ends of the crescent, and racing up, pressing against the dwarfs, came other legions of Nak's warriors. And reenforcing those out on the prodigious arch, the frogmen stationed in the gardens below us poured back to the castle and out through the open Portal.
	"They're licked!" shouted Larry. "They're - "
	So quickly I could not follow the movement his automatic leaped to his hand - spoke, once and again and again. Rador leaped to the head of the little path, sword in hand; Olaf, shouting and whirling his mace, followed. I strove to get my own gun quickly.
	For up that path were running twoscore of Lugur's men, while from below Lugur's own voice roared.
	"Quick! Slay not the handmaiden or her lover! Carry them down. Quick! But slay the others!"
	The handmaiden raced toward Larry, stopped, whistled shrilly - again and again. Larry's pistol was empty, but as   the dwarfs rushed upon him I dropped two of them with mine. It jammed - I could not use it; I sprang to his side. Rador was down, struggling in a heap of Lugur's men. Olaf, a Viking of old, was whirling his great hammer, and striking, striking through armour, flesh, and bone.
	Larry was down, Lakla flew to him. But the Norseman, now streaming blood from a dozen wounds, caught a glimpse of her coming, turned, thrust out a mighty hand, sent her reeling back, and then with his hammer cracked the skulls of those trying to drag the O'Keefe down the path.
	A cry from Lakla - the dwarfs had seized her, had lifted her despite her struggles, were carrying her away. One I dropped with the butt of my useless pistol, and then went down myself under the rush of another.
	Through the clamour I heard a booming of the Akka, closer, closer; then through it the bellow of Lugur. I made a mighty effort, swung a hand up, and sunk my fingers in the throat of the soldier striving to kill me. Writhing over him, my fingers touched a poniard; I thrust it deep, staggered to my feet.
	The O'Keefe, shielding Lakla, was battling with a long sword against a half dozen of the soldiers. I started toward him, was struck, and under the impact hurled to the ground. Dizzily I raised myself - and leaning upon my elbow, stared and moved no more. For the dwarfs lay dead, and Larry, holding Lakla tightly, was staring even as I, and ranged at the head of the path were the Akka, whose booming advance in obedience to the handmaiden's call I had heard.
	And at what we all stared was Olaf, crimson with his wounds, and Lugur, in bloodred armour, locked in each other's grip, struggling, smiting, tearing, kicking, and swaying about the little space before the embrasure. I crawled over toward the O'Keefe. He raised his pistol, dropped it.
	"Can't hit him without hitting Olaf," he whispered. Lakla signalled the frogmen; they advanced toward the two - but Olaf saw them, broke the red dwarf's hold, sent Lugur reeling a dozen feet away.
	"No!" shouted the Norseman, the ice of his paleblue eyes glinting like frozen flames, blood streaming down his face and dripping from his hands. "No! Lugur is mine! None but me slays him! Ho, you Lugur - " and cursed him and Yo   lara and the Dweller hideously - I cannot set those curses down here.
	They spurred Lugur. Mad now as the Norseman, the red dwarf sprang. Olaf struck a blow that would have killed an ordinary man, but Lugur only grunted, swept in, and seized him about the waist; one mighty arm began to creep up toward Huldricksson's throat.
	 "'Ware, Olaf!" cried O'Keefe; but Olaf did not answer. He waited until the red dwarf's hand was close to his shoulder; and then, with an incredibly rapid movement - once before had I seen something like it in a wrestling match between Papuans - he had twisted Lugur around; twisted him so that Olaf's right arm lay across the tremendous breast, the left behind the neck, and Olaf's left leg held the Voice's armoured thighs viselike against his right knee while over that knee lay the small of the red dwarf's back.
	For a second or two the Norseman looked down upon his enemy, motionless in that paralyzing grip. And then - slowly - he began to break him!
	Lakla gave a little cry; made a motion toward the two. But Larry drew her head down against his breast, hiding her eyes; then fastened his own upon the pair, whitefaced, stern.
	Slowly, ever so slowly, proceeded Olaf. Twice Lugur moaned. At the end he screamed - horribly. There was a cracking sound, as of a stout stick snapped.
	Huldricksson stooped, silently. He picked up the limp body of the Voice, not yet dead, for the eyes rolled, the lips strove to speak; lifted it, walked to the parapet, swung it twice over his head, and cast it down to the red waters!


CHAPTER XXXIV
The Coming of the Shining One

	THE NORSEMAN turned toward us. There was now no madness in his eyes; only a great weariness. And there was peace on the once tortured face.
	"Helma," he whispered, "I go a little before! Soon you will come to me - to me and the Yndling who will await you - Helma, mine liebe!"
	Blood gushed from his mouth; he swayed, fell. And thus died Olaf Huldricksson.
	We looked down upon him; nor did Lakla, nor Larry, nor I try to hide our tears. And as we stood the Akka brought to us that other mighty fighter, Rador; but in him there was life, and we attended to him there as best we could.
	Then Lakla spoke.
	"We will bear him into the castle where we may give him greater care," she said. "For, lo! the hosts of Yolara have been beaten back; and on the bridge comes Nak with tidings."
	We looked over the parapet. It was even as she had said. Neither on ledge nor bridge was there trace of living men of Muria - only heaps of slain that lay everywhere - and thick against the cavern mouth still danced the flashing atoms of those the green ray had destroyed.
	"Over!" exclaimed Larry incredulously. "We live then - heart of mine!"
	"The Silent Ones recall their veils," she said, pointing to the dome. Back through the slitted opening the radiance was streaming; withdrawing from sea and island; marching back over the bridge with that same ordered, intelligent motion. Behind it the red light pressed, like skirmishers on the heels of a retreating army.
	"And yet - " faltered the handmaiden as we passed into   her chamber, and doubtful were the eyes she turned upon the O'Keefe.
	"I don't believe," he said, "there's a kick left in them - "
	What was that sound beating into the chamber faintly, so faintly? My heart gave a great throb and seemed to stop for an eternity. What was it - coming nearer, ever nearer? Now Lakla and O'Keefe heard it, life ebbing from lips and cheeks.
	Nearer, nearer - a music as of myriads of tiny crystal bells, tinkling, tinkling - a storm of pizzicati upon violins of glass! Nearer, nearer - not sweetly now, nor luring; no - raging, wrathful, sinister beyond words; sweeping on; nearer -
	The Dweller! The Shining One!
	We leaped to the narrow window; peered out, aghast. The bell notes swept through and about us, a hurricane. The crescent strand was once more a ferment. Back, back were the Akka being swept, as though by brooms, tottering on the edge of the ledge, falling into the waters. Swiftly they were finished; and where they had fought was an eddying throng clothed in tatters or naked, swaying, drifting, arms tossing - like marionettes of Satan.
	The deadalive! The slaves of the Dweller!
	They swayed and tossed, and then, like water racing through an opened dam, they swept upon the bridgehead. On and on they pushed, like the bore of a mighty tide. The frogmen strove against them, clubbing, spearing, tearing them. But even those worst smitten seemed not to fall. On they pushed, driving forward, irresistible - a battering ram of flesh and bone. They clove the masses of the Akka, pressing them to the sides of the bridge and over. Through the open gates they forced them - for there was no room for the frogmen to stand against that implacable tide.
	Then those of the Akka who were left turned their backs and ran. We heard the clang of the golden wings of the portal, and none too soon to keep out the first of the Dweller's dreadful hordes.
	Now upon the cavern ]edge and over the whole length of the bridge there were none but the deadalive, men and women, blackpolled ladala, sloeeyed Malays, slanteyed Chinese, men of every race that sailed the seas - milling, turning, swaying, like leaves caught in a sluggish current.
	The bell notes became sharper, more insistent. At the cavern mouth a radiance began to grow - a gleaming from   which the atoms of diamond dust seemed to try to flee. As the radiance grew and the crystal notes rang nearer, every head of that hideous multitude turned stiffly, slowly toward the right, looking toward the far bridge end; their eyes fixed and glaring; every face an inhuman mask of rapture and of horror!
	A movement shook them. Those in the centre began to stream back, faster and ever faster, leaving motionless deep ranks on each side. Back they flowed until from golden doors to cavern mouth a wide lane stretched, walled on each side by the deadalive.
	The far radiance became brighter; it gathered itself at the end of the dreadful lane; it was shot with sparklings and with pulsings of polychromatic light. The crystal storm was intolerable, piercing the ears with countless tiny lances; brighter still the radiance
	From the cavern swirled the Shining One!
	The Dweller paused, seemed to scan the island of the Silent Ones half doubtfully; then slowly, stately, it drifted out upon the bridge. Closer it drew; behind it glided Yolara at the head of a company of her dwarfs, and at her side was the hag of the Council whose face was the withered, shattered echo of her own.
	Slower grew the Dweller's pace as it drew nearer. Did I sense in it a doubt, an uncertainty? The crystaltongued, unseen choristers that accompanied it subtly seemed to reflect the doubt; their notes were not sure, no longer insistent; rather was there in them an undertone of hesitancy, of warning! Yet on came the Shining One until it stood plain beneath us, searching with those eyes that thrust from and withdrew into unknown spheres, the golden gateway, the cliff face, the castle's rounded bulk - and more intently than any of these, the dome wherein sat the Three.
	Behind it each face of the deadalive turned toward it, and those beside it throbbed and gleamed with its luminescence.
	Yolara crept close, just beyond the reach of its spirals. She murmured - and the Dweller bent toward her, its seven globes steady in their shining mists, as though listening. It drew erect once more, resumed its doubtful scrutiny. Yolara's face darkened; she turned abruptly, spoke to a captain of her guards. A dwarf raced back between the palisades of deadalive. 
	Now the priestess cried out, her voice ringing like a silver clarion.
	"Ye are done, ye Three! The Shining One stands at your door, demanding entrance. Your beasts are slain and your power is gone. Who are ye, says the Shining One, to deny it entrance to the place of its birth?"
	"Ye do not answer," she cried again, "yet know we that ye hear! The Shining One offers these terms: Send forth your handmaiden and that lying stranger she stole; send them forth to us - and perhaps ye may live. But if ye send them not forth, then shall ye too die - and soon!"
	We waited, silent, even as did Yolara - and again there was no answer from the Three.
	The priestess laughed; the blue eyes flashed.
	"It is ended!" she cried. "If you will not open, needs must we open for you!"
	Over the bridge was marching a long double file of the dwarfs. They bore a smoothed and handled treetrunk whose head was knobbed with a huge hall of metal. Past the priestess, past the Shining One, they carried it; fifty of them to each side of the ram; and behind them stepped - Marakinoff!
	Larry awoke to life.
	"Now, thank God," he rasped, "I can get that devil, anyway!"
	He drew his pistol, took careful aim. Even as he pressed the trigger there rang through the abode a tremendous clanging. The ram was battering at the gates. O'Keefe's bullet went wild. The Russian must have heard the shot; perhaps the missile was closer than we knew. He made a swift leap behind the guards; was lost to sight.
	Once more the thunderous clanging rang through the castle.
	Lakla drew herself erect; down upon her dropped the listening aloofness. Gravely she bowed her head.
	"It is time, O love of mine." She turned to O'Keefe. "The Silent Ones say that the way of fear is closed, but the way of love is open. They call upon us to redeem our promise!"
	For a hundred heartbeats they clung to each other, breast to breast and lip to lip. Below, the clangour was increasing, the great trunk swinging harder and faster upon the metal gates. Now Lakla gently loosed the arms of the O'Keefe, and   for another instant those two looked into each other's souls. The handmaiden smiled tremulously.
	"I would it might have been otherwise, Larry darlin'," she whispered. "But at least - we pass together, dearest of mine!"
	She leaped to the window.
	"Yolara!" the golden voice rang out sweetly. The clanging ceased. "Draw back your men. We open the Portal and come forth to you and the Shining One - Larry and I."
	The priestess's silver chimes of laughter rang out, cruel, mocking.
	"Come, then, quickly," she jeered. "For surely both the Shining One and I yearn for you!" Her maliceladen laughter chimed high once more. "Keep us not lonely long!" the priestess mocked.
	Larry drew a deep breath, stretched both hands out to me.
	"It's goodby, I guess, Doc." His voice was strained. "Goodby and good luck, old boy. If you get out, and you will, let the old Dolphin know I'm gone. And carry on, pal - and always remember the O'Keefe loved you like a brother."
	I squeezed his hands desperately. Then out of my balanceshaking woe a strange comfort was born.
	"Maybe it's not goodby, Larry!" I cried. "The banshee has not cried!"
	A flash of hope passed over his face; the old reckless grin shone forth.
	"It's so!" he said. "By the Lord, it's so!"
	Then Lakla bent toward me, and for the second time - kissed me.
	"Come!" she said to Larry. Hand in hand they moved away, into the corridor that led to the door outside of which waited the Shining One and its priestess.
	And unseen by them, wrapped as they were within their love and sacrifice, I crept softly behind. For I had determined that if enter the Dweller's embrace they must, they should not go alone.
	They paused before the Golden Portals; the handmaiden pressed its opening lever; the massive leaves rolled back.
	Heads high, proudly, serenely, they passed through and out upon the hither span. I followed.
	On each side of us stood the Dweller's slaves, faces turned   rigidly toward their master. A hundred feet away the Shining One pulsed and spiralled in its evilly glorious lambency of sparkling plumes.
	Unhesitating, always with that same high serenity, Lakla and the O'Keefe, hands clasped like little children, drew closer to that wondrous shape. I could not see their faces, but I saw awe fall upon those of the watching dwarfs, and into the burning eyes of Yolara crept a doubt. Closer they drew to the Dweller, and closer, I following them step by step. The Shining One's whirling lessened; its tinklings were faint, almost stilled. It seemed to watch them apprehensively. A silence fell upon us all, a thick silence, brooding, ominous, palpable. Now the pair were face to face with the child of the Three - so near that with one of its misty tentacles it could have enfolded them.
	And the Shining One drew back!
	Yes, drew back - and back with it stepped Yolara, the doubt in her eyes deepening. Onward paced the handmaiden and the O'Keefe - and step by step, as they advanced, the Dweller withdrew; its bell notes chiming out, puzzled questioning - half fearful!
	And back it drew, and back until it had reached the very centre of that platform over the abyss in whose depths pulsed the green fires of earth heart. And there Yolara gripped herself; the hell that seethed within her soul leaped out of her eyes, a cry, a shriek of rage, tore from her lips.
	As at a signal, the Shining One flamed high; its spirals and eddying mists swirled madly, the pulsing core of it blazed radiance. A score of coruscating tentacles swept straight upon the pair who stood intrepid, unresisting, awaiting its embrace. And upon me, lurking behind them.
	Through me swept a mighty exaltation. It was the end then - and I was to meet it with them.
	Something drew us back, back with an incredible swiftness, and yet as gently as a summer breeze sweeps a bit of thistledown! Drew us back from those darting misty arms even as they were a hairbreadth from us! I heard the Dweller's bell notes burst out ragingly! I heard Yolara scream.
	What was that?
	Between the three of us and them was a ring of curdled moon flames, swirling about the Shining One and its priestess, pressing in upon them, enfolding them! 
	And within it I glimpsed the faces of the Three - implacable, sorrowful, filled with a supernal power!
	Sparks and flashes of white flame darted from the ring, penetrating the radiant swathings of the Dweller, striking through its pulsing nucleus, piercing its seven crowning orbs.
	Now the Shining One's radiance began to dim, the seven orbs to dull; the tiny sparkling filaments that ran from them down into the Dweller's body snapped, vanished! Through the battling nebulosities Yolara's face swam forth - horrorfilled, distorted, inhuman!
	The ranks of the deadalive quivered, moved, writhed, as though each felt the torment of the Thing that had enslaved them. The radiance that the Three wielded grew more intense, thicker, seemed to expand. Within it, suddenly, were scores of flaming triangles - scores of eyes like those of the Silent Ones!
	And the Shining One's seven little moons of amber, of silver, of blue and amethyst and green, of rose and white, split, shattered, were gone! Abruptly the tortured crystal chimings ceased.
	Dulled, all its soulshaking beauty dead, blotched and shadowed squalidly, its gleaming plumes tarnished, its dancing spirals stripped from it, that which had been the Shining One wrapped itself about Yolara - wrapped and drew her into itself; writhed, swayed, and hurled itself over the edge of the bridge - down, down into the green fires of the unfathomable abyss - with its priestess still enfolded in its coils!
	From the dwarfs who had watched that terror came screams of panic fear. They turned and ran, racing frantically over the bridge toward the cavern mouth.
	The serried ranks of the deadalive trembled, shook. Then from their faces tied the horror of wedded ecstasy and anguish. Peace, utter peace, followed in its wake.
	And as fields of wheat are bent and fall beneath the wind, they fell. No longer deadalive, now all of the blessed dead, freed from their dreadful slavery!
	Abruptly from the sparkling mists the cloud of eyes was gone. Faintly revealed in them were only the heads of the Silent Ones. And they drew before us; were before us! No flames now in their ebon eyes - for the flickering fires were quenched in great tears, streaming down the marble white   faces. They bent toward us, over us; their radiance enfolded us. My eyes darkened. I could not see. I felt a tender hand upon my head - and panic and frozen dread and nightmare web that held me fled.
	Then they, too, were gone.
	Upon Larry's breast the handmaiden was sobbing - sobbing out her heart - but this time with the joy of one who is swept up from the very threshold of hell into paradise.


CHAPTER XXXV
"Larry - Farewell!"

	"MY HEART, Larry - " It was the handmaiden's murmur. "My heart feels like a bird that is flying from a nest of sorrow."
	We were pacing down the length of the bridge, guards of the Akka beside us, others following with those companies of ladala that had rushed to aid us; in front of us the bandaged Rador swung gently within a litter; beside him, in another, lay Nak, the frogking - much less of him than there had been before the battle began, but living.
	Hours had passed since the terror I have just related. My first task had been to search for Throckmartin and his wife among the fallen multitudes strewn thick as autumn leaves along the flying arch of stone, over the cavern ledge, and back, back as far as the eye could reach.
	At last, Lakla and Larry helping, we found them. They lay close to the bridgeend, not parted - locked tight in each other's arms, pallid face to face, her hair streaming over his breast! As though when that unearthly life the Dweller had set within them passed away, their own had come back for one fleeting instant - and they had known each other, and clasped before kindly death had taken them.
	"Love is stronger than all things." The handmaiden was weeping softly. "Love never left them. Love was stronger than the Shining One. And when its evil fled, love went with them - wherever souls go."
	Of Stanton and Thora there was no trace; nor, after our discovery of those other two, did I care to look more. They were dead - and they were free.
	We buried Throckmartin and Edith beside Olaf in Lakla's bower. But before the body of my old friend was placed within the grave I gave it a careful and sorrowful examination. The skin was firm and smooth, but cold; not the cold of   death, but with a chill that set my touching fingers tingling unpleasantly. The body was bloodless; the course of veins and arteries marked by faintly indented white furrows, as though their walls had long collapsed. Lips, mouth, even the tongue, was paper white. There was no sign of dissolution as we know it; no shadow or stain upon the marble surface. Whatever the force that, streaming from the Dweller or impregnating its lair, had energized the deadalive, it was barrier against putrescence of any kind; that at least was certain.
	But it was not barrier against the poison of the Medusae, for, our sad task done, and looking down upon the waters, I saw the pale forms of the Dweller's hordes dissolving, vanishing into the shifting glories of the gigantic moons sailing down upon them from every quarter of the Sea of Crimson.
	While the frogmen, those late levies from the farthest forests, were clearing bridge and ledge of cavern of the litter of the dead, we listened to a leader of the ladala. They had risen, even as the messenger had promised Rador. Fierce had been the struggle in the gardened city by the silver waters with those Lugur and Yolara bad left behind to garrison it. Deadly had been the slaughter of the fairhaired, reaping the harvest of hatred they had been sowing so long. Not without a pang of regret did I think of the beautiful, gaily malicious elfin women destroyed - evil though they may have been.
	The ancient city of Lara was a charnel. Of all the rulers not twoscore had escaped, and these into regions of peril which to describe as sanctuary would be mockery. Nor had the ladala fared so well. Of all the men and women, for women as well as men had taken their part in the swift war, not more than a tenth remained alive.
	And the dancing motes of light in the silver air were thick, thick - they whispered.
	They told us of the Shining One rushing through the Veil, cometlike, its hosts streaming behind it, raging with it, in ranks that seemed interminable!
	Of the massacre of the priests and priestesses in the Cyclopean temple; of the flashing forth of the summoning lights by unseen hands - followed by the tearing of the rainbow curtain, by colossal shatterings of the radiant cliffs; the vanishing behind their debris of all trace of entrance to the haunted place wherein the hordes of the Shining One had slaved - the sealing of the lair! 
	Then, when the tempest of hate had ended in seething Lara, how, thrilled with victory, armed with the weapons of those they had slain, they had lifted the Shadow, passed through the Portal, met and slaughtered the fleeing remnants of Yolara's men - only to find the tempest stilled here, too.
	But of Marakinoff they had seen nothing! Had the Russian escaped, I wondered, or was he lying out there among the dead?
	But now the ladala were calling upon Lakla to come with them, to govern them.
	"I don't want to, Larry darlin'," she told him. "I want to go out with you to Ireland. But for a time - I think the Three would have us remain and set that place in order."
	The O'Keefe was bothered about something else than the government of Muria.
	"If they've killed off all the priests, who's to marry us, heart of mine?" he worried. "None of those Siya and Siyana rites, no matter what," he added hastily.
	"Marry!" cried the handmaiden incredulously. "Marry us? Why, Larry dear, we are married!"
	The O'Keefe's astonishment was complete; his jaw dropped; collapse seemed imminent.
	"We are?" he gasped. "When?" he stammered fatuously.
	"Why, when the Mother drew us together before her; when she put her hands on our heads after we had made the promise! Didn't you understand that?" asked the handmaiden wonderingly.
	He looked at her, into the purity of the clear golden eyes, into the purity of the soul that gazed out of them; all his own great love transfiguring his keen face.
	"An' is that enough for you, mavourneen?" he whispered humbly.
	"Enough?" The handmaiden's puzzlement was complete, profound. "Enough? Larry darlin', what more could we ask?"
	He drew a deep breath, clasped her close.
	"Kiss the bride, Doc!" cried the O'Keefe. And for the third and, soul's sorrow! the last time, Lakla dimpling and blushing, I thrilled to the touch of her soft, sweet lips.
	Quickly were our preparations for departure made. Rador, conscious, his immense vitality conquering fast his wounds, was to be borne ahead of us. And when all was done, Lakla,   Larry, and I made our way up to the scarlet stone that was the doorway to the chamber of the Three. We knew, of course, that they had gone, following, no doubt, those whose eyes I had seen in the curdled mists, and who, coming to the aid of the Three at last from whatever mysterious place that was their home, had thrown their strength with them against the Shining One. Nor were we wrong. When the great slab rolled away, no torrents of opalescence came rushing out upon us. The vast dome was dim, tenantless; its curved walls that had cascaded Light shone now but faintly; the dais was empty; its wall of moonflame radiance gone.
	A little time we stood, heads bent, reverent, our hearts filled with gratitude and love - yes, and with pity for that strange trinity so alien to us and yet so near; children even as we, though so unlike us, of our same Mother Earth.
	And what I wondered had been the secret of that promise they had wrung from their handmaiden and from Larry. And whence, if what the Three had said had been all true - whence had come their power to avert the sacrifice at the very verge of its consummation?
	"Love is stronger than all things!" had said Lakla.
	Was it that they had needed, must have, the force which dwells within love, within willing sacrifice, to strengthen their own power and to enable them to destroy the evil, glorious Thing so long shielded by their own love? Did the thought of sacrifice, the will toward abnegation, have to be as strong as the eternals, unshaken by faintest thrill of hope, before the Three could make of it their key to unlock the Dweller's guard and strike through at its life?
	Here was a mystery - a mystery indeed! Lakla softly closed the crimson stone. The mystery of the red dwarf's appearance was explained when we discovered a halfdozen of the water coria moored in a small cove not far from where the Sekta flashed their heads of living bloom. The dwarfs had borne the shallops with them, and from somewhere beyond the cavern ledge had launched them unperceived; stealing up to the farther side of the island and risking all in one bold stroke. Well, Lugur, no matter what he held of wickedness, held also high courage.
	The cavern was paved with the deadalive, the Akka carrying them out by the hundreds, casting them into the waters. Through the lane down which the Dweller had passed we   went as quickly as we could, coming at last to the space where the coria waited. And not long after we swung past where the shadow had hung and hovered over the shining depths of the Midnight Pool.
	Upon Lakla's insistence we passed on to the palace of Lugur, not to Yolara's - I do not know why, but go there then she would not. And within one of its columned rooms, maidens of the blackhaired folks, the wistfulness, the fear, all gone from their sparkling eyes, served us.
	There came to me a huge desire to see the destruction they had told us of the Dweller's lair; to observe for myself whether it was not possible to make a way of entrance and to study its mysteries.
	I spoke of this, and to my surprise both the handmaiden and the O'Keefe showed an almost embarrassed haste to acquiesce in my hesitant suggestion.
	"Sure," cried Larry, "there's lots of time before night!"
	He caught himself sheepishly; cast a glance at Lakla.
	"I keep forgettin' there's no night here," he mumbled.
	"What did you say, Larry?" asked she.
	"I said I wish we were sitting in our home in Ireland, watching the sun go down," he whispered to her. Vaguely I wondered why she blushed.
	But now I must hasten. We went to the temple, and here at least the ghastly litter of the dead had been cleaned away. We passed through the bluecaverned space, crossed the narrow arch that spanned the rushing sea stream, and, ascending, stood again upon the ivoried pave at the foot of the frowning, towering amphitheatre of jet.
	Across the Silver Waters there was sign of neither Web of Rainbows nor colossal pillars nor the templed lips that I had seen curving out beneath the Veil when the Shining One had swirled out to greet its priestess and its voice and to dance with the sacrifices. There was but a broken and rent mass of the radiant cliffs against whose base the lake lapped.
	Long I looked - and turned away saddened. Knowing even as I did what the irised curtain had hidden, still it was as though some thing of supernal beauty and wonder had been swept away, never to be replaced; a glamour gone for ever; a work of the high gods destroyed.
	"Let's go back," said Larry abruptly. 
	I dropped a little behind them to examine a bit of carving - and, after all, they did not want me. I watched them pacing slowly ahead, his arm around her, black hair close to bronzegold ringlets. Then I followed. Half were they over the bridge when through the roar of the imprisoned stream I heard my name called softly.
	"Goodwin! Dr. Goodwin!"
	Amazed, I turned. From behind the pedestal of a carved group slunk - Marakinoff! My premonition had been right. Some way he had escaped, slipped through to here. He held his hands high, came forward cautiously.
	"I am finished," he whispered - "Done! I don't care what they'll do to me." He nodded toward the handmaiden and Larry, now at the end of the bridge and passing on, oblivious of all save each other. He drew closer. His eyes were sunken, burning, mad; his face etched with deep lines, as though a graver's tool had cut down through it. I took a step backward.
	A grin, like the grimace of a fiend, blasted the Russian's visage. He threw himself upon me, his hands clenching at my throat!
	"Larry!" I yelled - and as I spun around under the shock of his onslaught, saw the two turn, stand paralyzed, then race toward me.
	"But you'll carry nothing out of here!" shrieked Marakinoff. "No!"
	My foot, darting out behind me, touched vacancy. The roaring of the racing stream deafened me. I felt its mists about me; threw myself forward.
	I was falling - falling - with the Russian's hand strangling me. I struck water, sank; the hands that gripped my throat relaxed for a moment their clutch. I strove to writhe loose; felt that I was being hurled with dreadful speed on - full realization came - on the breast of that racing torrent dropping from some far ocean cleft and rushing - where? A little time, a few breathless instants, I struggled with the devil who clutched me - inflexibly, indomitably.
	Then a shrieking as of all the pent winds of the universe in my ears - blackness!
	Consciousness returned slowly, agonizedly.
	"Larry!" I groaned. "Lakla!" 
	A brilliant light was glowing through my closed lids. It hurt. I opened my eyes, closed them with swords and needles of dazzling pain shooting through them. Again I opened them cautiously. It was the sun!
	I staggered to my feet. Behind me was a shattered wall of basalt monoliths, hewn and squared. Before me was the Pacific, smooth and blue and smiling.
	And not far away, cast up on the strand even as I had been, was - Marakinoff!
	He lay there, broken and dead indeed. Yet all the waters through which we had passed - not even the waters of death themselves - could wash from his face the grin of triumph. With the last of my strength I dragged the body from the strand and pushed it out into the waves. A little billow ran up, coiled about it, and carried it away, ducking and bending. Another seized it, and another, playing with it. It floated from my sight - that which had been Marakinoff, with all his schemes to turn our fair world into an undreamedofhell.
	My strength began to come back to me. I found a thicket and slept; slept it must have been for many hours, for when I again awakened the dawn was rosing the east. I will not tell my sufferings. Suffice it to say that I found a spring and some fruit, and just before dusk had recovered enough to writhe up to the top of the wall and discover where I was.
	The place was one of the farther islets of the NanMatal. To the north I caught the shadows of the ruins of NanTauach, where was the moon door, black against the sky. Where was the moon door - which, someway, somehow, I must reach, and quickly.
	At dawn of the next day I got together driftwood and bound it together in shape of a rough raft with fallen creepers. Then, with a makeshift paddle, I set forth for NanTauach. Slowly, painfully, I crept up to it. It was late afternoon before I grounded my shaky craft on the little beach between the ruined seagates and, creeping up the giant steps, made my way to the inner enclosure.
	And at its opening I stopped, and the tears ran streaming down my cheeks while I wept aloud with sorrow and with disappointment and with weariness.
	For the great wall in which had been set the pale slab whose threshold we had crossed to the land of the Shining One lay shattered and broken. The monoliths were heaped   about; the wall had fallen, and about them shone a film of water, half covering them.
	There was no moon door!
	Dazed and weeping, I drew closer, climbed upon their outlying fragments. I looked out only upon the sea. There had been a great subsidence, an earth shock, perhaps, tilting downward all that side - the echo, little doubt, of that cataclysm which had blasted the Dweller's lair!
	The little squared islet called Tau, in which were hidden the seven globes, had entirely disappeared. Upon the waters there was no trace of it.
	The moon door was gone; the passage to the Moon Pool was closed to me - its chamber covered by the sea!
	There was no road to Larry - nor to Lakla!
	And there, for me, the world ended.
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F�%�ɳ����(�L�M�w�\�V7P;;�7R��M٤Do�i�0��\�JC*�I��S���/RyTHE SHIP OF ISHTAR
A. A. Merritt

Copyright 1924 by The Frank A. Munsey Company.


PART I
1. The Coming of the Ship

	A TENDRIL of the strange fragrance spiralled up from the great stone block. Kenton felt it caress his face like a coaxing hand.
	He had been aware of that fragrance-an alien perfume, subtly troubling, evocative of fleeting unfamiliar images, of thought-wisps that were gone before the mind could grasp them-ever since he had unsheathed from its coverings the thing Forsyth, the old archaeologist, had sent him from the sand shrouds of ages-dead Babylon.
	Once again his eyes measured the block-four feet long,a little more than that in height, a trifle less in width. A faded yellow, its centuries hung about it like a half visible garment. On one face only was there inscription, a dozen parallel lines of archaic cuneiform; carved there, if Forsyth were right in his deductions, in the reign of Sargon of Akkad, sixty centuries ago. The surface of thestone was scarred and pitted and the wedge shaped symbols mutilated, half obliterated.
	Kenton leaned closer over it, and closer around himwound the scented spirals clinging like scores of tendrils, clinging like little fingers, wistful, supplicating, pleading-- Pleading for release! What nonsense was this he was dreaming? Kenton drew himself up. A hammer lay close at hand; he lifted it and struck the block, impatiently.
	The block answered the blow! It murmured; the murmuring grew louder; louder still,with faint bell tones like distant carillons of jade. The murmurings ceased, now they were only high, sweet chimings; clearer, ever more clear they rang, drawing closer, winging up through endless corridors of time.
	There was a sharp crackling. The block split. From the break pulsed a radiance as of rosy pearls and with it wave after wave of the fragrance-no longer questing, no longer wistful nor supplicating.
	Jubilant now! Triumphant! Something was inside the block! Something that had lain hidden there since Sargon of Akkad, six thousand years go! The carillons of jade rang out again. Sharply they pealed, then turned and fled back the endless corridors upwhich they had come. They died away; and as they died the block collapsed; it disintegrated; it became a swirling, slowly settling cloud of sparkling dust.
	The cloud whirled, a vortex of glittering mist. It vanished like a curtain plucked away.
	Where the block had been stood-a ship! It floated high on a base of curving waves cut from lapis lazuli and foam-crested with milky rock crystals. Its hull was of crystal, creamy and faintly luminous. Its prow was shaped like a slender scimitar, bent backward. Under the incurved tip was a cabin whose seaward sides were formed, galleon fashion, by the upward thrust of the bows. Where the hull drew up to form this cabin, a faint flush warmed and cloudy crystal; it deepened as the side slifted; it gleamed at last with a radiance that turned the cabin into a rosy jewel.
	In the center of the ship, taking up a third of its length, was a pit; down from the bow to its railed edge sloped a deck of ivory. The deck that sloped similarly from the stern was jet black. Another cabin rested there, larger than that at the bow, but squat and ebon. Both deckscontinued in wide platforms on each side of the pit. Atthe middle of the ship the ivory and black decks met withan odd suggestion of contending forces. They did not fade into each other. They ended there abruptly, edge to edge; hostile.
	Out of the pit arose a rail mast: tapering and green asthe core of an immense emerald. From its cross-sticks awide sail stretched, shimmering like silk spun from fireopals: from mast and yards fell stays of twisted dull gold.
	Out from each side of the ship swept a single bank ofseven great oars, their scarlet blades dipped deep withinthe pearl crested lapis of the waves, And the jewelled craft was manned! Why, Kenton won-dered, had he not noticed the tiny figures before? It was as though they had just arisen from the deck . . .a woman had slipped out of the rosy cabin's door, an armwas still outstretched in its closing . . . and there wereother women shapes upon the ivory deck, three of them,crouching . . . their heads were bent low; two clasped harpsand the third held a double flute. . .  Little figures, not more than two inches high. . .  Toys! Odd that he could not distinguish their faces, nor thedetails of their dress. The boys were indistinct, blurred, asthough a veil covered them. Kenton told himself that the blurring was the fault of his eyes; he closed them. for a moment.
	Opening them he looked down upon the black cabinand stared with deepening perplexity. The black deck had been empty when first the ship had appeared-that he could have sworn.
	Now four manikins were clustered there-close to the edge of the pit! And the baffling haze around the toys was denser. Ofcourse it must be his eyes-what else? He would liedown for a while and rest them. He turned, reluctantly; he walked slowly to the door; he paused there, uncer-tainly, to look back at the shining mystery- All the room beyond the ship was hidden by the haze! Kenton heard a shrilling as of armies of storm; aroaring as of myriads or tempests; a shrieking chaos asthough down upon him swept cataracts of mighty winds.
	The room split into thousands of fragments; dissolved.Clear through the clamor came the sound of a bell-one-two-thr- He knew that bell. It was his clock ringing out thehour of six. The third note was cut in twain.
	The solid floor on which. he stood melted away. He felt himself suspended in space, a space filled with mists ofsilver.
	The mists melted.
	Kenton caught a glimpse of a vast blue wave-crestedocean-another of the deck of a ship flashing by a dozenfeet below him.
	He felt a sudden numbing shock, a blow upon his righttemple. Splintered lightnings veined a blackness that wipedout sight of sea and ship.


2. The First Adventure

	KENTON lay listening to a soft whispering, persistentand continuous. It was like the breaking crests of sleepywaves. The sound was all about him; a rippling susurra-tion becoming steadily more insistent. A light beat throughhis closed lids. He felt motion under him, a gentle, cra-dling lift and fall. He opened his eyes.
	He was on a ship; lying on a narrow deck, his headagainst the bulwarks. In front of him was a mast risingout of a pit. Inside the pit were chained men strainingat great oars. The mast seemed to be of wood coveredwith translucent, emerald lacquer. It stirred reluctant mem-ories.
	Where had he seen such a mast before? His gaze crept up the mast. There was a wide sail; a sailmade of opaled silk. Low overhead hung a sky that was alla soft mist of silver.
	He heard a woman's voice, deep toned, liquidly golden.Kenton sat up, dizzily. At his right was a cabin nestlingunder the curved tip of a scimitared prow; it gleamedrosily. A balcony ran round its top; little trees blossomedon that balcony; doves with feet and bills crimson asthough dipped in wine of rubies fluttered snowy wingsamong the branches.
	At the cabin's door stood a woman, tall, willow-lithe,staring beyond him. At her feet crouched three girls. Two of them clasped harps, the other held to her lips adouble flute. Again the reluctant memories stirred andfled and were forgotten as Kenton's gaze fastened uponthe woman.
	Her wide eyes were green as depths of forest glens,and like them they were filled with drifting shadows. Herhead was small; the features fine; the red mouth deli-cately amorous. In the hollow of her throat a dimplelay; a chalice for kisses and empty of them and eager tobe filled. Above her brows was set a silver crescent, slimas a newborn moon. Over each horn of the crescentpoured a flood of red-gold hair, framing the lovely face; the flood streamed over and was parted by her tiltedbreasts; it fell in ringlets almost to her sandalled feet.
	As young as Spring, she seemed-yet wise as Au-tumn; Primavera of some archaic Botticelli-but MonaLisa too; if virginal in body, certainly not in soul.
	He followed her gaze. It led him across the pit of theoarsmen. Four men stood there. One was taller by a headthan Kenton, and built massively. His pale eyes staredunwinkingly at the woman; menacing; malignant. His facewas beardless and pallid. His huge and flattened headwas shaven; his nose vulture beaked; from his shouldersblack robes fell, shrouding him to feet. Two shavenheads were at his left, wiry, wolfish, black-robed; each ofthem held a brazen, conch-shaped horn.
	On the last of the group Kenton's eyes lingered, fas-cinated. This man squatted, his pointed chin resting on atall drum whose curved sides glittered scarlet and jet withthe polished scales of some great snake. His legs weresturdy but dwarfed-his torso that of a giant, knottedand gnarled, prodigiously powerful. His ape-like armswere wound around the barrelled tambour; spider-likewere the long fingers standing on their tips upon thedrum head.
	It was his face that held Kenton. Sardonic and malicious-there was in it none of the evil concentrate in theothers. The wide slit of his mouth was frog-like andhumor was on the thin lips. His deep set, twinkling blackeyes dwelt upon the crescented woman with frank ad-miration. From the lobes of his outstanding ears hungdisks of hammered gold.
	The woman paced swiftly down toward Kenton. When she halted he could have reached out a hand and touchedher. Yet she did not seem to see him.
	"Ho-Klaneth!" she cried. "I hear the voice of Ishtar.She is coming to her ship. Are you ready to do her hom-age, Slime of Nergal?" A flicker of hate passed over the massive man's pallidface like a little wave from hell.
	"This is Ishtar's Ship," he answered, "yet my DreadLord has claim upon it too, Sharane? The House of theGoddess brims with light-but tell me, does not Nergal'sshadow darken behind me?" And Kenton saw that the deck on which were thesemen was black as polished jet and again memory stroveto make itself heard.
	A sudden wind smote the ship, like an open hand,heeling it. From the doves within the trees of the rosycabin broke a tumult of cries; they flew up like a whitecloud flecked with crimson; they fluttered around thewoman.
	The ape-like arms of the drummer unwrapped, his spi-dery fingers poised over the head of the snake drum. Dark-ness deepened about him and hid him; darkness cloakedall the ship's stern.
	Kenton felt the gathering of unknown forces. He sliddown, upon his haunches, pressed himself against thebulwarks.
	From the deck of the rosy cabin blared a goldentrumpeting; defiant; inhuman. He turned his head, andon it the hair lifted and prickled.
	Resting on the rosy cabin was a great orb, an orb likethe moon at full; but not, like the moon, white and cold-an orb alive with pulsing roseate candescence. Overthe ship it poured its rays and where the woman calledSharane had been was now-no woman! Bathed in the orb's rays she loomed gigantic. The lidsof her eyes were closed, yet through those closed lidseyes glared! Plainly Kenton saw them-eyes hard as jade,glaring through the closed lids as though those lids hadbeen gossamer! The slender crescent upon her brows wasan arc of living fire, and all about it the masses of herred-gold hair beat and tossed.
	Round and round, in clamorous rings above the ship,wheeled the cloud of doves, snowy wings beating, redbeaks open; screaming.
	Within the blackness of the ship's stern roared the thun-der of the serpent drum.
	The blackness thinned. A face stared out, half veiled,bodiless, floating in the shadow. It was the face of theman Klaneth-and yet no more his than that which chal-lenged it was the woman Sharane's. The pale eyes had be-come twin pools of hell flames; pupilless. For a heartbeat the face hovered, framed by the darkness. The shadowdropped over it and hid it.  Now Kenton saw that this shadow hung like a curtainover the exact center of the ship, and that he crouchedhardly ten feet distant from where that curtain cut thecraft in twain. The deck on which he lay was pale ivoryand again memory stirred but did not awaken. The ra-diance from the roseate orb struck against the curtain ofshadow and made upon it a disk, wider than the ship,that was like a web of beams spun from the rays of arosy moon. Against this shining web the shadow pressed,straining to break through.
	From the black deck the thunder of the serpent drumredoubled; the brazen conches shrieked. Drum-thunderand shrieking horn mingled; they became the pulse ofAbaddon, lair of the damned.
	From Sharane's three women, shot storm of harpings,arpeggios like gusts of tiny arrows and with them shrilljavelin pipings from the double flute. Arrows and javelinsof sound cut through the thunder hammering of the drumand the bellow of the horns, sapping them, beating themback.
	A movement began within the shadow. It seethed. It spawned.
	Over the face of the disk of radiance black shapesswarmed. Their bodies were like monstrous larva, slugs; faceless. They tore at the web; stove to thrust through it; flailed it.
	The web gave! Its edge held firm, but slowly the center was pushedback until the disk was like the half of a huge hollowsphere. Within that hollow crawled and writhed and struckthe monstrous shapes. From the black deck serpent drumand brazen horns bellowed triumph.
	Again rang the golden trumpet cry from the deck ofivory. Out of the orb streamed an incandescence in-tolerable. The edges of the web shot forward and curved They closed upon the black spawn; within it the blackspawn milled and struggled like fish in a net. Like a netlifted by some mighty hand the web swung high up abovethe ship. Its brightness grew to match that of the orb.From netted shapes of blackness came a faint, highpitched, obscene wailing. They shrank, dissolved, were gone.
	The net opened. Out of it drifted a little cloud of ebon dust.
	The web streamed back into the orb that had sent it forth.
	Then, swiftly, the orb was gone!            Gone too was the shadow that had shrouded the blackdeck. High above the ship the snowy doves circled, screaming victory.
	A hand touched Kenton's shoulder. He looked up intothe shadowy eyes of the woman called Sharane; no god-dess now, only woman. In her eyes he read amazement, startled disbelief.
	Kenton sprang to his feet. A thrust of blinding pain shot through his head. The deck whirled round him. Hetried to master the dizziness; he could not. Dizzily theship spun beneath his feet; and beyond in wider arcsdizzily spun turquoise sea and silver horizon.
	Now all formed a vortex, a maelstrom, down whose pithe was dropping-faster, ever faster. Around him was aformless blur. Again he heard the tumult of the tempests; the shrillings of the winds of space. The winds died away.There were three clear bell notes-- Kenton stood within his own room! The bell had been his clock, striking the hour of six.Six o'clock? Why the last sound of his own world beforethe mystic sea had swept it from under him had been thethird stroke of that hour clipped off in mid-note.
	God-what a dream! And all in half a bell stroke! He lifted his hand and touched a throbbing bruise overhis right temple. He winced-well, that blow at least hadbeen no dream. He stumbled over to the jewelled ship.
	He stared at it, incredulous.
	The toys upon the ship had moved-new toys had ap-peared! No longer were there four manikins on the black deck.
	There were only two. One stood pointing toward thestarboard platform near the mast, his hand resting on the shoulder of a red bearded, agate eyed soldier toy cladall in glittering chain mail.
	Nor was there any woman at the rosy cabin's door asthere had been when Kenton had loosed the ship from theblock. At its threshold were five slim girls with javelinsin hands.
	The woman was on the starboard platform, bent lowbeside the rail! And the ship's oars were no longer buried in the wavesof lapis lazuli. They were lifted, poised for the down-ward stroke!        


3. The Ship Returns

	ONE BY ONE Kenton pulled at the manikins, eachtoy. Immovable, gem hard, each was, seemingly part ofthe deck itself; no force he could exert would move them.
	Yet something had shifted them-and where were thevanished ones? From where had the new ones come? Nor was there any haze around the little figures, norblurring; each lineament stood out clean cut. The point-ing toy on the black deck had dwarfed, bowed legs; historso was that of a giant; his bald pate glinted and inhis ears were wide discs of gold. Kenton recognized him-the beater of the serpent drum.
	There was a tiny silver crescent upon the head of thebending woman toy, and over its tips poured flood of red-gold hair-- Sharane! And that place at which she peered-was it not wherehe had lain on that other ship of his dream? That-other ship? He saw again its decks ebon andivory, its rosy cabin and its emerald mast. It had beenthis ship before him-no other! Dream? Then what hadmoved the toys? Kenton's wonder grew. Within it moved a sharp un-ease, a sharper curiosity. He found he could not think clearly with the ship filling his eyes; it seemed to focus allhis attention upon it, to draw it taut, to fill him with atense expectancy. He unhooked a hanging from the walland threw it over the gleaming mystery. He walked fromthe room, fighting with each step an imperative desire toturn his head. He dragged himself through the doorwayas though hands were gripping his ankles, drawing himback. Head still turned away Kenton lurched shouldersagainst the door; closed it; locked it.
	In his bathroom he examined the bruise on his head. Itwas painful enough, but nothing serious. Half an hour ofcold compresses fairly well removed all outward marksof it. He told himself that he might have fallen upon thefloor, overcome by the strange perfumes-he knew thathe had not.
	Kenton dined alone, scarce heeding what was set be-fore him, his mind groping through perplexities. Whatwas the history of the block from Babylon? Who had setthe ship within it-and why? Forsyth's letter had saidthat he had found it in the mound called Amran, justsouth of the Qser or crumbled "palace" of Nabopolasser.There was evidence, Kenton knew, that the 'Amran moundwas the site of E-Sagilla, the ziggurat or terraced tem-ple that had been the Great House of the Gods in an-cient Babylon. The block must have been held in peculiarreverence, so Forsyth had conjectured, since only sowould it have been saved from the destruction of thecity by Sennacherib and afterwards have been put backin the re-built temple.
	But why had it been held in such reverence? Whyhad such a miracle as the ship been imprisoned in thestone? The inscription might have given some clue had it notbeen so mutilated. In his letter Forsyth had pointed outthat the name of Ishtar, Mother Goddess of the Baby-lonians-Goddess of Vengeance and Destruction as well-appeared over and over again; that plain too were thearrowed symbols of Nergal, God of the Babylonian Hadesand Lord of the Dead; that the symbols of Nabu, the Godof Wisdom, appeared many times. These three names hadbeen almost the only legible words on the block. It wasas though the acid of time which had etched out theother characters had been held back from them.
	Kenton could read the cuneatic well nigh as readily as his native English. He recalled now that in the inscriptionIshtar's name had been coupled with her wrathful aspect rather than her softer ones, and that associated always with the symbols of Nabu had been the signs of warning, of danger.
	Forsyth had not noticed that, evidently-or if he hadhe had not thought it worth mentioning. Nor, apparentlyhad he been aware of the hidden perfumes of the block, Well-there was no use thinking of the inscription. Itwas gone forever with the dust into which it had turned.
	Kenton impatiently thrust back his chair. He knew thatfor the past hour be had been out temporizing, dividedbetween the burning desire to get back to the room wherethe ship lay and the dread that when he did he wouldfind all that adventure had been illusion, a dream; thatthe little figures had not really moved; that they wereas they had been when he had first loosed the ship; thatit was only a toy manned by toys-nothing more. Hewould temporize no longer.
	"Don't bother about me any more to-night, Jevins," hetold his butler. "I've some important work to do. If thereare any calls say that I am away. I'm going to lock my-self in and I don't want to be disturbed for anything lessthan Gabriel's trumpet." The old servant, a heritage from Kenton's father,smiled.
	"Very well, Mr. John," he said. "I'll let no one botheryou." To reach the room wherein was the ship, Kenton's wayled through another in which he kept the rarest of hisspoils from many a far away corner of the world. Passing,a vivid gleam of blue caught his eye and stayed him, likea hand. The gleam came from the hilt of a sword inone of the cabinets, a curious weapon he had bought froma desert nomad in Arabia. The sword hung above an an-cient cloak in which it had been wrapped when the fur-tive Arab had slipped into his tent. Unknown centurieshad softened the azure of that cloak, through whoseweb and woof great silver serpents writhed, cabalisticallyentwined.
	Kenton unhooked the sword. Silver serpents, counter-parts of those on the garments, twined about its hilt. Fromthe hilt sprang a rod of bronze, eight inches long andthree thick, round as a staff. This rod flared and flattened out into a leaf shaped blade two feet long and full sixinches wide across its center. Set in the hilt had beenone large stone of cloudy blue.
	The stone was no longer clouded. It was translucent,shining like an immense sapphire! Obeying some half-formed thought that linked this newenigma with the ship's shifting toys, he drew down thecloak and threw it over his shoulders. The sword in hand,he unlocked the further door, closed and fastened it be-hind him; walked over to the shrouded ship; swept off itscovers.
	Pulses leaping, Kenton drew back.
	On it now were two figures only-the drummer,crouched with head in arms upon the black deck, and ondeck of ivory a girl, leaning over the rail and lookingdown upon the oarsmen! Kenton snapped out the electrics and stood waiting.
	Minute after minute crept by. Fugitive gleams from thelights on the Avenue penetrated the curtains of the win-dows, glimmered on the ship. Muted but steady came theroar of the traffic, punctuated by horn blasts, explosionsthrough mufflers-New York's familiar voice.
	Was that a halo growing round the ship . . . And whathad become of the traffic's roar.
	The room was filling with silence as a vessel is filledwith water... .
	Now a sound broke that silence; a sound like the lap-ping of little waves, languorous, caressing. The soundsstroked his lids, slumbrously; pressed them down. Byenormous effort he half raised them.
	A wide mist was opposite him, a globular silvery mistfloating down upon him. Within that mist drifted a ship,its oars motionless, its sail half-filled. Wavelets crisped atits sickled bow, wavelets of pale turquoise with lacededges of foam.
	Half the room was lost in the ripples of that approach-ing sea . . . the part on which he stood was many feetabove the waves ... so far below were they that thedeck of the ship was level with his feet.
	Closer drew the ship. He wondered why he heard norushing winds, no clamoring tempests; no sound save thefaint whispering of the foam-tipped waves.
	Retreating, he felt his back press against the farther wall. Before him drifted that misty world, the ship uponits breast.
	Kenton leaped, straight for the deck.
	The winds roared about him now; vast winds howledand shrieked-again he heard but felt them not at all.And suddenly the clamor died.
	Kenton's feet struck solid surface.
	He stood upon an ivory deck, facing a rosy cabin whoselittle blossoming trees were filled with cooing crimsonbilled, vermilion footed, doves. Between him and the cabin'sdoor was a girl, her soft brown eyes filled with wonderand that same startled disbelief he had seen in those ofSharane when first her gaze had fallen upon him at thefoot of the emerald mast.
	"Are you Lord Nabu' that you came thus out of the airand in his cloak of wisdom, his serpents twining withinit?" she whispered. "Nay that cannot be-for Nabu isvery old-and you are young. Are you his messenger?" She dropped to her knees; crossed her hands, palms out-ward, over her forehead. She leaped to her feet; ran tothe closed door of the cabin.
	"Kadishtu!" she struck it with clenched hands. "HolyOne-a messenger from Nabu!" The door of the cabin was flung open. Upon its thresh-old stood the woman called Sharane. Her glance swepthim; then darted to the black deck. He followed it. Thebeater of the serpent drum squatted there; he seemed tosleep.
	"Watch, Satalu!" breathed Sharane to the girl.
	She caught Kenton's hand; she drew him through thedoor. Two girls were there who stared at him. She thrustthem forward.
	"Out!" she whispered. "Out and watch with Satalu." They slipped from the cabin. She ran to an inner door; dropped a bar across it.
	She turned, back against it; then stepped slowly to Ken-ton. She stretched out slim fingers; with them touched hiseyes, his mouth, his heart-as though to assure herselfthat he was real.
	She cupped his hands in hers, and bowed, and set herbrows against his wrists; the waves of her hair bathedthem. At her touch desire ran through him, swift and flam-ing. Her hair was a silken net to which his heart flew,eager to be trapped.
	He steadied himself; he drew his hands from hers; hebraced himself against her lure.
	She lifted her head; regarded him.
	"What has the Lord Nabu to say to me?" her voicerocked Kenton with perilous sweetnesses, subtle provoca-tions. "What is his word to me, messenger? Surely will Ilisten-for in his wisdom has not the Lord of Wisdomsent one to whom to listen ought not be-difficult?" There was a flash of coquetry like the flirt of a roguishfan in the misty eyes turned for an instant to his.
	Thrilling to her closeness, groping for some firm ground,Kenton sought for words to answer her. Playing for time,he looked about the cabined space. There was an altar atthe far end. It was sown with luminous gems, with pearlsand pale moonstones and curdled, milky crystals. Fromseven crystal basins set before it arose still silvery flames.There was an alcove behind the altar, but the glow ofthe seven lights hid whatever was within. He had a swiftsense of tenancy of that flame veiled alcove-somethingdwelt there.
	At the far side was a low, wide divan of ivory inlaidwith the milky crystals and patterned with goldenarabesques. Silken tapestries fell from the walls, multi-colored, flower woven. Soft deep silken rugs covered thecabin's floor, and piles of cushions. At back, at left, twowide low windows opened; through them streamed silverlight. A bird flew upon the sill of one; a snowy bird withscarlet beak and feet; it scanned him, it preened itself, itcooed and flew away-- Soft hands touched him; Sharane's face was close, eyesnow with doubt more deeply shadowed.
	"You-do come from Nabu?" she asked, and waitedfor reply; and still he found no words to answer her."Messenger you must be," she faltered, "else-how couldyou board the Ship of Ishtar? . . . And you are clad inNabu's cloak . . . and wear his sword . . . many timeshave I seen them in his shrine at Uruk . . . and I amweary of the Ship," she whispered. "I would see Babylonagain! Ah dearly, do I long for Babylon." Now words came to Kenton.
	"Sharane," he said boldly. "I do bear a message foryou. It is the truth, and our Lord Nabu is Lord of Truth -therefore it must be from him. But before I give it toyou, tell me-what is this ship?" "What is the Ship!" she drew back from him, doubtenough now in her face- "But if you come indeed fromNabu-you must know that!" "I do not know," he toid her, "I do not even knowthe meaning of the message I carry-it is for you tointerpret. Yet here am I, upon the ship, before you. Andin my ears I hear command-whispered it may be byNabu himself-that I must not speak until you have toldme-what is this ship." For a long moment she stood, scanning him, studyinghim.
	"The ways of the gods are strange," she sighed at last."They are hard to understand. Yet-I obey."


PART II
4. The Sin of Zarpanit

	SHE slipped down upon the divan and beckoned himbeside her. She laid a hand lightly upon his heart. Hisheart leaped beneath the touch; she felt it, too, and moveda little from him, smiling, watching him through downcast,curving lashes. She drew her slender, sandaled feet be-neath her; mused with white hands clasped between rounded knees. When she spoke her voice was low, words half intoned.
	"The sin of Zarpanit; the tale of her sin against Ishtar; Ishtar the Mighty Goddess; Mother of the Gods and ofmen; Lady of the Heavens and of Earth-who loved her!" "High Priestess of Ishtar at her Great House in Urukwas Zarpanit. Kadishtu, Holy One, was she. And I,Sharane, who come from Babylon, was closest to her; her priestess; loved by her even as she was loved by Ishtar.Through Zarpanit the Goddess counseled and warned, re-warded and punished. Kings and men. Into the body ofZarpanit the Goddess came as to a shrine, seeing throughher eyes, speaking with her lips.            "Now the temple in which we dwelt was named theHouse of the Seven Zones. In it was the sanctuary of Sin,God of Gods, who lives in the Moon; of Shamash hisson; whose home is the Sun, of Nabu, the Lord of Wis-dom; of Ninib, the Lord of War; of Nergal, the Dark Hornless one, Ruler of the Dead; and of Bel-Merodach,the Mighty Lord. Yet most of all was it the House ofIshtar, who dwelt there of his own right-temple them-selves within her holy home.
	"From Cuthaw in the north, from the temple there whichDark Nergal ruled as Ishtar ruled at Uruk, came a priestto sit over the Zone of Nergal in the House of the SevenZones. His name was Alusar-and close as was Zarpanitto Ishtar as close was he to the Lord of the Dead. Nergalmade himself manifest through Alusar, spoke through himand dwelt at times within him even as did Ishtar withinher Priestess Zarpanit. With Alusar came retinue of priests,and among them that spawn of Nergal's slime-Klaneth.And Klaneth was close to Alusar as I to Zarpanit." She raised her head and looked at Kenton through, nar-rowed lids.
	"I know you now," she cried. "A while ago you layupon the ship and watched my strife with Klaneth! NowI know you-although then you had no cloak nor sword; and vanished as I looked upon you!" Kenton smiled at her.
	"You lay with frightened face," she said. "And staredat me with fearful eyes-and fled!" She half arose; he saw suspicion sweep her anew; thescorn in her voice lashed him into quick, hot rage. Hedrew her down beside him.
	"I was that man," he said. "Nor was it fault of minethat then I went away-I who have returned as quicklyas I could? And your own eyes lied to you. Nor everthink again that mine hold fear of you! Look into them!"he bade her, fiercely.
	She looked-long; sighed and bent away, sighed againand swayed toward him, languorously. His arms grippedher.
	"Enough," she thrust him away. "I read no hasty scriptin new eyes. Yet I retract-you were not fearful. You didnot flee! And when you speak I shall no doubt under-stand. Let be!" "Between Ishtar and Nergal," she took up the inter-rupted tale, "is and ever must be unending hatred andstrife. For Ishtar is Bestower of Life and Nergal is Takerof Life; she is the Lover of Good and he is the Loverof Evil. And how shall ever Heaven and Hell be linked; or life and death; or good and evil? "Yet she, Zarpanit, Kadishtu, the Holy One of Ishtar,her best beloved, did link all these. For where she shouldhave turned away-she looked with desire; and whereshe should have hated-she loved! "Yea-the Priestess of the Lady of Life loved Alusarthe Priest of the Lord of Death! Her love was a strongflame by whose light she could see only him-and himonly. Had Zarpanit been Ishtar she would have gone tothe Dwelling Place of the Lost for Alusar, even as didthe Goddess for her lover Tammuz-to draw him forth orto dwell there with him.
	"Yea-even to dwell with him there in the cold dark-ness where the dead creep feebly, calling with the weakvoices of birds. In the cold of Nergal's domain, in thefamine of Nergal's abode, in the blackness of his citywhere the deepest shade of earth would be a ray of sun-light, Zarpanit would have been happy-knowing that shewas with Alusar.
	"So greatly did she love!                       "I helped her in her love-for love of her," she whis-pered. "But Klaneth crept ever behind Alusar waiting forchance to betray him and to take his place. Yet Alusartrusted him. There came a night--" She paused, her face drawn with memoried terror.
	"There came ... a night when Alusar lay with Zar-panit . . . within her chamber. His arms were about her. . . hers around his neck . . . their lips together. . . .
	"And that night down came Ishtar from her Heavensand entered and possessed her! ...
	"While at the same instant from his dark city cameNergal . . . and passed into Alusar. . . .
	"And in each others arms, looking into each other'seyes, caught in the fire of mortal love . . . were . . .Ishtar and Nergal . . . Heaven and Hell . . . the Soul ofLife mated to the Soul of Death!" She quivered and wept and long minutes went slowlyby before again she spoke.
	"Straightway those two who clasped were torn fromeach other. We were buffeted as by hurricanes, blindedby lightnings; scourged and thrown broken to the walls.And when we knew consciousness the priests and priestessesof all the Seven Zones had us. All the sin was known! "Yea, even though Ishtar and Nergal had not . . . met. . . that night still would be sinning of Zarpanit and Alusar have been known. For Klaneth, whom we hadthought on guard, had betrayed them and brought downupon them the pack! "Let Klaneth be cursed!" Sharane raised arms high, andthe pulse of her hate beat upon Kenton like a hammer offlame. "Let Klaneth crawl blind and undying in the coldblackness of Nergal's abode! But Goddess Ishtar! Wrath-ful Ishtar! Give him to me first that I may send himthere as I would have him go!"


5. How The Gods Judged

	"FOR A TIME," she said, "we lay in darkness, Zarpanitand I together-and Alusar we knew not where. Greathad been the sin of those two, and in it I had shared.Not quickly was our punishment to be decided. I com-forted her as best I might, loving her, caring naught formyself-for her heart was close to breaking, knowing notwhat they did with him she loved.
	"There fell another night when the priests came to us.They drew us from our cell and bore us in silence to theportal of the Du-azzaga, the Brilliant Chamber, the Coun-cil Room of the Gods. There stood other priests withAlusar. They opened the portal, fearfully, and thrust usthree within.
	"Now in truth my spirit shrank and was afraid, andbeside mine I felt the shuddering soul of Zarpanit.
	"For the Du-azzaga was filled with light, and in theplaces of the Gods sat not their images but the Godsthemselves! Hidden each behind a sparkling cloud theGods looked at us. In the place of Nergal was a fierydarkness.
	"Out of the shining azure mist before the Shrine ofNabu came the voice of the Lord of Wisdom.
	" 'So great is your sin, woman,' it said, 'and yours,priest, that it has troubled even us the Gods! Now whathave you to say before we punish?" "The voice of Nabu was cold and passionless as thelight of far flung stars-yet in it was understanding.
	"And suddenly my love for Zarpanit swelled, and Iheld fast to it and it gave me strength; while beside meI felt her soul stand erect, defiant, her love flinging itselfbefore her as a shield. She did not answer-only held outher arms to Alusar. His love stood forth unafraid evenas hers. He clasped her.
	"Their lips met-and the judging Gods were forgotten! "Then Nabu spoke again: " "These two bear a flame that none but Ishtar canquench-and it may be not even she!' "At this Zarpanit drew from her lover's arms; came closeto the glory in which hid Ishtar; did homage and ad-dressed her: " 'Yea, O Mother, are you not the mother of that firewe call love? Did you not create it and set it as a torchabove Chaos? And having made it, did you not know howmighty was the thing you made? It was that love of whichyou are the mother, O Holy Ishtar, that came uncalledinto this temple of my body which was yours, and still isyours though you have abandoned it. Is it my fault thatso strong was love that it broke the doors of your temple,or my fault that its light blinded me to all save him onwhom it shone? You are the creator of love, O Ishtar; andif you did not mean it to conquer then why made youit so mighty? Or if Love be grown stronger than youwho made it can we-a man and woman-be blamedthat we could not overcome it? And if love be notstronger than you, still did you make it stronger thanman. Therefore punish love, your child, O Ishtar-not us!' "It was the Lord Nabu who broke the silence of theGods: " 'Truth is in what she says. The flame they bear is onewhose ways you know, O Ishtar, far better than do we.Therefore it is for you to answer her.' "From the glory veiling the Goddess a voice came,sweet but small with bitter anger: " "There is truth in what you say Zarpanit, whom onceI called daughter. Now because of that truth I will tempermy anger. You have asked me whether love is strongerthan I who created it. We shall learn! You and yourlover shall dwell in a certain place that shall be openedto you. Ever together shall you be. You may look upon each other, your eyes may meet-but never lips nor hands!You may speak to each other-but never of this flamecalled love! For when it leaps and draws you togetherthen I, Ishtar, will enter you, Zarpanit, and give it battle!Nor shall it be the Ishtar you have known. Nay, thatSister-Self of mine whom men name the Wrathful, the De-stroyer-she shall possess you. And so it shall be until theflame within you conquers her, or that flame perishes!' "The voice of Ishtar was still. The gods sat, silent.Then out of the fiery blackness of Nergal's shrine bel-lowed the voice of the Lord of Death! " 'So say you, Ishtar! Then I, Nergal, tell you this-Istand with this man who is my priest! Nor am I muchdispleased with him, since it was by him that I lookedso closely into your eyes, O Mother of Life!'-theBlackness shook with laughter-'I shall be with him, andI will meet you, Ishtar the Destroyer! Yea, with craftto match yours and strength to grapple with you-untilI, not you, have blown out that flame. For in my abodeis no such fire-and I would quench it in them that mydarkness be not affrighted when at last these two cometo me!' "And again the laughter shook the ebon cloud, whilethe glory that covered the Goddess quivered with herwrath.
	"But the three of us listened with despair-for ill as ithad gone with us, far worse was it to hear this jestingof the Dark Hornless One with the Mother of the Heavens.
	"Came Ishtar's voice, smaller still: " 'Be it so, O Nergal!' "There was silence for a little time among the othergods; and I thought that behind their veils they lookedat each other askance. Came at last the passionless voiceof Nabu: " 'What of this other woman--? "The voice of Ishtar, impatient: " 'Let her fate be bound with Zarpanit's. Let Zarpanithave her retinue in that place to which she goes.' "Then Nabu again: " "The priest Klaneth-is he to go free?' " 'What! Shall not my Alusar have his retinue as well?'mocked Nergal. 'Nay, set Klaneth and others beside himto minister to him.' "Again I thought that the Gods looked at each otheraskance; then Nabu asked: " 'Shall it be so, O Ishtar?' "And Ishtar answered: " 'Let it be so!' "The Du-azwsa faded; I was one with the nothingness.
	"When we awoke we were on this haunted ship, on thisstrange sea, in this strange world and all the gods haddecreed in the Du-azzaga had come to pass. With Zarpanitwas I and half a score of the temple girls she had loved.And with Alusar was Klaneth and a pack of his blackacolytes. They had given us oarsmen, sturdy temple slaves-a twain for each oar. They had made the ship beautiful,and they had seen to it that we lacked nothing." A flame of anger pulsed for an instant through her eyes.
	"Yea," she said, "the kindly gods did all for our com-fort-and then they launched the ship on this strangesea in this strange world as battleground for Love andHate, arena for Wrathful Ishtar and Dark Nergal, torturechamber for their priestess and priest.
	"It was in this cabin that Zarpanit awakened-with thename of Alusar upon her lips. Then straightway she ranout the door, and from the black cabin came Alusar callingher name. I saw her reach that line where black deckmeets this-and, lo, she was hurled back as though bythrust of arms. For there is a barrier there, messenger-abarrier built by the gods over which none of us uponthe ship may pass-but then we knew nothing of that.And Alusar, too, was hurled back.
	"Then as they arose, calling, stretching hands, strivingto touch finger to finger, straightway into Zarpanit pouredthat Sister-Self of Ishtar, the Angry One, the Destroyer,while around Alusar black shadows deepened and hid him.At last-the shadows parted-and what had been the faceof Alusar peered from them and it was the face of Nergal,Lord of the Dead! "So it was-even as the gods had decreed. And that im-mortal twain within the bodies of those mortal two wholoved each other so-battled and flung their hates likebrands against each other, while the slaves chained totheir oars in the pit cowered and raved or fell senselessunder the terrors loosed above them. And the temple girlscast themselves upon the deck or ran screaming into thecabin that they might not see. Only I did not cry out or flee-who, since I had faced the gods in the Du-azzaga,could never again feel fear.
	"And so it fared; how long, how long I do not know,in this place where time seems not to be, since there isneither night nor day as we knew them in Babylon.
	"Yet ever Zarpanit and Alusar strove to meet, and everWrathful Ishtar and Dark Nergal thrust them apart. Manyare the wiles of the Lord of the Shades and countless arehis weapons. Many are the arts of Ishtar, and is not herquiver always full? Messenger, how long the. pair enduredI know not. Yet always they strove to break that barrierthrough, driven by their love. And always-- "The flames within them burned on," she whispered."Nergal nor Ishtar could dim them. Their love did butgrow stronger. There came a day-- "It was in mid-battle. Ishtar had taken possession ofZarpanit and stood where this deck touches the pit of theoarsmen. Nergal had poured himself into Alusar andhurled his evil spawn across the pit against the goddess'slightnings.
	"And as I crouched, watching, at this cabin's door, Isaw the radiance that covered Ishtar tremble and dull.I saw the face of Ishtar waver and fade-the face ofZarpanit look out from where the face of Ishtar had been.
	"The darkness that shrouded the Lord of the Dead light-ened as though a strong flame had shot up within it! "Then Ishtar took one step-and another and another-toward the barrier between black deck and this. But itcame to me that not by her will did she so move. No!She went haltingly, reluctantly, as though something strong-er than herself pushed her on. And as she moved, somoved Nergal within his shadows to meet her! "Closer they came and closer. And ever the radiance ofIshtar would wax and wane. Ever the shadows clothingNergal would lighten, darken, lighten again. Yet ever-slowly, unwillingly, but inexorably they drew closer andcloser to each other. I could see the face of Alusar, thepriest, thrusting itself into sight, stripping itself of Ner-gal's mask.
	"Slowly, slowly the white feet of Zarpanit carried Ishtarto the barrier; and slowly, slowly, ever matching her tread,came Alusar to meet her. And they met! "They touched hands, touched lips, clasped-ere con-quered god and goddess could withdraw from them.
	"They kissed and clasped. They fell upon the deck-dead. Dead-in each other's arms.
	"Nor Ishtar nor Nergal had conquered! Nay! Love ofman and love of woman-these had conquered. Victorsover god and goddess-the flames were free! "The priest had fallen on the hither side of the barrier.We did not unclasp their arms. We set them adrift, alock,face to face-their bodies.
	"Then I ran forth to slay Klaneth. But I had forgottenthat neither Ishtar nor Nergal had conquered one the other.Lo, into me poured the goddess, and into Klaneth returnedNergal! As of old these two powers battled. And againas of old the unseen barrier was strong, holding backfrom each other those on ivory deck and black.
	"Yet I was happy-for by this I knew that Zarpanitand Alusar had been forgotten by them. It came to methat the strife had gone beyond those two who had es-caped. That now it mattered not either to Wrathful Ishtaror to Nergal that priestess and priest had gone-since inmy body and in Klaneth's they could still strive againsteach other for possession of the ship. . . .
	"And so we sail-and fight, and sail-and fight. . . .How long, I do not know. Many, many years must havepassed since we faced the gods in Uruk-but see, I amstill as young as then and as fair! Or so my mirror tellsme," she sighed.


6. "Am I Not-Woman!"

	KENTON sat silent, unanswering Young and fair shewas indeed-and Uruk and Babylon mounds of time-worn sands these thousands of years! "Tell me, Lord"-her voice roused him; "tell me, hasthe Temple at Uruk great honor among the nations still?And is Babylon proud in her supremacy?" He did not speak, belief that he had been thrust intosome alien, reality wrestling with outraged revolt of reason.
	And Sharane, raising her eyes to his troubled face,stared at him with ever growing doubt. She leaped frombeside him, stood quivering like a blade of wrath in asweetly flowered sheath.
	"Have you word for me?" she cried. "Speak-and quick-ly!" Dream woman or woman meshed in ancient sorceries,there was but one answer for Sharane-the truth.
	And tell her truth Kenton did, beginning from the ar-rival of the block from Babylon into his house; glossingno detail that might make all plain to her. She listened,her gaze steadfast upon him, drinking in his words-amazement alternating with stark disbelief; and these inturn replaced by horror, by despair.
	"For even the site of ancient Uruk is well-nigh lost,"he ended. "The House of the Seven Zones is a wind-swept heap of desert sand. And Babylon, mighty Babylon,has been level with the wastes for thousands of years!" She leaped to her feet-leaped and rushed upon him,eyes blazing, red-gold hair streaming.
	"Liar!" she shrieked. "Liar! Now I know you-youphantom of Nergal!" A dagger flashed in her hand; he caught the wrist justin time; struggled with her; bore her down upon the couch.
	She relaxed, hung half fainting in his arms.
	"Uruk dust!" she whimpered. "The House of Ishtardust! Babylon a desert! And Sargon of Akkad dead sixthousand years ago, you said-six thousand years ago!"She; shuddered, sprang from his embrace. "But if thatis so, then what am I?" she whispered, white lipped."What-am I? Six thousand years and more gone sinceI was born-and I alive! Then what am I?" Panic overpowered her; her eyes dulled; she clutchedat the cushions. He bent over her; she threw white armsaround him.
	"I am alive?" she cried. "I am-human? I am-woman?" Her soft lips clung to his, supplicating; the perfumedtent of her hair covered him. She held him, her lithebody pressed tight, imperatively desperate. Against hisracing heart he felt the frightened pulse of hers. Andever between her kisses she whispered: "Am I not awoman-and alive? Tell me-am I not alive?" Desire filled him; he gave her kiss for kiss; temperingthe flame of his desire was clear recognition that neither swift love for him nor passion had swept her into his arms.
	It was terror that lay behind her caresses. She wasafraid-appalled by that six-thousand year wide abyssbetween the life she had known and his. Clinging to himshe fought for assurance. She had been driven back towoman's last intrenchment-the primal assertion of thewoman-self-the certainty of her womanhood and its un-conquerable lure.
	No, it was not to convince him that her kisses burnedhis lips-it was to convince herself.
	He did not care. She was in his arms. He gave herkiss for kiss.
	She thrust him from her; sprang to her feet.
	"I am a woman, then?" she cried triumphantly. "Awoman-and alive?" "A woman!" he answered thickly, his whole bodyquivering toward her. "Alive! God-yes!"       She closed her eyes; a great sigh shook her.
	"And that is truth," she cried, "and it is the one truthyou have spoken. Nay-be silent!" she checked him. "If Iam a woman and alive, it follows that all else you havetold me are lies-since I could be neither were Babylondust and it six thousand years since first I saw the ship.You lying dog!" she shrilled, and with one ringed handstruck Kenton across the lips.
	The rings cut deep. As he fell back, dazed both by blowand sudden shift of fortune, she threw open the innerdoor.
	"Luarda! Athnal! All!" wrathfully she summoned."Quick! Bind me this dog! Bind him-but slay him not!" Streamed from the cabin seven warrior maids, shortkirtled, bare to their waists, in their hands light javelins.They flung themselves upon him. And as they woundabout him Sharane darted in and tore the sword of Nabufrom his hand.                And now young, fragrant bodies crushed him in rings ofwoman flesh, soft, yet inexorable as steel. The blue cloakwas thrown over his head, twisted around his neck. Ken-ton awoke from his stupor-awoke roaring with rage. Hetore himself loose, hurled the cloak from him, leapedtoward Sharane. Quicker than he, the lithe bodies of themaids screened her from his rush. They thrust him withtheir javelins, pricking him as do the matadors to turn a charging bull. Back and back they drove him, ripping hisclothing, bringing blood now here, now there.
	Through his torment he heard her laughter.
	"Liar!" she mocked. "Liar, coward and fool! Tool ofNergal, sent to me with a lying tale to sap my courage!Back to Nergal you go with another tale!" The warrior maids dropped their javelins, surged for-ward as one. They clung to him; twined legs and armsaround him, dragged him down. Cursing, flailing with hisfists, kicking-caring no longer that they were women-Kenton fought them. Berserk, he staggered to his feet.His foot struck the lintel of the rosy cabin's door. Downhe plunged, dragging his wildcat burden with him. Fallingthey drove against the door. Open it flew, and out throughit they rolled, battling down the ivoried deck.
	There was a shouting close behind him, a shrill cry ofwarning from Sharane-some urgent command, for gripof arms and legs relaxed; clutching hands were withdrawn.
	Sobbing with rage, Kenton swung to his feet. He sawthat he was almost astride the line between ivoried deckand black. It came to him that this was why Sharane hadwhistled her furies from him; that he had dragged themtoo close to its mysterious menace.
	Again her laughter lashed him. She stood upon thegallery of little blossoming trees, her doves winging abouther. The sword of Nabu was in her hand; derisively shelifted it.
	"Ho, lying messenger!" mocked Sharane. "Ho, dogbeaten by women! Come, get your sword!" "I'll come, damn you!" he shouted, and leaped forward.
	The ship pitched. Thrown off his balance, Kenton stag-gered back, reeled to the line where black and ivory decksmet.
	Reeled over it-unhurt! Something deeper than his consciousness registered thatfact; registered it as of paramount importance. What-ever the power of the barrier, to it Kenton was immune.He poised himself to leap back to the ivory deck.
	"Stop him!" came the voice of Klaneth.
	In mid-spring long, sinewy fingers gripped his shoulder,swung him round. He looked into the face of the beaterof the serpent drum. The drummer's talons lifted him andcast Kenton like a puppy behind him.
	And panting like some outraged puppy, Kenton swayed up on his feet. A ring of black-robed men was closing inupon him, black-robed men whose faces were dead white,impassive; black-robed men closing in upon him. withclutching hands. Beyond the ring stood the mailed war-rior with the red beard and the pale agate eyes; and be-side him the Black Priest.
	Naught cared Kenton for any or all of them. He rushed.The black robes curled over him, overwhelming him,pinned him down.
	Again the ship lurched, this time more violently. Ken-ton, swept off his feet, slid sidewise. A wave swished overhim. The hands that clutched him were washed away. An-other wave lifted him, flung him up and out. Deep hesank; fought his way upward; dashed the water from hiseyes and looked for the ship.
	A roaring wind had risen. Under it the ship was scud-ding-a hundred yards away. He shouted; swam towardher. Down went the sail, down dipped the oars, strainingto keep her before the wind. Faster, faster flew the shipbefore the blast.
	She was lost in the silvery mists.
	Kenton ceased his efforts; floated, abandoned in an un-known world.
	A wave smote him; he came up behind it, choking. Thespindrift whipped him. He heard the booming surf, thehiss of combers thrown back by ramparts of rock. An-other wave caught him. Struggling on its crest he saw justahead of him a pinnacle of yellow stone rising from a nestof immense boulders upon which the billows broke infountains of spume.
	He was lifted by a gigantic comber; dashed straightagainst the yellow pillar.
	The shock of his impact was no greater than thatof breaking through thick cobweb. For infinite distancesit seemed to him he rushed on and on through a soft thickdarkness. With him went the shrieking clamor of vasttempests. Abruptly his motion ended, the noise of thetempests ceased.
	He lay prone; his fingers clenched some coarse fabricthat crumpled stubbornly in his grip. He rolled over, handsthrust out; one of them gripped cool, polished wood. Hesat up-- He was back in his own room! Kenton dragged himself to his feet, stood swaying, dazed. What was that darkening the rug at his feet? It was water-water that was dripping from him, strangely coloredwater-crimsoned water.
	He realized that he was wet to the skin, drenched. Helicked his lips-there was salt upon them. His clothingwas ripped and torn, the salt water dripped from it.
	And from a score of wounds his blood mingled with thewater! He stumbled over to the jewelled ship. On the blackdeck was a little group of manikins, leaning and lookingover the rail.
	Upon the gallery of the rosy cabin one tiny figurestood-- Sharane! He touched her-jewel hard, jewel cold, a toy! And yet-Sharane! Like returning wave his berserk rage swept him. Echoesof her laughter in his ears, Kenton, cursing, sought forsomething to shatter the shining ship. Never again shouldSharane mock him! He caught a heavy chair by the legs, swung it highoverhead, poised for an instant to send it crashingdown-- And suddenly beneath the salt upon his lips Kentontasted the honey musk of her kisses-the kisses of Sharane! The chair fell from his hands.
	"Ishtar! Nabu!" he whispered, and dropped upon hisknees. "Set me again upon the ship! Ishtar! Do with meas you will-only set me again upon your ship!"


7. Slave Of The Ship

	SWIFT was his answer. He heard far away a bellowingroar as of countless combers battering against a rockribbed coast. Louder it grew.
	With a thunder of vast waters the outward wall ofhis room disappeared. Where wall had been was the crest of an enormous leaping wave. The wave curled downover Kenton, lifted him up, rolled him far under it; shot him at last, gasping for breath up and up through it.
	He was afloat again upon the turquoise sea! The ship was close. Close! Its scimitared bow was strik-ing down by his head; was flying past him. A golden chainhung from it, skittering over the crests. Kenton clutchedat it-missed it.
	Back he fell. Swift raced the shining side of the shippast him. Again he threw himself high. There was an-other chain; a black one spattering over the wave tipsand hanging from the stem.
	He gripped it. The sea tore at his thighs, his legs, hisfeet. Grimly he held fast. Hand over hand, cautiously,he drew himself up. Now he was just below the rail.Slowly he raised his head to peer over.
	Long arms swept down upon him; long hands grippedhis shoulders, lifted him, hurled him down upon the deck,pinned him there. A thong was drawn round his anckles,his arms were pinioned to his sides.
	He looked into the face of the frog-mouthed beater ofthe serpent drum. And over one of the drummer's enor-mous shoulders stared the white face of Klaneth. Heheard his voice: "Carry him in, Gigi." He felt himself lifted by the drummer as easily asthough he had been a babe; and cradled in the hugehands he was carried through the black cabin's door.
	The drummer set Kenton on his feet, regarding himwith curious, half-amused eyes. Agate eyes of the redbearded warrior and pale eyes of Klaneth dwelt upon himas curiously.
	Kenton took stock of the three. First the black priest-massive, elephant thewed; flesh pallid and dead asthough the blood flowed through veins too deeply imbed-ded to reveal the creep of its slow tide; the face of Neroremodelled from cold clay by numbed hands.
	Then Gigi-the drummer. His froglike face with thepointed ears; his stunted and bowed legs; his giant's bodyabove the hips; the gigantic shoulders whence swung thelong and sinewy and apish arms whose strength Kentonhad felt; the slit of a mouth in whose corners a malicioushumor dwelt. Something of old earth gods about him; atouch of Pan.
	Red beard-a Persian out of that time when Persia'shordes were to the world what later the Roman legionswere to be. Or so Kenton judged him by his tunic oflinked light mail, the silken sheathed legs, the highbuskins and the curved daggers and the scimitar in hisjewelled belt. And human as Kenton himself. About himwas none of the charnel flavor of Klaneth nor the gro-tesqueness of Gigi. The full red lips beneath the carefullytrimmed beard were sensual, life loving; the body wasburly and muscular; the face whiter than Kenton's own.But it was sullen and stamped deep with a half-resigned,half desperate boredom that even his lively and frankcuriosity about Kenton lightened little.
	In front of him was a wide slab of bloodstone. Sixpriests knelt upon it, worshipping something that stoodwithin a niche just above the slab. What it was he couldnot tell-except that it breathed out evil. A. little largerthan a man, the thing within the niche was black andformless as though made of curdling shadows. It quiv-ered, pulsated-as though the shadows that were its sub-stance thickened constantly about it, passed within it andwere replaced swiftly by others.
	Dark was that cabin, the walls somber as dull blackmarble. Other shadows clung to the dark walls andclustered in the corners; shadows that seemed only toawait command to deepen into substance.
	Unholy shadows-like those that clothed the thingwithin the niche.
	Beyond, as in the cabin of Sharane, was another cham-ber, and crowding at the door between were a dozen ormore of the black robed, white faced priests.
	"Go to your places," Klaneth turned to them, breakingthe silence. They slipped away. The black priest closedthe door upon them. He touched the nearest of the kneel-ing priests with his foot.
	"Our Lord Nergal has had enough of worship," hesaid. "See-he has swallowed your prayers!" Kenton looked at the thing within the niche. It was nolonger misty, shadowed. It stood out, clear cut. Its bodywas that of a man and its face was that same awesomevisage of evil into which he had seen the black priest's turnon that first adventure of his upon the ship.
	The face of Nergal-Lord of the Dead! What had been the curdled, quivering shades envelop-ing the statue? He felt the eyes of Klaneth searching him, covertly. Atrick! A trick to frighten him. He met the black priest'sgaze squarely; smiled.
	The Persian laughed.
	"Hai, Klaneth," he said. "There was a bolt that fellshort. Mayhap this stranger has seen such things before.Mayhap he is a sorcerer himself and can do better things.Change your play, Klaneth." He yawned and seated himself upon a low settle. Theblack priest's face grew grimmer.
	"Best be silent, Zubran," he said. "Else it may be thatNergal will change his play for you in a way to banishforever your disbelief." "Disbelief?" echoed the Persian. "Oh, Nergal is realenough. It is not disbelief that irks me. It is the eternalmonotony. Can you do nothing new, Klaneth? Can Nergaldo nothing new? Change his play for me, eh? By Ahriman-that is just what I wish he would do, if he can." He yawned again, ostentatiously. The black priestgrowled; turned to the six worshippers.
	"Go," he ordered, "and send Zachel to me." They filed through the outer door. The black priestdropped upon another settle, studying Kenton; the drum-mer squatted, also watching him; the Persian mutteredto himself, playing with his dagger hilts. The door openedand into the cabin stepped a priest who held in one handa long whip whose snaky lash, metal topped, was curledmany times around his forearm. He bowed beforeKlaneth.
	Kenton recognized him. When he had lain on the deckclose to the mast he had seen this man sitting on a highplatform at the foot of that mast. Overseer of the galleyslaves, the oarsmen, was Zachel, and that long lash wasmeasured to flick the furtherest of them if they lagged.
	"Is this he whom you saw upon the deck some sleepsago?" asked Klaneth. "He who lay there and, you say,vanished when the drab of Ishtar yonder bent over totouch him?" "He is the same, master," answered the overseer, com-ing close to Kenton and scanning him.
	"Where went he then?" asked Klaneth, more to him-self than to the other. "To Sharane's cabin? But if so- why did she drive him out, her cats clawing him? Andwhence came that sword she waved and bade him come retake? I know that sword--"
	"He did not go into her cabin at that time, master,interrupted Zachel. "I saw her seek for him. She wentback to her place alone. He had vanished." "And his driving forth," mused Klaneth, "that wastwo sleeps ago. And the ship has sailed far since then. Wesaw him struggling in the waves far behind us. Yet herehe is upon the ship again-and with his wounds stillfresh, still bleeding as though it had been but a momentgone. And how passed he the barrier? Yea-how passedhe the barrier?" "Ah, at last you have stumbled on a real question,"cried the Persian. "Let him but tell me that-and, by theNine Hells, not long will you have me for companion,Klaneth." Kenton saw the drummer make a covert warning ges-ture to Zuhran; saw the black priest's eyes narrow.
	"Ho! Ho!" laughed Gigi. "Zubran jests. Would he notfind life there as tiresome as he pretends to find it withus? Is it not so, Zubran?" Again he made the fleet, warning sigh. And the Persianheeded it.
	"Yes, I suppose that is so," he answered grudgingly."At any rate-am I not sworn to Nergal? Nevertheless,"he muttered, "the gods gave women one art that has notgrown tiresome since first they made the world." "They lose that art in Nergal's abode," said the blackpriest, grimly. "Best remember that and curb that tongueof yours lest you find yourself in a worse place than here-where at least you have your body." "May I speak, master?" asked Zachel; and Kenton feltthreat in the glance the overseer shot at him.
	The black priest nodded.
	"I think he passed the barrier because he knows naughtof our Lord," said Zachel. "Indeed-may be an enemyof our Lord. If not-why was he able to shake off thehands of your priests, vanish in the sea-and return?" "Enemy of Nergal!" Klaneth muttered.
	"But it does not follow that he is friend of Ishtar," putin the drummer, smoothly. "True if he were sworn to theDark One he could not pass the barrier. But true is it also that were he sworn to Ishtar equally would that havebeen impossible." "True!" Klaneth's face cleared. "And I know that sword -Nabu's own blade." He was silent for a moment; thoughtful. When he spokethere was courtesy in the thick voice.
	"Stranger," he said, "if we have used you roughly, for-give us. Visitors are rare upon this craft. You-let me say -startled us out of our manners. Zachel, loose his bonds." The overseer bent and sullenly set Kenton free of histhongs.
	"If, as I think, you come from Nabu," went on theblack priest, "I tell you that I have no quarrel with theWise One or his people. Nor is my Master, the Lord ofDeath, ever at odds with the Lord of Wisdom. How couldhe be when one carries the keys of knowledge of this life,and the other the key that unlocks the door of the ulti-mate knowledge? Nay, there is no quarrel there. Are youa favored one of Nabu? Did he set you on the ship? And -why?" Silent was Kenton, searching desperately for some wayto answer the black priest. Temporize with him as he hadwith Sharane, he knew he could not. Nor, he knew, wasit of any use to tell him the truth as he had told her-and been driven out like a hunted rat for it. Here wasdanger; peril, greater than he had faced in the rosy cabin.Klaneth's voice cut in: "But favored of Nabu as you may be, it seems thatcould not save you from losing his sword, nor from thejavelins of Ishtar's women. And if that is so-can it saveyou from my whip, my chains?" And as Kenton stood, still silent, wolf light flared inthe dead pupils and the black priest leaped to his feetcrying: "Answer me!" "Answer Klaneth!" roared Gigi. "Has fear of him killedyour tongue?" Under the apparent anger of the drummer's voice Ken-ton sensed a warning; friendliness.
	"If that favor could have saved me, at least it did not,"he said sullenly.
	The black priest dropped back upon the settle, chuck-ling.
	"Nor could it save you if I decreed your death," he said.
	"Death-if he decrees it," croaked Gigi."Whoever you are," went on the black priest, "whenceyou come, or how-one thing seems true. You have powerto break a chain that irks me. Nay, Zachel, stay," hespoke to the overseer who had made a move to go. "Yourcounsel is also good. Stay!" "There is a slave dead at the oars," said the overseer."I would loose his chains and cast him over." "Dead," there was new interest in Klaneth's voice."Which was he? How did he die?" "Who knows?" Zachel shrugged his shoulders. "Ofweariness, maybe. He was one of those who first set sailwith us. He who sat beside the yellow haired slave fromthe North whom we bought at Emakhtila." "Well-he had served long," said the black priest."Nergal has him. Let his body bear his chains a littlelonger. Stay with me." He spoke again to Kenton, deliberately, finally: "I offer you freedom. I will give you honors and wealthin Emakhtila, where we shall sail as soon as you havedone my bidding. There you shall have priesthood and atemple if you want them. Gold and women and rank-ifyou will do what I desire." "What must I do to win me all this?" asked Kenton.The black priest arose and bent his head so that hiseyes looked straight into Kenton's own."Slay Sharane!" he said.
	"Little meat in that, Klaneth," the Persian spoke,mockingly. "Did you not see her girls beat him? As wellsend to conquer a lioness a man who has already beenwhipped by her cubs." "Nay," said Klaneth, "I did not mean for him to passover the open deck where surely her watchers would seehim. He can clamber round the ship's hull-from chain,ledge to ledge. There is a window behind the cabin whereinshe sleeps. He can creep up and through it." "Best swear him to Nergal before he takes that road,master," Zachel interrupted. "Else we may never have himback again." "Fool!" Gigi spoke. "If he makes his vows to Nergalperhaps he cannot go at all. How do we know that thenthe barrier will not be closed to him as it is to us whoare sworn to the Dark One, even as it is to those who aresworn to Ishtar?" "True," nodded the black priest. "We dare not risk thatWell spoken, Gigi." "Why should Sharane be slain?" asked Kenton. "Let metake her for slave that I may repay her for her mockeryand her blows. Give her to me-and you may keep allthe riches and honors you have offered." "No!" The black priest leaned closer, searching moreintently his eyes. "She must be slain. While she lives theGoddess has a vial into which to pour herself. Sharanedead-Ishtar has none on this ship through whom shemay make herself manifest. This, I, Klaneth, know.Sharane dead, Nergal rules-through me! Nergal wins-through me!" In Kenton's mind a plan had formed. He would promiseto do this-to slay Sharane. He would creep into hercabin, tell her of the black priest's plot. Some way, some-how, make her believe him.
	Too late he saw by the black priest's face that Klanethhad caught his thought! Too late remembered that thesharp eyes of the overseer had been watching him, losingno fleeting change of expression; interpreting.
	"Look, master!" Zachel snarled. "Look! Can you notread his thought, even as I? He cannot be trusted. Youhave held me here for counsel and have called my coun-sel good-then let me speak wtat is in my mind. I thoughtthat this man had vanished from beside the mast, even asI told you. But did he? The gods come and go upon theship as they will. But no man does. We thought we sawhim struggling in the waves far behind the ship. But didwe? By sorcery he may have lain all this while, hid inSharane's cabin. Out of her cabin we saw him come--" "But driven forth by her women, Zachel," broke in thedrummer. "Cast out. Beaten. Remember that. There wasno friendship there, Klaneth. They were at his throatlike hounds tearing down a deer." "A play!" cried Zachel. "A play to trick you, master.They could have killed him. Why did they not? Hiswounds are but pin pricks. They drove him, yes, butwhere? Over to us! Sharane knew he could cross the bar-rier. Would she have made gift to us of new strength un-less-she had a purpose? And what could that purposehave been, master? Only one. To place him here to slayyou-even as you now plan to send him to slay her! "He is a strong man-and lets himself be beaten by girls! He had a sword, a sharp blade and a holy one-and he lets a woman take it. Ho! Ho!" laughed Zachel."Do you believe all this, master? Well-I do not!" "By Nergal!" Klaneth swore, livid. "Now by Ner-gal--!" He gripped Kenton by the shoulders, hurled him through the cabin door and out upon the deck. Swiftly he followed him.
	"Sharane!" he howled. "Sharane!" Kenton raised his head, dizzily; saw her standing be-side the cabin door, arms around the slim waists of twoof her damsels.
	"Nergal and Ishtar are busy elsewhere," mocked theblack priest. "Life on the ship grows dull. There is a slaveunder my feet. A lying slave. Do you know him,Sharane?" He bent and lifted Kenton high, as a man a child. Herface, cold, contemptuous, did not change.
	"He is nothing to me-Worm," she answered.
	"Nothing to you, eh?" roared Klaneth. "Yet it was byyour will that he came to me. Well-he has a lyingtongue, Sharane. By the old law of the slaves shall he bepunished for it. I will pit four of my men against him. Ifhe master them I shall keep him for awhile-to amuse usfurther. But if they master him-then shall his lyingtongue be torn from him. And I will give it to you as atoken of my love-O, Sacred Vessel of Ishtar!" "Ho! Ho!" laughed the black priest as Sharane shrank,paling. "A test for your sorceries, Sharane. To make thattongue speak! Make it-" the thick voice purred-"makeit whisper of love to you. Tell you how beautiful you are,Sharane. How wonderful-ah, sweet Sharane! Reproachyou a little, too, perhaps for sending it to me to be tornout!" "Hoi Ho!" laughed Klaneth; then as though he spat the words, "You temple slut!" He thrust a light whip in Kenton's hands."Now fight, slave!" he snarled, "fight for your lying tongue!" Four of the priests leaped forward, drawing from be-neath their robes thongs tipped with metal. They circled,and before Kenton could gather his strength they wereupon him. They darted about him like four lank wolves; slashing at him with their whips. Blows flailed upon his head, his naked shoulders. Awkwardly he tried to parryto return them. The metal tips bit deep. From shoulders,chest, back, a slow rain of blood began to drip.
	A thong caught him across the face, half blinding him.
	Far away, he heard the golden voice of Sharane, shrillwith scorn.
	"Slave-can you not even fight?" Cursing, he dropped his useless whip. Close before himwas the grinning face of the priest who had struck him.Ere his lash could be raised again the fist of Kenton hadsmashed squarely on the leering mouth. He felt beneathhis knuckles the bones of the nose crumble, the teethshatter. The priest crashed back; went rolling to the rail.
	Instantly the other three were upon him; tearing at histhroat, clawing him, striving to drag him down. He brokeloose. The three held back for an instant; then rushed.One there was a little in front of the others. Kenton.caught him by an arm, twisted that arm over his shoulder,set hip to prisoned flank, heaved and hurled the priestthrough air against the pair poised to strike. Out flungthe body; fell short. The head crashed against the deck.There was a sharp snap, like a breaking faggot. For amoment the body stood, shoulders touching deck, legswrithing as though in grotesque mid-somersault. Thencrumpled and lay still.
	"Well thrown!" he heard the Persian shout.
	Long fingers clutched his ankles; his feet flew frombeneath him. As he fell he caught glimpse of a face star-ing up at him, a face that was but one red smear; the faceof the first priest he had battered down. Falling, Kentonswept out his arms. Claws clutched his throat. Thereflashed into Kenton's mind a dreadful thing he had seendone in another unequal combat upon a battlefield inFrance. Up swept his right hand, the first two fingers ex-tended. They found place in the eye sockets of the throt-tler; pressed there cruelly; pressed there relentlessly. Heheard a howl of agony; tears of blood spurted over hishands; the choking fingers dropped from his throat. Whereeyes had been were now two raw red sockets with dread-ful pendants.
	Kenton leaped to his feet. He stamped upon the crimsonsmeared face looking up at him stamped once, twice.thrice-and the grip about his ankles was gone.
	He caught a glimpse of Sharane, white faced, wide-eyed; .realized that the laughter of the black priest was stilled.
	At him rushed the fourth acolyte, a broad-leafed knifegleaming in his grip. Kenton bent his head, rushed tomeet him. He caught the hand that held the blade; bentthe arm back; heard the bone snap. The fourth priestshrieked and fell.
	He saw Klaneth, mouth loose, staring at him.
	Straight for the black priest's throat he leaped, rightfist swinging upward to the jaw as he sprang. But theblack priest thrust out his arms, caught him in mid-leap; lifted him high, over his head; balanced him to dash himdown upon the deck.
	Kenton closed his eyes-this, then, was the end.
	He heard the voice of the Persian, urgent: "Hai, Klaneth! Hai! Kill him not! By Ishak of the Hol-low Hell-kill him not. Klaneth! Save him to fight again!" Then the drummer-- "Nay, Klaneth! Nay!" He felt the talons of Gigi catchhim; hold him tight in double grasp. "Nay, Klaneth! Hefought fairly and well. He would be a rare one to havewith us. Mayhap he will change his mind-with discipline.Remember, Klaneth-he can pass the barrier." The great bulk of the black priest trembled. Slowly hishands began to lower Kenton.
	"Discipline? Ha!" it was the snarling voice of the over-seer. "Give him to me, master, in the place of the slavewho died at the oar. I will teach him-discipline." The black priest dropped Kenton on the deck; stoodover him for a moment. Then he nodded, turned andstalked into his cabin. Kenton, reaction seizing him, hud-dled; hands clasping knees.
	"Unchain the dead slave and cast him over, Zachel," heheard Gigi say. "I will watch this man till you return." Kenton heard the overseer patter away. The drummerbent over him.
	"Well fought, wolf cub," he whispered. "Well fought!Now to your chains. Obey. Your chance shall come. Doas I say, wolf cub-and I will do what I may." He walked away. Kenton, wondering, raised his head.He saw the drummer stoop, lift the body of the priest withthe broken neck and with one sweep of his long arm sendit whirling over the ship's rail. Bending again he sent afterit the body of him upon whose face Kenton had stamped.
	He paused speculatively before the wailing,empty-socketedhorror stumbling and falling about the deck. Then. grin-ning cheerfully, he lifted it by the knees and tossed itoverboard.
	"Three less to worry about hereafter," muttered Gigi, A tremor shook Kenton; his teeth chattered; he sobbed.The drummer looked down on him with amused wonder.
	"You fought well, wolf cub," he said. "Then why do youquiver like a whipped hound whose half chewed bone hasbeen cast away?" He laid both hands on Kenton's bleeding shoulders.Under their touch he steadied. It was as though throughGigi's hands flowed some current of strength of which hissoul drank. As though he had tapped some ancient spring,some still pool of archaic indifference both to life anddeath, the current ran through him.
	"Good!" said Gigi, and stood up. "Now Zachel comesfor you." The overseer was beside Kenton; he touched his shoul-der; pointed down a short flight of steps that led from theblack deck to the galley-pit. Zachel behind him, Kentongroped down those steps into the half darkness of the pit.He stumbled along a narrow passage-way; was brought tohalt at a great oar over whose shank a head, goldenhaired, long haired as any woman's, bent from muscle-gnarled shoulders. This golden haired oarsman slept.Around his waist was a thick bronze ring. From this ringa strong chain swung, its end fastened to a staple sunkdeep in the back of the bench on which he sat. His wristswere manacled. The oar on which his head rested wasmanacled, too. Between manacled wrists and manacledoar two other strong chains stretched.
	There was an empty chained circlet at the sleeper's leftside; on the oar at his left two empty manacles hung from.chains.
	Zachel pushed Kenton down on the bench beside thesleeping oarsman; girdled his waist with the empty bronzecirclet; snapped it close; locked it.
	He thrust Kenton's unresisting hands through the man-acles dangling from the oar; closed them on him; lockedthem.
	And suddenly Kenton felt warmth of eyes upon him: looked behind him; saw leaning over the rail the face of Sharane. There was pity in her face; and dawning ofsomething that set his heart to beating wildly.
	"I'll discipline you-never fear!" said Zachel.
	Kenton looked behind him again.
	Sharane was gone.
	He bent over his oar beside the sleeping giant.
	Bent over his oar--- Chained to it.
	Slave of the ship!


8. The Tale Of Sigurd

	KENTON awakened to the shrilling of a whistle. Some-thing flicked his shoulder like the touch of a hot iron. Hejerked his head up from the bed of his arms; looked stu-pidly at the chained wrists. Again the flick upon the shoul-der, biting into the flesh.
	"Up, slave!" he heard a snarling voice say-a voice heknew and struggled with deep drugged mind to place. "Up!Stand to your oar!" Then another voice, close beside him, whispering,hoarse, but with warmth of comradeship in it: "On your feet before his whip covers your back withthe blood runes." He struggled upright; hands falling mechanically intotwo smooth, worn hollows in the wooden shaft to whichhe was chained. Standing thus upon the bench, his eyeslooked out upon a tranquil, turquoise ocean, waveless,within a huge inverted bowl of silver mists. In front ofhim were four men, two standing, two sitting, at shanksof great oars which, like that he clutched, thrust throughthe side of a ship. Beyond them sloped a black deck-- Memory rushed upon him, banishing the last of sleep.The first voice had been that of Zachel, and the hot toucheson his skin the bite of his whip. He turned his head. Ascore of other men, black and brown, sat and stood atother great sweeps, bending and rising, sending the Ship of Ishtar cutting through the still blue sea. And there on aplatform at the mast step was Zachel, grinning derisively,Out at Kenton nicked the long lash once more.
	"Look not back! Row!" snarled Zachel.
	"I will row," whispered the second voice. "Stand andsway with the oar till strength comes to you." He looked down on a head fair haired, long haired asany woman's. But there was nothing womanish in theface that was lifted for an instant to his. Ice cold and iceblue were the eyes in it, though thawed now by a roughkindliness. The skin was storm beaten, tempest tanned.Nor was there aught womanish in the muscles that swelledon shoulders, back, and arms as he swung the great sweep,handling it as easily as a woman a broom.
	Norseman from tip to toe; a Viking straight out of someancient Saga-and, like Kenton, a slave to the ship; thegiant who had been asleep over the oar when Kenton'sown chains had been locked upon him.
	"Sigurd, Trygg's son, I," muttered the Norseman. "WhatNorn of ill-luck set you on this ship of warlocks? Speaklow-bend to your oar. The devil with the lash has sharpears." To the motion of the oar Kenton bent and rose, standingthere on the bench. The benumbment that had held hismind was passing: passed ever more swiftly as his tight-ened grip on the oar began to send the blood more swiftlythrough his veins. The man beside him grunted approval, "No weakling, you," he whispered. "The oar wearies-yet up it flows strength from the sea. But sip that strengthslowly. Grow strong-slowly. Then it may be that you andI together---" He paused; shot a wary side glance at Kenton.
	"By your looks, you are a man of Eirnn, of the SouthernIsles," he whispered. "No grudge bear I against them. Theymet us always sword to sword and breast to breast. Manythe blows we have struck between us, and the hoveringValkyries went never empty-handed back to Valhalla wherewe met the men of Eirnn. Brave men, strong men, menwho died shouting, kissing sword blade and spear pointas gayly as a bride. Are you one of these?" Kenton thought swiftly. He must shape his answer cun-ningly to bind this comradeship so plainly offered himneither bewilder by whole truth nor be so vague as torouse suspicion.
	"Kenton, my name," he answered softly. "My fatherswere of the Eirnn. They knew well the Vikings and theirships-nor have they handed down to me any grudgeagainst them. I would be friend of yours, Sigurd, Trygg'sson, since for how long neither of us knows I mustlabor here beside you. And since you and I-together-"  He paused meaningly, as had the Viking. The Norse-man nodded, then again shot that keen side glance at him.
	"How fell this bane upon you?" he muttered. "Sincethey drove me aboard this ship at Isle of Sorcerers wehave entered no harbor. You were not here when theychained me to the oar." "Sigurd-by Odin All-Father-I do not know!" TheNorseman's hand quivered at the name of his god. "Ahand that I could not see plucked me out of my own landand set me here. That son of Hela who rules the blackdeck offered me freedom-if I would do a thing of shame.I would not. I battled with his men. Three I slew. Andthen they chained me to this oar." "You slew three!" The Viking looked up at Kenton,eyes blazing, teeth bared. "You slew three! Skoal! Com-rade! Skoal!" he shouted.
	Something like a flying serpent hissed by Kenton; hissedand struck the Norseman's back. It withdrew, blood spurt-ing from where it had bitten. It struck and struck again.
	Zachel's voice snarled through the hissing of the lash: "Dog! Sow spittle! Have you gone mad? Shall I flay youthen!" Under the lash the body of Sigurd, Trygg's son, shud-dered. He looked up at Kenton, bloody froth on his lips.Suddenly, Kenton knew that it was not from the pain ofthe blows-that it was from the shame of them and fromrage; that the whiplash was drawing redder drops fromhis heart, threatening to break it.
	And Kenton, leaning over, thrust his own bare back between that lash and the bloody shoulders; took theblows itself.
	"Ha!" shouted Zachel. "You want them, do you? Jealous of my whip's kisses, are you? Well, then-take your fill ofthem!" Mercilessly the lash hissed and struck, hissed and struck.Kenton endured its bite stoically, never shifting the shieldof his body from the Norseman; meeting each sharp agony by thought of what he would do to repay when his timehad come-- When he had mastered the ship! "Stop!" Through pain-misted eyes he saw the drummerleaning over the pit. "Would you kill the slave, Zachel?By Nergal, if you do I'll ask Klaneth as gift to me tochain you to his oar for a while!" Then Zachel, sullenly: "Row, slave!" Silently, half fainting, Kenton bent over the oar. TheNorseman caught a hand, held it in iron grip.
	"Sigurd, Trygg's son, am I! Jarl's grandson! Master ofDragons!" His voice was low, yet in it was a clangingecho of smiting swords; and he spoke with eyes closed asthough he stood before some altar. "Blood brotherhoodis there now between us, Kenton of the Eirnn. Bloodbrothers-you and I. By the red runes upon your backwritten there when you thrust it between me and thewhip. I shall be your shield as you have been mine. Ourswords shall be as one sword. Your friend shall be myfriend, and your enemy my enemy. And my life for yourswhen need be! This by Odin All-Father and by all theAesir I swear-I, Sigurd, Trygg's son! And if ever I breakfaith with you, then may I lie under the poison of Hela'ssnakes until Yggdrasill, the Tree of Life, withers, and Rag-narak, the Night of the Gods, has come! The heart of Kenton swelled and grew warm.
	The grip of the Norseman tightened. He withdrew hishand and bent once more to the oar. Nothing more saidhe-but Kenton knew the vow was sealed.
	The whip of the overseer cracked, a shrill whistlesounded. The four rowers in front lifted high their oars.shunted them into a niche. The Viking raised his sweep,set it in a similar rest.
	"Sit," he said. "They wash us now and feed." A cascade of water fell over Kenton, and another. Thesalt of it stung his wounds, brought tears to his eyes, "Quiet!" warned Sigurd. "Soon the pain passes, and thesalt will heal." Then down over him swished the water. Two brownmen, naked to the waists, backs scarred, went by. In eachhand they held buckets, raised them, and poured thewater over two of the men at the stroke oars. They turnedand went back along the narrow way between the benches.
	Powerful were their bodies. Their faces were those of mencome to life out of some ancient Assyrian frieze, narrow,hook-nosed, full-lipped. No mind dwelt behind those faces.Their eyes were staring, empty.
	The pair came back with other buckets which theydashed over the floor of the rowers' pit, washing it clean.And when this was done two other slaves set upon thebench between Kenton and the Norseman a rough platterand a bowl. On the platter were a dozen long pods and aheap of round cakes resembling the cassava bread the trop-ical folk press out and bake in the sun. The bowl wasfilled with a dark, thick liquid, purplish red.
	He munched the pods; they were fleshy, with a curiousmeaty flavor. The round cakes tasted exactly like whatthey resembled-cassava bread. The liquid was strong,pungent, a trace of fermentation in it. There was strengthin that food and drink. The Norseman smiled at him.
	"No lash now, so we speak not too loudly," he said. "Itis the rule. So while we eat and drink ask what you will ofme without fear, blood brother." "Two things I would first know of many," said Kenton."How came you on the ship, Sigurd? And how comes thisfood here?" "From here and there comes the food," answered theViking. "It is a ship of warlocks and a cursed one. Notlong may it stop at any place, nor at any place is it wel-come. Nay, not even at Emakhtila, which is full of war-locks. Where it harbors they bring food and gear quicklyand with fear. Quickly do they give to speed it quicklyaway, lest the demons who possess it grow angry and de-stroy. They have strong magic-that pale son of Helan andthe woman on the white deck. Sometimes I think her adaughter of Loki, whom Odin chained for his wickedness.And sometimes I think her a daughter of Freya, theMother of Gods. But whatever she be, she is very fair andhas a great soul. I have no hatred toward her." He lifted the bowl to his lips.
	"And as for how I came here," he went on, "that is ashort tale enough. Southward I had sailed with the fleet of Kagnor Red Spear. Twelve great dragons had we when weset forth. Southward sailed we through many seas. raidingas we went. Then after long, with six of our ten dragonsleft us, we came to a city in the land of the Egyptians.
	It was a very great city and full of temples to all the godsin the world-except our gods.
	"It irked us that among all these temples Odin All-Father had none. It irked us, and we grew wroth. So onenight when we had drunk overdeep of the Egyptian winesix of us set forth to take a temple, cast out its god. andgive it to Odin for a home.
	"We came to a temple and entered. It was a dark templeand full of black robes like these on board the ship. Whenwe told them what we meant to do, they buzzed like beesand rushed us like a wolfpack. Many then we slew, shout-ing. And we would have won that temple for Odin, thesix of us fighting in a ring, but-a horn blew!" "Summoning too many for you?" asked Kenton.
	"Not at all, blood brother," said Sigurd. "It was a war-lock horn. A horn of sleep. It blew sleep through us as thestorm wind blows the spray through a sail. It turned ourbones to water, and our red swords dropped from handsthat could not longer feel their hilts. And down we alldropped, sodden with sleep, among the slain.
	"When we awoke we were in a temple. We thought itthe same temple, for it was as dark and the same black-robed priests filled it. We were in chains, and theywhipped us and made us slaves. Then we found we wereno longer in the land of the Egyptians, but in a city named Emakhtila, on an isle of warlocks set in a sea of what Ithink a warlock world. Long I slaved for the black robes,I and my comrades, till they dragged me to this shipthat had dropped anchor in Emakhtila harbor. And here ever since I have bent over my oar, watching their wizardries and fighting to keep my soul from being sucked from me." "A horn that poured out sleep!" said Kenton, puzzled."But that I do not understand, Sigurd." "You will, comrade," Sigurd said grimly. "Soon enoughyou will. Zachel plays it well-listen-it begins." From behind them a deep, droning, mellow horn notesounded. Low pitched, vibrant, continuous, it crept intothe ears, and seemed to pour through them along everynerve, touching them, caressing them with the soft fingersof the very soul of poppied sleep.
	The note droned on, dripping sleep.
	The Viking's eyes were fierce and strained with struggleagainst slumber. Slowly, slowly the lids closed over them.
	His hands relaxed, the fingers opened, his body swayed,his head dropped upon his chest. He slumped down upon the bench.
	The note droned on.
	Fight as hard as Kenton might, he could not thrust awaythe soft, clinging slumber that pressed inexorably in onhim from every side. A numbness crept through his body. Sleep, sleep-swarms of infinite particles of sleep weredrifting through him, drifting with his blood through everyvein, along every nerve, clogging his brain.
	Lower and lower dropped his own lids.
	And suddenly he could no longer fight. Chains rattling,down against Sigurd he fell. . . .
	Something deep within Kenton whispered to him toawaken; something reached down into the abysses of hischarmed slumber and drew to its surface his conscious-ness. Slowly his heavy lids began to rise-then stopped,obeying some subtle warning. He looked out through nar-rowest slits. The chains that bound his wrists to the rivetedmanacles of the oar were long. He had moved in hissleep and now lay with head on arm stretched along theback of the low bench. He faced the ivory deck.
	There, at its edge, looking down upon him. was Sharane.Veils of palest blue, through which the hands of long deadAssyrian maids had woven golden lotuses, draped herbreast, coiled round her slender waist, and fell to the deli-cate, sandaled feet. Her black haired maiden Satalu besideher, she leaned over, scanning him.
	"Mistress," he heard Satalu say, "he cannot be man ofNergal, since Nergal's men have chained him there." No" mussed Sharane. "No-in that I was wrong. Andhad he been of Nergal, never could he have crossed the barrier. Nor would Klaneth have taunted me-as hedid-"   "He is very handsome and young," sighed Satalu-and strong. He fought the priests like a lion lord." "Even a cornered rat will fight," answered Sharane, SCORNFUL. "He let himself be led to his chains like awhipped dog. And he lied to me! He came to me in bor- rowed plumes, bearing a sword he could not use!"Oh, cried Sharane-and half of that cry was a sob-"oh, Satalu, I am ashamed! Liar and coward and slave- still he stirs something in my heart that never yetstirred for man. Oh, I am ashamed-I am ashamed,Satalu!"
	"Lady Sharane, do not weep!" Satalu caught the fluttering hands. "He may be none of these. How do you know?Perhaps he did speak the truth. How know we what hashappened in that world of ours so long lost to us? And heis very handsome-and young!" "At least," said Sharane and bitterly, "he is a slave." "Sh-h!" warned Satalu. "Zachel comes." They turned; walked toward Sharane's cabin out of Kenton's vision.
	The wakening whistle shrilled. There was a stir amongthe slaves, and Kenton groaned, raised himself, rubbedeyes, and gripped the oar.
	Exultation was in his heart. There could be no mistak-ing Sharane's words. He held her. By a slender thread, itmight be; but still-he held her. And if he were not aslave-when slave he ceased to be-what then? By noslender thread then would he hold her. He laughed-butsoftly, lest Zachel hear. Sigurd looked at him curiously.
	"The sleep horn must have brought you gay dream," he murmured.
	"Gay, indeed, Sigurd," he answered. "The kind of dreamthat will thin our chains until we can snap them." "Odin send more dreams like it," grunted the Norseman.


9. The Bargaining Of Sharane

	WHEN Zachel blew the horn again Kenton had no needof it to send him to sleep. The sharp eyes of the overseerhad seen through Sigurd's self-sacrificing stratagem, andhe had watched Kenton continually, lashing him when hefaltered or let the whole burden of the oar fall upon theNorseman. His hands were blistered, every bone and mus-cle ached, and his mind lay dulled in his weary body. Andthus it was between the next five sleeps.
	Once he roused himself enough to ask Sigurd a questionthat had been going round and round in his brain. Halfthe rowers in the pit were behind the line that separatedblack deck from ivory-that line which neither Klanethand his crew nor Sharane and her women could cross. YetZachel roamed at will from one end of that pit to theother; other priests, too, for he had seen them. And al-though he had not seen Klaneth or Gigi or the Persianthere, he did not doubt that they could come and go ifthey so wished. Why, then, did not the black robes swarmup the farther side and overwhelm the rosy cabin? Whydid not Sharane and her women drop into the pit andlay siege to the ebon cabin? Why did they not launchtheir javelins, their arrows, over the pit of the rowers intothe wolfpack of the black priest? It was a warlock ship, the Viking had repeated, and thespell upon it no simple one. The slave who had died hadtold him that he had been on the ship since the gods hadlaunched her, and that the same unseen, mysterious bar-rier shut off the side of the rowers that rimmed Sharane'sdeck. Nor could javelin or arrow or other missile otherthan those hurled by god and goddess penetrate it.
	Humanly, each opposing camp was helpless against theother. There were other laws, too, the slave had toldSigurd. Neither Sharane nor Klaneth could leave the shipwhen it hove to in harbor. Sharane's women could. Theblack priest's men, yes-but not for long. Soon they mustreturn. The ship drew them back. What wouid happen tothem if they did not return? The slave had not known, had said that such thing was impossible, the ship would drawthem back.
	Kenton pondered over all this as with aching back hepushed and pulled at the oar. Decidedly these were prac-tical, efficient deities who had doomed the ship. overlook-ing no detail, he thought, half amused.
	Well, they had created the game, and certainly they hadthe right to make that game's rules. He wondered whetherSharane could roam at will from stem to stern when hehad conquered the ship. Wondering still, he heard thedrone of Zachel's horn begin, and pitched, content, intothe bottomless oubliette of sleep it opened.
	He awoke from that sixth sleep with mind crystal clear.an astonishing sense of well being, and a body once more free from pain and flexible and vigorous. He pulled at hisoar strongly and easily.         ''Strength flows up to you from the sea even as I fore-told," grunted Sigurd.
	Kenton nodded absently, his sharpened mind grapplingwith the problem of escape from his chains.
	What went on in the pit and on the ship while therowers were asleep? What chance would offer then to freehimself and the Viking if he could stay awake? If he could stay awake! But how could he close his ears to that horn whichpoured sleep into them as the sirens of old poured withtheir songs fatal fascination into the ears of sailors strayed.within their ken? The sirens! The story of crafty Ulysses' adventure withthose sea women flashed into his memory. How desirehad come upon that wanderer to hear the siren song-yetno desire to let it draw him to them. How he had sailedinto their domain; had filled his oarsmen's ears with melt-ed wax; had made them bind him to the mast with openears, and then, cursing, straining at his bonds, mad withdesire to leap into their white arms, had heard their en-chanted measures-and sailed safe away.
	A wind arose-a steady wind that filled the sail anddrove the ship through gently cresting waves. Came com-mand to rest oars. Kenton slouched down upon the bench.Sigurd was in one of his silent moods, face brooding, gazefar away, filled with dreams of other days when his drag-ons cleft the Northern Ocean.
	Kenton dropped his hands upon the silken rags uponhis legs; his fingers began, seemingly idly, to unravel theirthreads, twist and knot them into little silken cylinders.He worked on, the Viking unheeding. Now two were fin-ished. He palmed one, rubbed as idly the side of his face,and so rubbing slipped the little silken cylinder into anear. He waited for a time; slipped in the other ear thesecond plug. The roaring of the wind sank to a loud whis-pering.
	Carefully, unhurrying, he drew them out; twisted morethreads around them. Again he set them in place. Now thewind's roar was only a murmuring, faint and far away.Satisfied, he slipped the silken cylinders under his torngirdle.
	On sped the ship. And after a while the slaves came and dashed their buckets over him and the Viking; brought them food and drink.
	On the very edge of the sleep-horn drone Kentonslumped down upon the bench, face on forearms, thesilken cylinders hidden under thumbs. Swiftly heslipped them in his ears. Then he let every muscle golimp The droning diminished to a faint, hardly heardhumming. Even so, a languor crept through him. Hefought it. He beat the languor back. The humming ceased.He heard the overseer go by him; looked after him throughhalf-raised lids; saw him ascend that pit's steps and passover the deck to Klaneth's cabin.
	The black deck was empty. As though shifting in slum-ber Kenton rolled over, threw an arm across the back ofthe bench, rested his head upon it, and through loweredlashes took stock of what lay behind him. He heard laughter, golden, chiming. To the edge of herdeck, black haired Satalu beside her, walked Sharane. Sheseated herself there, unbound her hair, shook the flamingred gold cloud of it over face and shoulders; sat within itas though within a perfumed, silken red gold tent. Sataluraised a shining tress; began to comb it.
	Through that web of loveliness he felt Sharane's eyesupon him. Involuntarily his own opened wide; clung toher hidden ones. She gasped, half rose, parted the cur-tains of her hair, stared at him in wonder."He is awake!" she whispered."Sharane!" he breathed.
	He watched shame creep again into her eyes-her facegrow cold. She raised her head, sniffed daintily.
	"Satalu," she said, "is there not a stronger taint fromthe pit?" Again she silted her nose. "Yes-I am sure thereis. Like the old slave market at Uruk when they broughtthe new slaves in." "I-I notice it not, mistress," faltered Satalu."Why yes-of course." Sharane's voice was merciless."See there he sits. A new slave; a strange slave who sleepswith open eyes." "Yet he-he looks not like a slave," again faltered herhandmaiden.
	"No" questioned Sharane sweetly. "What has hap-pened to your memory, girl? What is the badge of a slave?" The black haired girl did not answer; bent low over thelocks of her mistress.
	"A chain and the brand of whips," mocked Sharane."These are the slave's badge. And this new slave has both -in plenty." Still Kenton was silent beneath her mockery; made nomovement; indeed scarce heard her, his burning eyes drinking in her beauty.
	"Ah, but I dreamed one came to me with great words, abearer of promises, fanning hope in my heart," sighedSharane. "I opened my heart to him-in that dream, Satalu. All my heart! And he repaid me with lies-and his promises were empty-and he was a weakling-and my girls beat him. And now it seems to me that there sits that liar and weakling of my dreams with brand of whip upon his back and weak hands chained. A slave!"
	"Mistress! Oh, Mistress!" whispered Satalu. But Kenton kept silence, although now her mockery began to sting.
	And suddenly she rose, thrust hands through shining locks.
	"Satalu," she murmured, "would you not think thatsight of me would awaken even a slave? That any slave, so he were young and strong, would break his chains- for me?"
	She swayed, turned; through her thin robes gleamed exquisite, rosy curves of breast and thigh; lithe loveliness. She spread wide the nets of her hair, peered through them at him with wanton eyes; preened herself, thrust out a tiny, rosy foot, a dimpled knee.
	He raised his head recklessly, the hot blood rushing through.
	"The chains will break, Sharane!" he called. "I will break them-never fear! And then--" "And then-" she echoed, "and then my girls shall beatyou as before!" she mocked, and sped away.
	He watched her go, pulse beating like drums. He sawher halt and whisper to Satalu. The black haired girl turned,made him a warning gesture. He closed his eyes, droppedhead on arm. And soon he heard the feet of Zachel strid-ing down the steps, go by him. The waking whistle shrilled.
	Why, if her mockery had been real, had she warned him? Sharane looked down upon him again from her deck.
	Time had gone by since she had stood there mockinghim. Time had gone, but how measured in his own lost world Kenton had no means of telling, meshed as he wasin the ship's timeless web.
	Sleep after sleep he had lain on his bench, watching forher. She had kept to her cabin-or if she had not, shehad kept herself from his sight.
	Nor had he told the Viking that he had broken thespell of the sleep horn. Sigurd he trusted, heart and soul.Yet he was not sure of the Norseman's subtlety; not cer-tain that he could feign the charmed slumber as Kentondid. He could not take the risk.
	And now again Sharane stood and looked down uponhim from the platform close to the emerald mast. Theslaves slept. There was none at watch on the black deck.There was no mockery now in Sharane's face. And whenshe spoke she struck straight home to the heart of herpurpose.
	"Whoever you are, whatever you may be," she whis-pered, "two things can you do. Cross the barrier. Remainawake when the other slaves must sleep. You have told methat you can break your chains. Since those two thingsyou can do-I find belief within me that of the third youalso speak the truth. Unless--" She paused; he read her thought.
	"Unless I lied to you about that as I lied to you before,"he said levelly. "Well, those were no lies I told you." "If you break your chains," she said, "will you slayKlaneth?" He feigned to consider.
	"Why should I kill Klaneth?" he asked at last.
	"Why? Why?" Scorn tinged her voice. "Has he notset his chains upon you? Had you whipped? Made youslave?" "Did not Sharane drive me forth with javelins?" heasked. "Did not Sharane pour salt in my wounds with hermockery-her laughter?" "But-you lied to me!" she cried.
	Again he feigned consideration.
	"What will this liar, weakling, and slave gain if he kills the black priest for you?" he asked bluntly.
	"Gain?" she repeated blankly.
	"What will you pay me for it?" he said.
	"Pay you? Pay you! Oh!" The scorn in her eyesscorched him. "You shall be paid. You shall have free-dom-the pick of my jewels-all of them--" "Freedom I shall have when I have slain Klaneth," heanswered. "And of what use to me are your jewels onthis cursed ship?" "You do not understand," she said. "The black priestslain, I can set you on any land you wish in this world.In all of them jewels have value." She paused, then: "And have they no worth in that landfrom whence you come, and to which, unchained, itseems you can return whenever danger threatens?" Her voice was honeyed poison. But Kenton only laughed.
	"What more do you want?" she asked. "If they be not , enough-what more?" "You!" he said.
	"Me!" she gasped incredulously. "I give myself to any man-for a price! I-give myself to you! Youwhipped dog!" She stormed. "Never!" Up to this Kenton's play with her had been calculated; but now he spoke with wrath as real and hot as hers.
	"No!" cried Kenton. "No! You'll not give yourself to me!For, by God, Sharane, I'll take you!" He thrust a clenched, chained hand out to her.
	"Master of this ship I'll be, and with no help fromyou-you who have called me a liar and slave and nowwould throw me butcher's pay. No! When I master theship it will be by my own hand. And that same handshall master-you!" "You threaten me!" Her face flamed wrath. "You!" She thrust a hand into her breast, drew out a slenderknife-hurled it at him. As though it had struck someadamantine wall, invisible, it clanged, fell to her feet,blade snapped from hilt.
	She paled, shrank.
	"Hate me!" jeered Kenton. "Hate me, Sharane; Forwhat is hate but the flame that cleans the cup for wineof love!" With no soft closing of her cabin door did she gowithin it. And Kenton, laughing grimly, bent his headover his oar; was soon as sound asleep as the Norsemansnoring beside him.


10. The Ship A-Sailing

	HE AWAKENED to a stirring and humming through allthe ship. On ivory deck and black the ship's folk stood,pointing, talking, gesticulating. A flock of birds, the firsthe had seen in this strange world, hovered above him.Their wings were shaped like those of great butter-flies. Their plumage shone as though lacquered in glow-ing vermilions and pale golds. From their opened beakscame a chiming tumult as of little tinkling bells.
	"Land!" the Viking exclaimed. "We run into harbor.Food and water must be low." There was a brisk wind blowing and the oars at rest.Careless of Zachel's lash, Kenton leaped upon the bench,looking over the bow. The overseer gave no heed, hisown eyes intent upon what lay before.
	It was a sun yellow isle, high and rounded, andsplashed with craters of color like nests of rainbows.Save for these pansied dapplings, the island curved allglowing topaz, from its base in the opalescent shallows ofthe azure sea to its crest, where feathered trees droopedbranches like immense panaches of ostrich plumes dyedgolden amber. Over and about that golden isle shot flashes of iridescences from what seemed luminous flying flow-ers.
	Closer drew the ship. At the bow the damsels ofSharane clustered, laughing and chattering. And upon herbalcony was Sharane, watching the isle with wistful eyes.
	Now it was close indeed. Down ran the peacock sail.The ship rowed slowly and more slowly to the shore; notUntil the curved prow had almost touched that shore didthe steersman shift the rudder and bring the ship sharplyabout. As they drifted, the plumes of the strange treesswept the deck with long leaves, delicately feathered asthose the frost etches on the winter pane. Topaz yellowand sun amber were those leaves; the branches from which  they hung glistened as though cut from yellow chrysolite.Immense clusters of flowers dropped from them, lily shaped, flame scarlet.
	Slowly, ever more slowly, drifted the ship. It crept by a wide cleft that cut into the heart of the isle. The sidesof this vale were harlequined with the cratered colors,and Kenton saw that these were fields of flowers, clusteredas though they filled deep circled amphitheaters. Theflashing iridescences were birds-birds of every size fromsmallest dragon flies to those whose wing-spread was thatof condors in the high Andes. Large and small, on eachglittered the lacquered butterfly wings.
	The isle breathed fragrance. Of green upon it there wasnone, save for the emerald glintings of the birds.
	The valley slid behind them. Ever more slowly thefeathered trees brushed the deck. The ship slipped intothe mouth of a glen at whose end a cataract droppedrain of pearl into a golden ferned pool. There was therattling of a chain; an anchor splashed. The bow of theship swung in; nosed through the foliage; touched the bank.
	Over the rail climbed the women of Sharane, upon their heads great baskets. From her balcony Sharanelooked after them with deeper wistfulness. The womenmelted within the flower spangled boskage; fainter andfainter came their voices; died away. Sharane, chincupped in white hands, drank in the land and with wideand longing eyes. Above her red gold hair streamingthrough the silver crescent a bird hovered-a bird allgleaming emeralds and flashing blues, chiming peals offairy bells. Kenton saw tears upon her cheeks. She caughthis gaze, dashed them away angrily. She half turned asthough to go; then slipped down woefully behind oneof her balcony's tiny blossoming trees where he could no longer see her weeping.
	Now her women filed back along the bank, their basketsfilled with plunder; fruits, gourds purple and white, andgreat clusters of those pods he had eaten when first hehad broken fast upon the ship. Into the cabin theytrooped, and out again with baskets empty. Time upontime they came and went. At last they bore away skinsinstead of the woven hampers; water bags which they filledfrom the pool of the cataract. Time upon time theybrought them back, swollen full, upon their shoulders.
	 They trooped out once more, burdenless; darted joy-ously over the rail; doffed their scanty enough robes andplunged into the pool. Like water nymphs they swam andplayed, the pearly flow caressing, streaming from delicate-ly delicious curves-pale ivory, warm rose, soft olive.They sprang from the pool, wove flower crowns andwith sprays of the fragrant lily blooms in arms clambered,reluctant, over the side and into the rosy cabin.
	Now crawled over the rail the men of Klaneth. Theyslipped on and off the ship with their burdens, pouredtheir last water skins into the casks.
	Again there was stir upon the ship. The chains rat-tled, the anchor lifted. Up and down flashed the oars,drawing the ship from the bank. Up rose the peacocksail. The ship veered, caught the wind, swam slowlythrough the amethystine shallows. Faster swung thesweeps. The golden isle diminished, was saffron shadowin the mists; vanished.
	On sailed the ship.
	And on and on-by what signs or reckonings or towhat port Kenton could not know. Sleep after sleep itsailed. The huge bowl of silver mists whose edge wasthe horizon, contracted or expanded as those mists thick-ened or thinned. Storms they met and weathered; roaringstorms that changed the silver of the mists to lurid cop-per, ambered jet, darkness deeper than night. Suddenstorms threaded with lightnings weird and beautiful. Light-nings that were like the shatterings of immense prisms,the breakings of rainbows of jewels. Storms that trodon feet of thunder. Thunder that was metallic, tintin-nabulary; hurricanes of clashing cymbals following show-ers of multicolored, flaming gems.
	Steadily strength of the sea poured into Kenton up hisoar blade, even as Sigurd had promised; remaking him,hardening him, turning all his body into a machine asfinely tempered as a rapier and as flexible.
	Between sleeps Sigurd chanted to him Viking tales,Sagas unsung, lost epics of the Norse.
	Twice the black priest sent for him; questioned him,threatened him, cajoled him-vainly. And each time withblacker face sent him back to his chains.
	Strife of god and goddess there was none. And Sharaneduring the sleep time of the slaves kept to her cabin.Awake, he could not turn his head to seek her without  inviting the bite of Zachel's lash. So often he let thehorn of sleep have its way-what use to keep awake while Sharane hid? There came a time when, lying awake, he heard stepscoming down the pit's stair. He turned, face against theback of his bench, as though in troubled slumber. The steps paused beside him.
	"Zubran," it was the voice of Gigi, "this man has be-come a young lion." "Strong enough," grunted the Persian. "It is a pity thathis strength is wasted here-driving this ship from oneplace of weariness to another as bad." "I think as you," said Gigi. "Strength he now has. Alsohe has courage. You remember how he slew the priests." "Remember!" There was no boredom in Zubran'svoice now. "Can I forget! By the heart of Rustam-could I forget! It was the first draft of life given me, itseemed, for centuries. I owe him something for that." "Also," went on Gigi, "he has loyalty where his heartturns. I told you how he shielded with his own back theman who sleeps beside him. I liked him well for that, Zubran." "As a gesture," said the Persian, "it was excellent. A trifle florid, perhaps, for perfect taste. But still-excellent." "Courage, loyalty, strength," mused the drummer; then slowly, a hint of mirth in his voice, "And cunning. Un-usual cunning, Zubran, since he has found a way toshut his ears to the sleep horn-and lies here now wide awake."
	Kenton's heart stopped; began to beat furiously. How didthe drummer know? Did he know? Was it only a guess? Desperately he strove against quivering nerves; forced his body to remain inert.
	"What!" exclaimed the Persian, incredulously. "Awake! Gigi-you dream!" "Nay," said Gigi quietly. "I have watched him when he saw me not. He is awake, Zubran." Suddenly Kenton felt his paw upon his breast, press- ing upon his pounding heart. The drummer chuckled; withdrew the hand.
	"Also," he said, approvingly, "he has caution. A little he trusts me-but not too much. Nor does he know youwell enough as yet, Zubran, to give you any trust at all.
	 Therefore he lies quiet, saying to himself: 'Gigi cannotreally know. He cannot be sure as long as I do not openmy eyes.' Yes, he has caution. But see, Zubran, he can-not keep the blood from stealing up into his face, norslow his heart to the calm rhythm of sleep."Again he chuckled, half-maliciously."And there is other proof of his caution, in thathe has not told his comrade that the horn has no powerover him. Hear the long haired one snore? No mistakingthat for wakefulness. I like that too-he knows that asecret shared by two runs risk of being none." "He seems sound asleep to me." Kenton felt the Persianbend down over him doubtfully.
	His eyelids fought to rise; by sheer will he kept themdown, breathing regularly, motionless. How long wouldthey stand there looking at him?At last Gigi broke the silence.
	"Zubran," he said, quietly, "like you, I tire of the blackpriest and this fruitless strife between Ishtar and Nergal.Yet bound by our vows neither you nor I may come to grips with Klaneth, nor may we harm his men. It matters not that by trickery those vows were gotten from us.We made them-and they bind. As long as Nergal's priestrules Nergal's deck we may not give him battle. But suppose Klaneth no longer ruled-that another hand thrust him to his dark master?" "A mighty hand that! Where on these seas could wefind such a hand? And if found, how persuade it to closeon Klaneth?" jeered the Persian.
	"I think-it is here." Kenton felt again the drum-mer's touch. "Courage and loyalty and strength, quick wit and caution. He has all these. Beside-he can pass thebarrier!" "By Ahriman! That is so!" whispered the Persian."Now I would make another vow," said Gigi. "A vow in which you would join. If this man's chains were- broken, easily then could he pass to Sharane's cabin; easily now, I think, regain his sword."  "Well, what then?" asked Zubran. "He would still have Klaneth to meet and all his pack. And we could nothelp him." "No," answered the drummer. "But neither would wehinder him. Our vows do not bind us to fight for theblack priest, Zubran. Were I this man-with my chains  broke-and sword regained-I would find way to releasethis comrade sleeping beside him. He, I think, could keepoff the pack while this wolf cub, who is now no longercub but grown, could match himself against Klaneth." "Well-" the Persian began doubtfully; then changed tocheerfulness-"I would see him loosed, Gigi. At the least,it would give break to this cursed monotony. But you spoke of a vow." "A vow for a vow," answered Gigi. "If broken werehis chains, if he regained sword, if he met Klaneth andwe fought not against him at Klaneth's side, and if heslew Klaneth, would he vow comradeship with you and me, Zubran? I wonder?" "Why should he make that vow to us," asked Zubran, "unless-we loosed his chains?" "Exactly," whispered Gigi. "For if he made that vow- I would loose them!" Hope sprang flaming up in Kenton. Cold doubt followed.Was this all a trap? A trick to torment him? He wouldtake no chance-and yet-freedom! Gigi again bent over him.
	"Trust me, Wolf," he said, low. "Vow for vow. If you accept-look at me." The dice were offered him. Were they straight orweighted, he would cast them. Kenton opened his eyes,stared straight for an instant into the twinkling beads ofjet so close. Then he closed them tight; resumed hisslow breathing; his semblance of deepest slumber.
	And Gigi rose from him, laughing. He heard the twomove away, up the pit's steps.
	Freedom again! Could it be true? And when wouldGigi-were it true and no,trap-when would Gigi loosehis chains? Long he lay between fiery hope and chillingdoubt. Could it be true? Freedom! And-- Sharane!


11. Gigi Snaps The Chains

	NOT LONG did Kenton have to wait. Hardly hadthe next faint hum of the sleep horn died than he felta touch on his shoulder. Longer fingers twitched hisears, raised his eyelids. He looked into the face of Gigi.Kenton pulled out the little silken cylinders that shutoff the compelling slumber of the horn.
	"So that is how you do it." Gigi examined them with interest. He squatted down beside him.
	"Wolf," he said, "I have come to have a talk withyou, so that you may know me a little better. I wouldcontinue to sit here beside you, but some of those cursedpriests may come prowling around. Therefore, in a moment I shall seat myself on Zachel's stool. When I havedone so, turn you around facing me, taking that highly deceptive attitude I have so often watched you assume." He stepped up on the bench. "Zubran is with Klaneth,arguing about the gods. Zubran, although sworn to Nergal,thinks him a rather inferior copy of Ahriman, the Persiangod of darkness. He is also convinced that this wholematter of warfare between Nergal and Ishtar for theship lacks not only originality and ingenuity, but taste-something, indeed, that his own gods and goddesses wouldnot do; or if they did, would do much better. This angers Klaneth, which greatly rejoices Zubran." Once more he arose and looked about him.
	"However," he went on, "this time he is arguing tokeep Klaneth and especially Zachel away while we talk,since Klaneth leans a great deal upon Zachel in thesearguments. I have told them that I cannot bear their talk and that I will watch on Zachel's seat until it is finished. And it will not be finished until I return, for Zubran is clever, oh, very clever and he expects ourtalk to lead, ultimately, to permanent relief of his bore-  He glanced slyly at the ivory deck.
	"So do not fear, Wolf." He swayed upon his dwarfedlegs. "Only as I go, slip sideways and keep your eyeson me. I will give you warning if warning is needed." He waddled away, climbed into the overseer's seat. Kenton, obeying him, turned sleepily; rested arm on benchand head on arm.
	"Wolf," said Gigi suddenly, "is there a shrub calledthe chilquor in the place from whence you came?" Kenton stared at him, struck dumb by such a question.Yet Gigi must have some reason for asking it. Had heever heard of such a shrub? He searched his memory.
	"Its leaves are about so large." Gigi parted finger-tips for inches three. "It grows only upon the edge of thedesert and it is rare-sorrowfully rare. Look you-per-haps you know it by another name. Perhaps this will enlighten you. You bruise the buds just before they open.Then you mix them with sesamum oil and honey and alittle burned ivory and spread it like a paste over yourhead. Then you rub and rub and rub-so and so andso-" he illustrated vigorously upon his bald and shining pate.
	"And after a little," he said, "the hair begins to sprout; like grain under the rains of spring it grows, until soon-lo-naked dome is covered. Instead of the light fly-ing off affrighted from shining dome it plays within newhair. And once more the man who was bald is beautiful in the eyes of woman! "By Nadak of the Goats; By Tanith, the dispenserof delights!" cried Gigi with enthusiasm. "That pastegrows hair! How it does grow hair! Upon a melon wouldit grow it. Yes, even those planks rightly rubbed by itwould sprout hair like grass. You are sure you do not know it?"
	Struggling with his amazement Kenton shook his head."Well," said Gigi, sorrowfully. "All this the chilquorbuds can do. And so I search for them-" here he sighedmightily-"who would once more be beautiful in wom-an's eyes." He sighed again. Then one by one he flecked the backsof the sleeping slaves with Zachel's whip-even the back of Sigurd.
	"Yes," he murmured, "yes, they sleep."  His black eyes twinkled on Kenton, the slit mouth grinned.
	"You wonder," he said, "why I talk of such trivial mat-ters as shrubs and hair and bald pates, while you liechained. Well, Wolf, these matters are far from trivial.They brought me here. And were I not here-would youhave hope of freedom, think you? Ah, no," said Gigi."Life is a serious matter. Therefore all parts of it mustbe serious. And therefore no part of it can be trivial. Letus rest for a moment. Wolf, while you absorb that great truth." Again, one by one, he flecked the backs of the sleepingslaves.
	"Well, Wolf," he went on, "now I shall tell you howI came aboard this ship because of the chilquor, its ef-fect on hair and because of my bald pate. And you shallsee how your fortune rests upon them. Wolf, when I was but a child in Nineveh, girls found me singularly at-tractive.
	" 'Gigi!' they would cry as I passed by them. 'Gigi, little love, little darling! Kiss me, Gigi!' " Gigi's voice was ludicrously languishing; Kenton laughed.
	"You laugh. Wolf!" observed the drummer. "Well-thatmakes us understand each other better." His eyes twinkled impishly.
	"Yes," he said, " 'Kiss me,' they cried. And I wouldkiss them, because I found them all as singularly attractive as each found me. And as I grew, this mutual attraction increased. You have no doubt noticed," said Gigi complacently, "that I am an unusual figure of a man. Butas I passed from adolescence my greatest beauty was, perhaps, my hair. It was long and black and ringleted, and ittell far over my shoulders. I perfumed it and cared forit, and the tender little vessels of joy who loved mewould twine their fingers in it when I lifted them upon my head or when my head was on their knees. Theyjoyed in it even as I.
	"And then I had a fever. When I recovered, all mybeautiful hair was gone!" He paused to sigh again.
	There was a woman of Nineveh who pitied me. She itwas who anointed my head with the chilquor paste; toldme how to make it; showed me the growing shrub. After years of-ah, mutual attraction-I had fever again. Andagain my hair vanished. I was in Tyre then, Wolf, andmade what haste I could to return to Nineveh. When I did return, the kindly woman was dead and a sand stormhad covered the spot where she had pointed out to methe chilquor shrubs!" He sighed, prodigiously. Kenton, amused and fasci-nated by his tale as he was, could not forbear a sus-picious glance after that melancholy exhalation. It seemed overdone.
	"Then before I could search further," went on Gigi,hurriedly, "word came to me that one who loved me-a princess,-was on her way to Nineveh to see me. Shamewas mine and anguish! I could not meet her with a baldpate. For no one loves a bald man!" "Nobody loves a fat man," grinned Kenton. He hadspoken, it seemed, in his own tongue for the drummer ap-parently had not understood.
	"What did you say?" he asked.
	"I said," answered Kenton, gravely, "that for onewhose excellencies are as great as yours, the loss of yourhair should have been of no more consequence to awoman than the falling of one feather from a pet bird." "That is a fine tongue of yours," remarked Gigi, stolidly."That it can say so much in so few sounds." "Well," he continued. "I was distressed indeed. I could have hidden-but I feared my will would not bestrong enough to keep me hid. She was a very lovely princess, Wolf. Besides, I knew that if she found that I was in Nineveh, as find out she surely would, she wouldrout me out. She was a fair woman. And this is the onedifference between the fair women and the dark-that thelatter wait for you to come for them, but the formersearch for you. And I could go to no other city to hide-for in each of them were other women who admiredme. What was I to do?" "Why didn't you get a wig?" asked Kenton, so inter-ested now in Gigi's tale that his chains were forgotten.
	"I told you, Wolf, that they loved to thread their fingers through my locks," answered Gigi, severely. "Couldany wig stay in place under such treatment? Not whenthe women were such as loved me-No! No! I will tellyou what I did. And here is where you will see how mylost hair and you are entangled. The High Priest of  Nergal in Nineveh was a friend of mine. I went to himand asked him first to work a magic that would plantmy head afresh with hair. He was indignant-said thathis art was not to be debased for such a common purpose.
	"It was then. Wolf, that I began to have my suspicionsof the real power of these sorcerers. I had seen this priestperform great magic. He had raised phantoms that hadraised my hair-when I had it. How much easier thenought it to have been for him to have raised my hairwithout the trouble of raising the phantoms too? I suggested this. He grew more indignant-said that he dealtwith gods, not barbers! "But now I know better. He could not do it! I madethe best of the matter, however, and asked him to put mefor a while where my princess could not find me andwhere, weak willed as I am, I could not go to her. Hesmiled, and said he knew just the place. He inducted meas an acolyte to Nergal and gave me a token that he saidwould insure me recognition and good will from one henamed Klaneth. Also he sealed me with certain vows, notto be broken. I took them cheerfully, thinking them buttemporary, and his friend Klaneth the high priest ofsome hidden temple where I would be safe. I went tosleep that night trustfully, happy as a child. I awakened,Wolf-here! "It was a sorry jest," muttered Gigi, angrily. "And asorry jest would it be for that Ninevite priest if I knewthe way back to him! "Bui here I have been ever since," he added, briskly."Barred by my acolytage to Nergal from crossing to thatother deck where there is a little vessel of joy namedSatalu whom I would fain take within my hands. Barredby other vows from leaving the ship wherever it maytouch for food and gear-since it was sanctuary I askedfrom which I could not go nor my princess come to me." "By Tiamat of the Abyss-I got the sanctuary I asked!"he exclaimed, ruefully enough. "And by Bel who con-quered Tiamat-I am as weary of the ship as Zubran him-self "Yet were I not here," he added, as by afterthought,who would loose you of your chains? A shrub and lackfo hair, an amorous princess and my vanity-these  brought me on the ship to set you free when you came.Of such threads do the gods weave our destinies." He leaned forward, all malice gone from twinkling eyes,a grotesque tenderness on the frog-like mouth.
	"I like you. Wolf," he said, simply.
	"I like you, Gigi," all Kenton's defenses were down."Greatly, indeed, do I like you. And trust fully. But-Zubran--" "Have no doubts about Zubran," snapped Gigi. "He,too, was tricked upon this ship and is even more eagerthan I to be free. Some day he shall tell you his story, asI have mine. Ho! Ho!" laughed the drummer. "Ever seek-ing the new, ever tiring of the known is Zubran. And thisis his fate-to be shot into a whole new world and find itworse than his old. Nay, Wolf, fear not Zubran. Withshield and sword will he stand beside you-until he tireseven of you. But even then will he be loyal." He grew solemn, kept unwinking gaze on Kenton,searching, it seemed, his soul.
	"Consider well, Wolf," he whispered. "The odds are allagainst you. We two may not help you as long as Klanethis lord of his deck. It may be that you cannot free thelong-haired one beside you, You have Klaneth to faceand twenty of his men-and, it may be, Nergal! And if youlose-death for you-and after long, long torture. Here,chained to your oar, you are at least alive. Consider well!" Kenton held out to him his prisoned wrists.
	"When will you loose my chains, Gigi?" was all he said.
	Gigi's face lighted, his black eyes blazed, he sprang up-right, the golden loops in his pointed ears dancing.
	"Now!" he said. "By Sin, the Father of Gods! By Shamash his Son and by Bel the Smiter-now!" He thrust his hands between Kenton's waist and thegreat circlet of bronze that bound it; pulled it apart asthough it had been made of putty; he broke the locks ofthe manacles on Kenton's wrists.
	"Run free. Wolf!" he whispered. "Run free!" With never a look behind him, he waddled to the pit'ssteps and up them. Slowly Kenton stood upon his feet.His chains dropped from him. He looked down at thesleeping Viking. How could he unfasten his links? How,if he could unfasten, awaken him before Zachel camehurrying down among the slaves? Again be looked about him. At the foot of the over-  seer's high stool lay a shining knife, long-bladed, thin-bladed, dropped there by Gigi-for him? He did not know.But he did know that with it he might pick the Viking'slocks. He took a step toward it-- How long he was in taking the second step.
	And there was a mist before his eyes.
	Through that mist the sleeping forms of the oarsmenwavered-were like phantoms. And now he could nolonger see the knife.
	He rubbed his eyes, looked down on Sigurd. He was awraith! He looked at the sides of the ship. They melted awayeven as he sought them. He had a glimpse of sparklingturquoise sea. And then-it became vaporous. Was not! Cease to be! And now Kenton floated for an instant in thick mistshot through with silvery light. The light snapped out.He hurtled through. a black void filled with tumult of vast winds.
	The blackness snapped out! Through his closed lids he saw light. And he was no longer falling. He stood, rocking, upon his feet. He opened his eyes--Once more he was within his own room!Outside hummed the traffic of the Avenue, punctuated by blasts of auto horns.
	Kenton rushed over to the jeweled ship. Except for theslaves, on it was but one little figure-one toy. A manikinwho stood half way down the pit steps, mouth open, whipat feet, stark astonishment in every rigid line.
	Zachel, the overseer! He looked down into the galley pit. The slaves lay asleep, oars at rest--- And suddenly he caught sight of himself in the longmirror! Stood, wondering, before it! For what he saw was never the Kenton who had beenborne out of that room upon the breast of the inrushingmystic sea. His mouth had hardened, eyes grown fearless,falcon bright. Over all his broadened chest the musclesran not bulging, bound-but graceful, flexible, and steelhard. He flexed his arms, and the muscles ran ripplingalong them. He turned, scanned his back in the mirror.
	Scars covered it, healed teeth marks of the lash. The lash of Zachel--- Zachel-the toy?  No toy had made those scars! No oars of toy had brought into being those muscles! And suddenly all Kenton's mind awoke. Awoke andwas filled with shame, with burning longing, despair.
	What would Sigurd think of him when he awakenedand found him gone-Sigurd with whom he had swornblood brothership? What would Gigi think-Gigi, whohad made vow for vow with him; and trusting him, had broken his chains? A frenzy shook him. He must get back! Get back be-fore Sigurd or Gigi knew that he was no longer on the ship.
	How long had he been away? As though in answer a clock began chiming. He counted. Eight strokes! Two hours of his own time had passed while he hadbeen on the ship. Two hours only? And in those twohours all these things had happened? His body changed to-this? But in those two minutes he had been back in his room what had happened on the ship? He must get back! He must. . . .
	He thought of the fight before him. Could he take his automatics with him when he went back-if he could goback? With them he could match any sorceries of theblack priest. But they were in another room, in anotherpart of his house. Again he looked at himself in the glass.If his servants saw him-thus! They would not know him.How could he explain? Who would believe him? And they might tear him away-away from this roomwhere the ship lay. This room that held his only doorwayback into Sharane's world! He dared not risk going from that room.
	Kenton threw himself upon the floor; grasped the golden chains that hung from the ship's bow-so thin theywere, so small on thitfthe ship of jeweled toys! He threw his will upon the ship! Summoning it! Com-manding it! The golden chains stirred within his grasp. Theyswelled. He felt a tearing wrench. Thicker grew the chains.They were lifting him. Again the dreadful wrenching,tearing at every muscle, nerve and bone.
	His feet swung free.
	The vast winds howled around him-for a heartbeat only. They were gone. In their place was the rushing ofwind driven waves. He felt the kisses of their spray.
	Beneath him was a racing azure sea. High above himcurved the prow of the Ship of Ishtar. But not the ship of jeweled toys. No! The ensorcelled ship of which thetoy ship was the symbol; the real ship on which blowswere actual and death lurked-death that even now mightbe watching him, poised to strike! The chain he clutched passed up the side of the bowand into the hawser port painted like a great eye betweenthe bow-ward wall of the cabin and the curved prow.Behind him the great oars rose and fell. He could notbe seen from them; the oarsmen's backs were toward himand the oar ports were covered with strong leather,through which the shanks slipped; shields to protectthe rowers from waves dashing past those ports. Nor,under the hang of the hull as he was, could he be seen from the black deck.
	Slowly, silently, hand over hand, pressing his body asclose to the hull as he could, he began to creep up thechain. Up to Sharane's cabin. Up to that little windowthat opened into her cabin from the closed bit of deck be-neath the great scimitar.
	Slowly, more slowly, he crept; pausing every few linksto listen; he reached at last the hawser port; he threw aleg over the bulwark, and dropped upon the little deck. He rolled beneath the window; flattened himself againstthe cabin wall; hidden now from every eye upon the ship; hidden even from Sharane, should she peer through thatwindow.
	Crouched there-waiting.


12. Master Of The Ship

	KENTON raised his head, cautiously. The chains passedthrough a hawser port, wound around a crude windlassand were fastened to a thin, double hook that was more  like a grappling iron than anchor. Evidently, although con-trol of steering gear, mast and rowers' pit was in thehands of the black priest, the women of Sharane lookedafter anchorage. He noted, with some anxiety, a doorleading out of the cabin's farther side-the portion thathoused her warrior maids. But it was not likely, hethought, that any would come out as long as the shipwas under sail and oar. At any rate he would have to take that risk.
	Through the opened window above him he could hear the hum of voices. Then that of Sharane came to him scornful.
	"He broke his chains, even as he had promised-and then fled!" "But mistress," it was Satalu. "Where could he go? Hedid not come here. How do we know that Klaneth did not take him?" "No mistaking Klaneth's wrath," answered Sharane."No mistaking the scourging he gave Zachel. Both were real. Satalu." So the black priest had scourged Zachel had he, well, that, at any rate, was good news.
	"Nay, Satalu," said Sharane, "why argue? He hadgrown strong. He broke his chains. He fled. And so provedhimself the coward I called him-and never believed he was-till now!" There was silence in the cabin. Then Sharane spoke again.
	"I am weary, Luarda-watch outside the door. Youothers to your cabin to sleep-or what you will. Satalu,brush my hair a little and then leave me." Another silence; a longer one. Then Satalu's voice: "Mistress, you are half asleep. I go." Kenton waited-but not long. The sill of the windowwas about as high above the anchor deck as his chin. Heraised himself gently; peered within. His gaze rested firston the shrine of the luminous gems, the pearls and palemoonstones, the milky curdled crystals. He had the feel-ing that it was empty, tenantless. There were no flames in the seven little crystal basins.
	He looked down. The head of the wide divan of ivorywith its golden arabesques was almost beneath him. Uponit lay Sharane, face down upon its cushions, clothed onlyin one thin silken veil and the floods of her red gold hair,  and weeping; weeping like any woman with bruised heart.
	Weeping for-him? A gleam of sapphire, a glint of steel caught his eyes. Itwas his sword-the sword of Nabu. The sword he hadvowed he would not take from her hands-would take,unaided, with his own. It hung upon a low rack on thewall just above her head; so close that she need but reachup a hand to grasp it.
	He drew back, waited impatiently for her weeping tocease. Love for her-or lust-he had in full. But searchhis heart now as he might-no pity.
	And soon her sobbing lessened; died away. And afteranother while of waiting he slowly thrust his head againthrough the window. She lay asleep, face turned towardthe cabin door, tears still on the long lashes-breast ris-ing and falling softly in the measured respiration ofslumber.
	Kenton gripped the sill, drew himself softly up untilshoulders and breast were within. Then he bent over untilhis waist rested on the ledge. Now his hands touched thesoftnesses of one of the rugs upon the floor. He slid down,gripping the sill with his insteps. Slowly, like a tumbler,he brought his legs down; lay prone, full length, at thehead of Sharane's bed.
	Again he waited. Her measured breathing did notchange. He drew himself up on his feet. He slipped to thedoor that lay between this cabin and that of the warriormaids. There was a low murmuring of voices there. He sawa bar that, lowered, slipped into a metal clutch on theother side, securing it. Noiselessly he dropped it, fastenedit. Those cats were caged, he thought, grinning.
	He glanced over the cabin. Upon a low stool lay a smallpiece of silk; over a settle a long one, scarf-like. Hepicked up the small piece and rolled it deftly into aserviceable gag. He took the long piece and tested it. Itwas heavy and strong, just what he needed, he reflected -but not enough. He slipped to a wall, unhooked a simi-lar hanging.
	He tiptoed over to Sharane's bed. She stirred, uneasily, as though she felt his eyes on her; as though she wereawakening.
	Before she could raise her lids Kenton had opened herMOUTH and thrust the silken gag within. Then throwinghimself over her, holding her down by sheer weight, he    jerked up her head, wound the scarf tightly around hermouth, tied it. As swiftly he raised her from the hipsand wound the balance of the scarf around her arms, pinioning them to her sides.
	Eyes blazing with wrathful recognition, she tried to rollfrom beneath him, struck up at him with her knees. Heshifted his weight, lay across her thighs, bound kneesand ankles with the second scarf that he had torn from the wall.
	Now she lay motionless, glaring at him. He sent her akiss, mockingly. She tried to throw herself uponthe floor. Noiselessly still, he took other hangings,wrapped her round and round with them. And finally hepassed a pair of heavy cords under and over the bed; bound her fast with them to the divan.
	Heedless of her now, he walked to the outer door. Insome way he must get the handmaiden she called Luardawithin the cabin, make her as helpless as her mistress-and as silent. He opened the door the merest slit, peeredthrough it. Luarda sat close beside it, back turned to him, gaze upon the black deck.
	He stole away, found another small piece of silk; snatched from the wall another hanging. The small piecehe fashioned into another gag. Then he opened the dooras before, placed his lips to the crack, pitched his voicehigh and softly; as femininely as he could, called to her: "Luarda! The mistress wants you! Quick!"She leaped to her feet. He shrank back, pressing him-self against the wall close beside the door frame. Un-suspiciously, she opened the door; stepped within it, andpaused for an instant, open-mouthed, at the sight of Sharane, bound and helpless.
	That instant was all Kenton needed. One arm wasaround her neck, throttling her. With his free hand hethrust the gag into her mouth; in the same momentclosed the door with his foot. The girl in his arms wrig-gled like a snake. He managed to keep her mouth closeduntil he had wound the hanging around jaws and throat.Her hands swept up, clawing him; she strove to wind herlegs around his. He drew the silk tighter around her neck,strangling her. When her struggles grew feeble, he boundher arms to her side. He laid her on the floor, and pin-ioned, as he had Sharane's, her ankles and knees.
	Helpless as her mistress now she lay. He picked herup; carried her over to the divan; rolled her under it.
	 Not till then did he reach up and take down his sword.He stood before Sharane.
	There was no fear in the burning eyes that stared up athim. Rage enough and to spare was there-but no fear.
	And Kenton laughed low, bent over her, and pressedhis lips to her own gagged and bound ones. He kissedeach wrathful eye.
	"And now, Sharane," he laughed. "I go to take theship-without your help! And when I have taken it, I'llcome back and take-you!" He walked to the door, opened it softly, swept gazeover the ship.
	Upon the black deck squatted Gigi, forehead resting onthe edge of the serpent drum, long arms trailing dis-consolately down its sides. There was a forlornness aboutthe drummer that made Kenton want to cry out to him.It was an impulse to which the sight of Zachel's head putspeedy check. He could see just the top of it over the lowrail between Sharane's deck and the rowers' pit.
	He crouched low, until the head was out of sight-knowing that in that position Zachel could not see him.He knotted the sword in his girdle. On hands and kneeshe crept out of the cabin door. He saw that there was awindow in the place where Sharane's women slept. Butthere was no outward door. They must pass through hercabin to gain the deck. If they suspected something amisswith their mistress, found the door barred, undoubtedlythey would come through that window. Well-he wouldhave to take his chances on that; only hope that he couldget most of the work ahead of him done before they werearoused.
	And if he could surprise Klaneth in his den, strikeswiftly and silently-then he and the Viking could makeshort work of the rest, and the women could do whatthey pleased. They could neither help nor hinder. Itwould be too late.
	He flattened himself to the deck; wriggled beneath thewindow; listened. There was no sound of voices now.Slowly raising himself he saw that from this point theoverseer was hidden from him by the mast. Keeping acautious eye on the disconsolate Gigi. he stood up andpeered within the second cabin. There were eight girlsthere asleep; some pillowed on each other's breasts, somecurled up on the silken cushions. He reached in, closedthe window noiselessly.
	 Again he lay flat and squirmed along the side of thecabin to the starboard rail. He slipped over it. He hungfor a moment, fingers gripping the top, feet feeling for thechain that stretched below. He swung along it. When hecame to its end, he raised himself, caught the rail againand swung along that, swiftly hand over hand.
	Now the mast was directly in front of him; he hadreached the spot from which he planned to strike hisfirst blow. He chinned himself, and streamed over therail like a snake; lay flat against the bulwarks untilbreath came once more easily.
	He was in plain sight of Gigi-and as he lay thereGigi's head came up with a jerk from his drum, his eyesstared straight into Kenton's own. The ugly face brokeinto a thousand wrinkles of amazement; then instantly be-came indifferent, immobile. He yawned, got upon his feet; then, hand over eyes, peered intently over the port sideas though he had sighted something far away upon the sea.
	"By Nergal, but Klaneth must know of this!" he said.
	He waddled over to the black cabin.
	Kenton wriggled to the edge of the pit. He had glimpseof Zachel standing upon his platform stool, peering,searching for whatever it was that seemingly had soaroused the drummer's interest.
	Kenton dropped into the pit. One leap he took andwas beside the mast. The overseer turned sharply. Heopened mouth to yell and swept hand down to beltwhere his poniard was sheltered.
	The sword of Kenton hissed through air and through his neck.
	The sheared head of Zachel leaped from his shoulders,mouth stretched open, eyes glaring. For three heartbeatsthe body of Zachel stood upright, blood spouting from thesevered arteries, hand still gripping at the dagger.
	The body of Zachel squattered.
	The sleep horn fell from his girdle. Kenton snatchedat it. The knees of Zachel's body crumpled down on it; crushed it.
	From the benches of the oarsmen came no sound, nooutcry; they sat, mouths agape, blades idle.
	He groped in Zachel's belt for the overseer's keys, thekeys that would free Sigurd. He found them, snatchedthem loose, tore the dagger from Zachel's stiffening fin-  gers and raced down the narrow passage way to theViking.
	"Brother! I thought you gone! Sigurd forgotten . . ." theNorseman babbled. "By Odin what a blow! The dog'shead leaped from his shoulders as though Thor had smit-ten him with his hammer. . . ." "Quiet, Sigurd! Quiet!" Kenton was working with des-perate haste among the keys, trying to find that whichwould fit the Viking's fetters. "We must fight for the ship. . . stand together, you and I. ... Hell, damn these keys. . . which is the right one! If we can reach Klaneth'sden before alarm is raised stand you between me andhis priests. Leave Klaneth to me. Touch not Gigi norZubran the red beard. They cannot help us but they havegiven vow not to fight against us ... remember, Sigurd... ah... ." The manacles at Sigurd's wrists clicked and opened; the lock on the metal belt flew open. Sigurd shook hishands free of the chains, reached down and wrenchedthe cincture from his waist. He stood upright, flaxenmane streaming in the wind.
	"Free!" he howled. "Free!" "Close your jaws!" Kenton thrust his hands againstthe shouting mouth. "Do you want the pack down on usbefore we have chance to move!" He pressed Zachel's dagger into the Viking's hand.
	"Use that," he said, "until you have won a betterweapon." "That! Ho-ho!" laughed Sigurd. "A woman's toy! Nay,Kenton-Sigurd can do better than that!" He dropped the dagger. He gripped the great oar; liftedit out of the thole pins. He bent forward sharply, bring-ing its shaft against the side of the port. there was asharp crackling, a rending of wood. He drew back, bring-ing the oar against the opposite side of the port. Therewas another crackling, and Sigurd drew the oar in, brokensquarely in the middle, a gigantic club all of ten feetlong. He gripped it by the splintered end, whirled itround his head, the chains and the dangling manaclesspinning like battle mace.
	"Come!" barked Kenton, and stooped to pick up thedagger.
	Now from all the pit came clamor; the slaves strainingat their bonds and crying to be freed.
	 And from Sharane's deck came the shrilling of women.Out of the window poured her warrior maids.
	No chance now to surprise the black priest. No chancebut in battle-fang and claw. His sword and the club ofSigurd against Klaneth and his pack.
	"Quick, Sigurd!" he shouted. "To the deck!" "I first," grunted Sigurd. "Shield to you!" He pushed Kenton aside, rushed past him. Before hecould reach the foot of the stairway its top was filled withpriests, white-faced, snarling, swords in their hands, andshort stabbing spears.
	Kenton's foot fell on something that rolled away -frombeneath it, sending him to his knees. He looked down intothe grinning face of Zachel. His severed head it was thathad tripped him. He lifted it by the hair, swung it roundand hurled it straight at the face of the foremost priest atthe stairway top. It caught the priest a glancing blow, fellamong the others; rolled and bounced away.
	They shrank back from it. Before they could musteragain the Viking was up the steps and charging them, oarclub flinging like a flail. And at his heels came Kenton,making for the black cabin's door.
	There were eight of the black robes facing them. TheNorseman's oar struck, shattering the skull of one like anegg shell. Before he could raise it again two of the priestshad darted in upon him, stabbing, thrusting with theirspears. Kenton's sword swept down, bit deep into thebone of an arm whose point was touching Sigurd's breast.With quick upward thrust he ripped that priest from navelto chin. The Viking dropped one hand from the oar,caught the half of the second spear, twisted it out ofthe black robe's grip and ran it through his heart. Downwent another under bite of Kenton's blade.
	Other priests came streaming from every passagewayand corner of the black deck, armed with swords andspears and bearing shields. Out they streamed, screaming.And out of the black cabin rushed Klaneth, roaring, agreat sword in hand. Behind him were Gigi and the Per-sian. The black priest came straight on, charging like a bullthrough the half ring of his servitors. But Gigi and thePersian slipped over to the serpent drum, stood there watching.
	For an instant the black priest stood towering overKenton. Then he struck downward, a lightning blow de-signed to cleave Kenton from shoulder to hip.
	 But Kenton was not there when the blow fell. Swifterthan the sword of Klaneth he had leaped aside, thrustout his own blade-- Felt it bite deep into the black priest's side!The black priest howled and fell back. Instantly hisacolytes streamed in between him and the besieged pair.They circled them.
	"Back to back," shouted the Viking. Kenton heard thegreat club hum, saw three of the black robes mowed downby it as by giant flail. With sweep and thrust he clearedaway the priests ravening at him.
	Now the fighting had carried them close to the drum.He saw the Persian, scimitar unsheathed and held by rigidarm. And he was cursing, sobbing, quivering like a houndheld in leash and held back from his quarry. Gigi, frothupon the corners of wide open mouth, face contorted,stood with long arms outstretched, hands trembling, shak-ing with that same eagerness.
	Desire, Kenton knew, to join with him and Sigurd inthat battle; both held back by vows not to be broken.
	Gigi pointed downward. Kenton followed the gesture,saw a priest crawling, sword in hand, and almost withinreach of the Viking's feet. One sweep of the sword againstSigurd's legs and he was done for; hamstrung. Forgettinghis own defense, Kenton leaned forward, cut downward.The head of the creeping priest jumped from his shoulders,rolled away.
	But as he straightened he saw Klaneth again above him,poised to strike! "The end!" thought Kenton. He dropped flat, rolled awayfrom the falling edge.
	He had not counted on the Viking. Sigurd had seen thatswift by-play. He swept his oar, held horizontally, in a gigantic punch. It crashed into Klaneth's chest.
	The sword stroke fell short, the black priest was hurledbackward, half falling for all his strength and massivebulk.
	"Gigi! Zubran! To me!" he howled.Before Kenton could rise, two priests were on him,clawing him, stabbing at him. He released his grip on hissword; drew the poniard of Zachel. He thrust upward; felt a body upon him stiffen, then collapse like a prickedballoon, felt too, the edge of a sword slice into his shoul-der. He struck again, blindly; was drenched with sudden  flood of blood. He heard a bubbling whispering and the second weight was gone.
	He gripped his sword, staggered upright. Of all Klaneth's pack not more than half a dozen were on their feet. Theyhad drawn back, out of reach of the Viking's club. Sigurdstood, drawing in great breaths. And the black priest wasgasping too, holding his broad chest where the oar ofSigurd had struck. At his feet was a little pool of blood,dripping from where the sword of Nabu had pierced him."Gigi! Zubran!" he panted. "Take these dogs!" The drummer leered at him."Nay, Klaneth," he answered. "There was no vow to aid you." He bent over the tall drum, with heave of broad shoul-ders he hurled it over the side.
	From the priests arose a groan. Klaneth stood, silent, struck dumb.
	There came from the waves touching the ship a sound -sonorous and sinister.
	A thunderous drumming, menacing, malignant-sum-moning! Br-oom-rr-oom-oom! The serpent drum swinging against the side of the ship!Lifted by the waves and by their arms beaten against the ship! The Summoner of Nergal! The ship trembled. A shadow fell upon the sea. AroundKlaneth a darkness began to gather.
	More angrily thundered the wave-beaten drum. The mistsabout the black priest thickened, writhed; beginning thathellish transmutation of Nergal's priest into the dread selfof the Lord of the Dead.
	"Strike!" howled Gigi. "Quick! Bite deep!" He ran to the rail; dropped over it.
	Kenton rushed straight upon that cloudy horror withinwhich the black priest moved. His sword swept into it; struck. He heard a shriek, agonized, unbelieving. The voiceof Klaneth. He struck again.
	And striking realized that the drumming had ceased,that the voice of the drum was stilled. He heard Gigi'sshout: "Bite again. Wolf! Bite deep!" The dark mist around Klaneth cleared. He stood there,dead eyes closed, hand holding an arm from which darkblood welled through clasping fingers.
	 And as Kenton raised his sword to strike again theblack priest dashed into his eyes the blood from the handthat had held the wounded arm. Blinded, Kenton held hissword at mid-stroke. The black priest rushed upon him.Mechanically, through dimmed sight, he thrust out hisblade to meet that rush; saw Sigurd driving down upon theremaining priests; heard the crack of bone as red stainedoar met their bodies.
	His sword struck against Klaneth's, and was beatendown.
	Kenton's foot slipped on a gout of blood. He fell. Theblack priest crashed on him; his arms encircled him. Overand over they rolled. He saw Sigurd, whimpering witheagerness, striving to strike . . .
	Suddenly Klaneth rolled over, Kenton on top of him; his grip relaxed; he grew limp; lay inert.
	Kenton knelt upon him; looked up at the Norseman.
	"Not yours," he gasped. "Mine!" He sought for the dagger at his belt. The body of theblack priest stiffened. Then, like a released spring, heleaped upon his feet, throwing Kenton away.
	Before the Viking could raise his club Klaneth was atthe rail.
	He hurled himself over it into the sea! A hundred feet away, the serpent drum floated, its topslit across by Gigi's knife. The head of Klaneth arosebeside it, his hands gripped it. Under the touch the hugecylinder dipped to him with grotesque genuflection. Fromit came a dismal sound, like a lament.
	Out of the silver haze a shadow moved. It darkenedover black priest and drum. It shrouded them and with-drew. Where it had been was neither black priest norSummoner! Man and drum-both had gone!


13.Master Of-Sharane!

	BATTLE fury still in his veins, Kenton looked about him.The black deck was strewn with Klaneth's men; men  crushed and broken under Sigurd's mace; men from whomhis own sword had let out the life; men in twisted heaps; men-but not many-who still writhed and groaned.He turned to Sharane's deck. Her women, white-faced, clustered at the cabin door.
	And on the very verge of the barrier between the two decks stood Sharane. Proudly she faced him, but withmisty eyes on whose long lashes tears still trembled. Dia-dem of shining crescent was gone; gone too that aura ofthe goddess which even when Ishtar was afar lingered like a splendor around this, her living shrine.
	She was but a woman. Nay-only a girl! A girl all human, exquisite-- He was lifted high on the shoulders of Gigi and the Persian.
	"Hail!" cried Gigi. "Hail! Master of the ship!" "Master of the ship!" shouted the Persian.
	Master of the ship!"Put me down," he ordered. And when they had set him on his feet he strode from Klaneth's deck to Sharane's.
	He stood over her.
	"Master of the ship!" he laughed. "And master of- you! Sharane!"He gripped her slender wrists, drew her to him.
	There was a cry from Gigi, a groan echoed by the Persian. Sharane's face paled. . . .
	Out of the black cabin strode Sigurd, and in his arms was that dark statue of cloudy evil that had stood in Klaneth's shrine.
	"Stop!" cried Gigi, and sprang. Before the Ninevite could reach him Sigurd had lifted the idol and cast it over into the waves.
	"The last devil gone!" he shouted.The ship trembled-trembled as though far beneath its keel a hand had risen and was shaking it.It stopped. Around it the waters darkened.Deep, deep down in those darkened waters began toglow a scarlet cloud. Deep, deep beneath them the cloudmoved and widened as widens the thunderhead. It vor-texed into a crimson storm cloud blotted with blacknesses.It floated up; ever growing, its scarlets deepening evermore angrily, its blacks shading ever more menacingly' The lifting cloud swirled; from it shot out strangelyordered rays, horizontal, fan-shaped. From those slant-  planed luminescences now whirling like a tremendouswheel in the abyss, immense bubbles, black and crimson,began to break. They arose, growing swiftly in girth as theyneared the surface.
	Within them Kenton glimpsed figures, misty figures; bodies of crouching men clad in armor that glimmeredjet and scarlet.
	Men within the bubbles! Armored men! Men who crouched with heads on knees,clothed all in glittering scales. Warriors in whose handswere misty swords, misty bows, misty javelins.
	Up rushed the bubble hosts, myriad after myriad. Nowthey were close to sea surface. Now they broke through.
	The bubbles burst! Out of their shattered sides the warriors sprang. All intheir checkered mail, pallid-faced, pupilless eyes halfclosed and dead, they leaped out upon the darkened blueof the sea. From crest to crest of waves they vaulted.They ran over the waters as though over a field of witheredviolets. Silently they poured down upon the ship! "Men of Nergal!" wailed Sharane. "Warriors of theBlack One! Ishtar! Ishtar-help us!" "Phantoms!" cried Kenton, and held high his bloodstained sword. "Phantoms!" And he knew in his soul that whatever they were-phantoms they were not! The front rank poised themselves upon the tip of acurling wave as though upon a long land barrow. Theythrust down bows no longer misty. To their cheeks theydrew the tips of long arrows. Came a twang of strings, apattering as of hail against the sides of the ship. A dozenshafts quivered along the side of the mast; one fell at hisfeet-serpent scaled, black and crimson, its head burieddeep within the deck.
	"Ishtar! Mother Ishtar! Deliver us from Nergal!" wailedSharane.
	As though in answer the ship leaped as if another handhad thrown it forward.
	From the hosts still breaking through the bubbles arosea shouting. They raced after the flying ship. Another rainof arrows fell upon it.
	"Ishtar! Mother Ishtar!" sobbed Sharane.The hovering darkness split. For an instant out of itPeered an immense orb circled with garlands of little    moons. From it poured silver fire; living, throbbing, jubi-lant. The pulsing flood struck the sea and melted through it. The shadows closed; the orb was gone.
	The moon flames it had poured dropped down anddown. Up to meet them sparkled other great bubbles allrosy, pearl and silver, shimmering with glints and glimmer-ings of tenderest nacre, gleamings of mother-of-pearl, cream of roses.
	In each of them Kenton sensed a form, a body-won-drous, delicate and delicious; a woman's body from whosebeauty the shining sides of the bubbles drew their glory! Women within the bubbles!Up rushed the spheres of glamour; they touched the surface of the wan sea. They opened.
	Out of them flowed hosts of women. Naked, save for tresses black as midnight, silvery as the moon, golden asthe wheat and poppy red, they stepped from the shimmer-ing pyxes that had borne them upward.
	They lifted white arms and brown arms, arms shell pinkand arms pale amber, beckoning to the rushing, sea-born men-at-arms.Their eyes gleamed like little lakes of jewels-sapphires blue, black and pale sapphires, velvet jet, sun stone yellow,witched amber; eyes gray as sword blades beneath winter moons.
	Round hipped and slender hipped, high breasted and virginal, they swayed upon their wave crests, beckoning, calling to Nergal's warriors.
	At their calling-dove sweet, gull plaintive, hawk eager, sweet and poignant-the scaled hosts wavered; halted. Thebows that had been drawn dropped; swords splashed; javelins twirled through the deeps. Within their dead eyes a flame sprang.
	The warriors shouted. They leaped forward ... to the women. ...
	Wave crests on which mailed men raced met crests on which the wondrous women poised. Into the mailed armsthe women were swept. For a breath, tresses brown andblack, silver as the moon and golden as the wheat, swirled round mail ebon and scarlet.
	Then warriors and women melted into the form behind the racing ship; became one with the jeweled and sparklingwake of it; a wake that rolled and sighed as though it were the soul of amorous seas.oc  "Ishtar! Mother Beloved!" prayed the Lady Sharane. "ToIshtar-homage!" "To Ishtar-homage!" echoed Kenton, and bent his knee.Rising, he caught her to him.
	"Sharane!" he breathed. Her soft arms wreathed his neck."My lord-I pray you forgiveness," she sighed. "I prayyou forgiveness! Yet how could I have known-when firstyou lay upon the deck and seemed afraid and fled? I loved you! Yet how could I have known how mighty a lord youare?" Her fragrance shook him; the softness of her againsthis breath closed his throat.
	"Sharane!" he murmured. "Sharane!" His lips sought hers and clung; mad wine of life racedthrough his veins; in the sweet fire of her mouth memoryof all save this moment was burned away.
	"I-give myself-to you!" she sighed.
	He remembered. . . .
	"You give nothing, Sharane," he answered her. "I-take! He lifted her in his arms; he strode through the rosy cabin's door; shut it with thrust of foot and hurled downits bar.
	Sigurd, Trygg's son, came and sat at the threshold ofthe rosy cabin. He polished the black priest's sword, chant-ing low some ancient bridal lay.
	Upon the black deck Gigi and Zubran moved, castingthe bodies of the slain into the sea; ending the pain ofthose not yet dead; casting them then after the others.
	One dove and then another fluttered down from thebalcony of the little blossoming trees. The Viking watchedthem, still chanting. Quick after the first dropped others,twain upon twain. They cooed and bent inquisitive heads; they billed and murmured. They formed a half ring beforethe cabin's closed door.
	The white breasted doves-red beaked, vermilion footed; the murmuring, the wooing, the caressing doves -they set their snowy seal upon the way to Kenton andSharane.
	The doves of Ishtar wedded them!


PART III
14. The Black Priest Strikes

	"DEAR lord of mine-Kenton" whispered Sharane. "Ithink that even you do not know how greatly I love you!"They sat within the rosy cabin, her head upon his breast.It was a new Kenton who looked down upon the lovelyface upturned to his. All that had been modem had fallenfrom him. He had gained in height, and brown as his facewas the broad chest bared by open tunic. His blue eyeswere clear and fearless, filled with a laughing recklessness; touched, too, with half fierce ruthlessness. Above the elbowof his left arm was a wide bracelet of thin gold, gravenwith symbols Sharane had cut there. Upon his feet weresandals that Sharane had embellished with woven Baby-Ionian charms-to keep his feet upon a path of love that led to her and her alone.
	How long had it been since that battle with the black priest, he wondered, as he drew her closer to him. Eterni-ties it seemed-and but yesterdayl How long? He could not know-in that timeless world where etern-ities and yesterdays were as one.
	And whether yester-moment or eternities ago, he had ceased to care! On and on they had sailed. And ever as they slipped through the azure seas, memory of that other life of hishad dwindled and sunk beneath the horizon of conscious-  ness, as the land sinks behind the watcher on an outwardbound ship. He thought of it, when at all, with a numb-ing fear that he might be thrust back into it again-thatold life of his.
	Away from the ship! Away from Sharane-never to re-turn! On and on they had sailed. The black cabin, swept cleanof evil, housed now the Viking, Gigi and the Persian.Sigurd or Gigi handled the two great oars that, fastenedto each side of the stern, steered the ship. Sometimes, infair weather, maids of Sharane took their place at the rud-der bars. The Viking had found an anvil in the hold underthe black cabin; had made a forge and on it hammeredout swords. One he had made for Gigi, full nine feet long,that the dwarf legged giant handled like a wand. Better,though, Gigi liked the mace that Sigurd had also made forhim-long as the sword, with huge bronze ball studdedwith nails at its end. Zubran clung to his scimitar. But theViking labored at his forge, beating out lighter brands forSharane's warrior maids. He made them shields and taughtthem to use both sword and shield as they had been usedon his dragons in the old Viking days.
	Part fruit of that instruction, sword play with Sigurd,wrestling with Gigi, fencing with his own blade againstthe scimtar of Zubran, was Kenton now.
	All this Gigi had encouraged.
	"No safety while Klaneth lives!" he would croak. "Makethe ship strong." "We have done with Klaneth!" Kenton had said, a littleboastfully.
	"Not so," Gigi had answered. "He will come with manymen. Sooner or later the black priest will come." There had been recent confirmation of this. Soon afterhis battle Kenton had taken one of the blacks, a Nubian,and set him in Zachel's seat. But this had made them shortone slave at the oars. They had met a ship, hailed it, anddemanded an oarsman. Its captain had given them one-fearfully, quickly, and had sped away.
	"He did not know that Klaneth was no longer here,"chuckled Gigi.
	But not long after this they had met another ship. Itscaptain would not halt when hailed and they had beenforced to pursue and to fight. It was a small vessel, easilyoverhauled and easily captured. And that same captain    had told them, sullenly, that Klaneth was at Emakhtila,High Priest of a temple of Nergal there, and one of thecouncil of the House of Nergal in the temple of theSeven Zones. And more, the black priest was high in favorwith one he called the Lord of the Two Deaths-theruler, so they gathered, of Emakhtila.
	Klaneth, said the captain, had sent forth word that theShip of Ishtar was no longer to be feared, that it nowheld neither Nergal nor Ishtar but only men and women,It was to be sunk when met, but its men and women wereto be saved. For them he offered a reward.
	"And had my boat been but a little bigger and mymen more, I would have claimed that reward," he hadended, bluntly.
	They took what they wanted from him and let him go.But as the ship drew away, he shouted to them to takewhat joy of life they could at once, since Klaneth on agreat ship and with many men was searching for themand their shift was apt to be short! "Ho-ho!" grunted Gigi, and-"Oh-ho! Klaneth searchesfor us, does he? Well, I warned you he would, Wolf. What now?"   "Make for one of the isles, pick our vantage ground andlet him come," answered Kenton. "We can build a fort,raise defenses. Better chance we would have against himthan on the ship-if it be true that he pursues us in agreat vessel with many soldiers." They had found Kenton's word good, and they weresailing toward such an isle, Sigurd at the helm, Gigi andthe Persian and the women of Sharane on watch, alert.
	"Yea-dear lord of me-even you do not know howgreatly I love you," whispered Sharane again, eyes wor-shipping, arms fettering his neck. His lips clung to hers.Even in the sweet fire of their touch he marvelled, blindto his own renaissance, at this changed Sharane-Love'schangeling since that time he had carried her within herbower, disdaining her as gift, taking her by right of his two strong arms.
	Swift memories shook him; of Sharane-conquered; ofsome unearthly wonder that had flamed over the shrineand with fingers of pure fire had woven his soul with hersin threads of flaming ecstasies!  "Tell me, lord of me-how much you love me," shemurmured, languorously.
	There came a shout from Sigurd: "Waken the slaves! Drop oars! Storm comes!"Imperceptibly, the cabin had darkened. He heard theshrilling of the overseer's whistle, a shouting and patter offeet. He unclasped Sharane's arms; gave her one kiss thatanswered her questioning better than words; passed outupon the deck.
	Swiftly the sky blackened. There was a splintering flashof the prismatic lightning, a clashing of cymbaled thunder.A wind arose and roared. Down came the sail. Before theblast, held steady by the hands of Sigurd, the ship flew.
	Then fell the rain. Through it scudded the ship,hemmed in by blacknesses which when the lightnings fellwere threaded by myriads of multi-colored serpents ofglass from sky to sea.
	A tremendous gust of wind swept down upon the ship,careening her far over. It buffeted at Sharane's door; toreit open. Kenton staggered over to Gigi, shouted to thewomen to leave their watch, go inside. He watched themstumble in.
	"Zubran and I will watch," he cried in Gigi's ear. "Goyou and help Sigurd at the helm." But Gigi had not gone a yard before the wind died asquickly as it had risen.
	"To the right!" he heard Sigurd shout. "Look to theright!" To the starboard rail the three ran. Within the darknesswas a broad faint disk of luminescence, like a far awaysearchlight in a fog. Rapidly its diameter decreased, grow-ing ever brighter as its size diminshed, The disk burst out of the mists; it became a blazingbeam that shot over the rushing waves and glared uponthe ship. Kenton glimpsed double banks of oars that drovea huge bulk down upon them with prodigious speed. Be-neath the light was a gleaming ram, lance tipped. ItJutted out from the prow like the horn on a chargingrhinoceros.
	"Klaneth!" roared Gigi, and ran shouting to the blackcabin, Zubran at his heels.
	"Sharane!" shouted Kenton, and raced to her door.The ship veered abruptly, careening until the seaPoured over the port rail. Kenton's feet flew from under  him; he rolled head over heels to the bulwarks; struckand lay for an instant stunned.
	Sigurd's manoeuvre could not save the ship. The biremehad changed course, swept down parallel with it to shearoff its starboard bank of oars. The Viking had thoughtto escape the impact. But the attacking vessel's oarsmenwere too many, its speed too great for the ship of Ishtar'ssingle banks of seven. Down dipped the bireme's sweeps,checking its rush. It swung broadside on straight againstthe ship, crushing the starboard oars, like sticks 1 Kenton reeled to his feet; saw Gigi leaping down tohim, battle mace in hand; beside him Zubran, scimitargleaming. And close behind them, the useless tiller aban-doned, was Sigurd the Viking, shields under arm, his greatsword held high.
	They were beside him. His giddiness was gone. TheViking thrust him a shield. He drew his own sword.
	"To Sharane!" he gasped. Forward they ran.
	Before they could reach her door, defend it, a score ofsoldiers, chain mailed and armed with short swords, hadpoured down the side of the bireme and closed the way tothe cabin. And behind them poured other scores.
	Out whirled Gigi's giant mace, striking them down.Blue blade of Nabu, scimitar of Zubran, brand of Sigurdrose and fell, struck and thrust. In a breath were drippingred! Yet not a step could they advance! For every soldierthey slew, another took his place. And still the biremerained men.
	An arrow whistled, stood quivering in Sigurd's shield.Another flew and hung from Zubran's shoulder.
	Came the bellowing of Klaneth: "No arrows! Take the black-haired dog and yellow-hairalive! Slay the others-if you must-with swords!" Now the fighting men from the bireme were all aroundthem. Back to back in hollow square the four fought,Upon the deck the mail clad men fell. Steadily growingmounds of dead around them, they fought on. There wasa sword gash across Gigi's hairy chest from which bloodran in little trickling streams. Sigurd was bleeding from adozen cuts. But Zubran, save for the arrow wound, wasuntouched. He fought silently, but Sigurd chanted andhowled as he struck and Gigi laughed as his giant macecrushed bone and sinew.
	 Yet still the barrier of the black priest's men held fastbetween them and Sharane! What of Sharane! Kenton's heart sank. He cast a swiftglance up at the balcony. She stood there with three ofher warrior maids, swords in hands, battling against sol-diers who crept two by two down a narrow bridge of planksthat had been dropped from the bireme's deck.
	But that glance had been no wise one. A sword bitinto his unguarded side, paralyzing him. He would havefallen but for the Viking's hand.
	"Steady, blood-brother!" he heard him say. "My shieldis before you. Take breath!" There came a triumphant shouting from the ship ofKlaneth. Out from its deck two long poles had been thrust.There had been a tugging of ropes and from their endsa net had fallen-squarely over Sharane and her threewomen! They were struggling to cut the meshes. They boundthem, fettered them. The women beat against those meshesas helplessly as butterflies.
	And suddenly the net tightened, was drawn together bycords. Slowly the poles began to lift carrying the net'sburden upward to the deck of the attacking ship! "Ho! Sharane!" mocked Klaneth, "Ho! Vessel of Ishtar!Welcome to my ship!" "Christ!" groaned Kenton. Strength renewed by hisfury and despair, he charged. Before his onslaught thewarriors gave way. Again he rushed. Something whirledthrough, struck him upon the temple. He fell. The men ofKlaneth swarmed upon him, clutching at his hands, hisfeet, smothering him.
	They were hurled from him. The dwarf legs of Gigiwere astride of him, his mace whistling, men droppingunder its stroke. Dizzily he raised his head; saw Sigurdguarding him at right, Zubran at left and rear.
	He looked upward. The net that held the strugglingWomen was being dropped upon the bireme's deck.
	Again he heard the bellow of Klaneth: "Welcome, sweet Sharane! Welcome!" He staggered up, broke from the Viking's grip, stag-gered forward-toward her.
	"Seize him!" came the howl of the black priest. "Hisweight in gold to the men who bring him to me-alive!" And now there was a ring of Klaneth's men around  him, sweeping him away. Between him and the three whohad fought beside him eddied another stream of warriors,falling smitten by mace and sword and scimitar-but theirplaces taken by others; others wedging in, widening steadilythe distance between Kenton and his comrades.
	He ceased to struggle. After all-this was what hewanted! This was best. They could take him-he wouldbe with Sharane! "Hold him up!" roared Klaneth. "Let the slut of Ishtarsee him!" He was lifted high in the hands of his captors. Heheard a wail from Sharane....
	A dizziness seized him! It was as though he had beencaught in some vortex and was being sucked away-away! He had a vision of Sigurd, the Persian and Gigi staringat him, their faces incredulous bloody masks. And theyhad stopped fighting. There were other faces, scores ofthem, staring at him with that same incredulity-thoughnow, it seemed, shaded with terror.
	Now they were all staring at him as though over theedge of a prodigious funnel through which he had begunto drop! And now clutching hands had melted away from him!The faces were gone.
	"Gigi!" he called. "Sigurd! Zubran! Help me!" He heard the howling of winds! They changed into a trumpet note. The trumpetingchanged. It became some familiar sound-some soundknown in another life of his, ages and ages gone! Whatwas it? Louder it grew, rasping, peremptory-- The shriek of an auto horn! Shuddering, he opened his eyes.
	He looked upon his own room! There lay the shining jeweled ship-the ship of toys! And there was a knocking at the door, agitated, frantic; the murmuring of frightened voices.
	Then the voice of Jevins, faltering, panic stricken: "Mr. John! Mr. John!"


15.Down The Rope Of Sound

	KENTON fought back his faintness; reached out a trem-bling hand, and snapped on the electrics."Mr. John! Mr. John!" The old servant's voice was sharp with terror; he rattledthe door knob; beat against the panels.
	Kenton steadied himself against the table; forced him-self to speak.
	"Why-Jevins-" he strove to lighten the dragging words, inject some naturalness into them-"What's thematter?" He heard a little gasp of relief, another murmuringfrom the servants and then Jevins spoke again.
	"I was passing and heard you cry out, sir. A dreadfulcry! Are you ill?" Desperately Kenton strove against the racking weakness; managed a laugh.
	"Why, no-I fell asleep. Had a nightmare. Don't worry!Go to bed." "Oh-it was that?" The relief in Jevins' voice was greater, but the doubt was not altogether gone. He did not withdraw; stood therehesitating.
	There was a mist before Kenton's eyes, a thin veil ofcrimson. His knees bent suddenly; barely he saved himselffrom falling. He stumbled to the couch and sank upon it.A panic impulse urged him to cry out to Jevins to bringhelp-to break down the door. Fast upon it came warningthat he must not do this; that he must fight his battleout alone-if he were to tread the ship's deck again! "Go, Jevins!" he cried harshly. "Hell, man-didn't I tellyou I wasn't to be disturbed tonight? Get away!" Too late he realized that never before had he spokenso to this old servant who loved him, he knew, like ason. Had he betrayed himself-crystallized Jevins' sus-  picions into certainty that within that room somethingwas wrong indeed? Fear spurred his tongue.
	"I'm all right!" He forced laughter into the words. "Ofcourse, I'm all right!" Damn that mist in front of his eyes! What was it? Hepassed a hand over them, brought it away wet with blood.He stared at it, stupidly.
	"Oh, very well, Mr. John." There was no more doubt,nothing but affection in the voice. "But hearing you cry-" God! Would the man never go! His eyes travelled fromhis hand up his arm. Crimson it was, red with blood tothe shoulder. The fingers dripped.
	"Only a nightmare," he interrupted quietly. "I won'tsleep again until I'm done and go to bed-so run along." "Then-good night, Mr. John." "Good night," he answered.
	Swaying he sat until the footsteps of Jevins and theothers had died away. Then he tried to rise. His weaknesswas too great. He slid from the couch to his knees,crawled across the floor to a low cabinet, fumbled at itsdoors and drew down a bottle of brandy. He raised itto his lips and drank deep. The fiery stuff raced throughhim, gave him strength. He arose.
	A sickening pang stabbed his side. He raised his handto clutch the agony, covered it and felt trickle throughhis fingers a slow, warm stream! He remembered-a sword had bitten him there-thesword of one of Klaneth's men! Flashed before him pictures-the arrow quivering in theViking's shield, the mace of Gigi, the staring warriors,the great net dropping over Sharane and her women, thewondering faces. . . .
	Then-this! Again he lifted the bottle. Half way to his mouth hestopped, every muscle rigid, every nerve taut. Confront-ing him was a shape-a man splashed red from headto foot! He saw a strong, fierce face from which glaredeyes filled with murderous menace; long tangled elf locksof black writhed round it down to the crimson-stainedshoulders. From hair edge to ear down across the fore-head was a wound, from which blood dripped. Bare tothe waist was this man and from the nipple of his leftbreast to mid-side ran a red wide-mouthed slash, open tothe ribs!  Gory, menacing, dreadful in its red lacquer of life, a living phantom from some pirate deck of death it glaredat him.
	Stop! There was something familiar about the face-the eyes! His gaze was caught by a shimmer of gold on the right arm above the elbow. It was a bracelet. And he knewthat bracelet-- The bridal gift of Sharane! Who was this man? He could not think clearly-howcould he-with numbness in his brain, the red mists be-fore his eyes, this weakness that was creeping back uponhim? Sudden rage swept through him. He swung the bottleto hurl it straight at the wild fierce face.
	The left hand of the figure swung up, clutching a similarbottle-- It was he, John Kenton, reflected in the long mirror on the wall. That ensanguined, fearfully wounded, ragingshape was-himself! A clock chimed ten.
	As though the slow strokes had been an exorcism, achange came over Kenton. His mind cleared, purpose andwill clicked back in place. He took another deep drink ofthe liquor, and without another look in the mirror, with-out a glance toward the jeweled ship, he walked to the door.
	Hand on the key he paused, considering. No, that wouldnot do. He could not risk going out into the hallway.Jevins might still be hovering near; or some of the otherservants might see him. And if he had not known himself,what would be the effect of seeing him on them? He could not go where water was to cleanse his hurts,wash away the blood. He must do with what was here.
	He turned back to the cabinet, stripping the table of itscloth as he passed. His foot struck something on the floor.The blade of Nabu lay there, no longer blue but stainedas was he from tip of blade to hilt. For the moment heleft it lie. He poured spirits upon the cloth, made shift tocleanse himself with them. From another cabinet he drewout his emergency medical kit. There was lint there andbandages and iodine. Stiff-lipped with the torture of itstouch, he poured the latter into the great wound in hisside, daubed it into the cut across his forehead. He madecompresses of the lint and wound the linen tapes aroundbrow and chest. The blood flow stopped. The fiery agony  of the iodine diminished. He stepped again to the mirrorand scanned himself.
	The clock struck the half hour.
	Half past ten! What had it been when he had clutchedthe golden chains of the ship-had summoned the shipand been lifted by those chains out of the room and intothe mysterious world in which it sailed? Just nine o'clock! Only an hour and a half ago! Yet during that time inthat other and timeless world he had been slave and con-queror, had fought great fights, had won both ship andthe woman who had mocked him, had become-what nowhe was! And all this in less than two short hours! He walked over to the ship, picking up the sword as hewent. He wiped the hilt clean of blood, the blade he didnot touch. He drained the bottle before he dared drop his eyes.
	He looked first on Sharane's cabin. There were gaps inthe little blossoming trees. The door was down, flungbroken on the deck. The casements of the window wereshattered. Upon the roof's edge a row of doves perched,heads a-droop, mourning.
	From the oar ports four sweeps instead of seven dippedon each side. And in the pit were no longer the eightand twenty rowers. Only ten were left, two to each ofthe stroke oars, one each to the other.
	On the starboard side of the hull were gashes and deepdents-the marks of the bireme's combing of that ship ofIshtar now sailing somewhere on that unknown worldfrom which he had been whirled.
	And at the tiller bar a manikin stood-a toy steeringthe toy ship. A toy man, long haired, fair haired. At hisfeet sat two other toys; one with shining, hairless head,and apelike arms; the other red bearded, agate eyed, ashining scimitar across his knees.
	Longing shook him, heartache, such homesickness assome human soul might feel marooned upon alien star on outskirts of space.
	"Gigi!" he groaned. "Sigurd! Zubran! Bring me back to you!" He bent over the three, touching them with tender fingers, breathing on them, as though to give them warmthof life. Long he paused over Gigi-instinctively he felt  that in the Ninevite more than the others dwelt the powerto help. Sigurd was strong, the Persian subtle-but in thedwarf-legged giant ran tide of earth gods in earth's shout-ing youth; archaic, filled with unknown power long lostto man.
	"Gigi!" he whispered, face close-and again and again-"Gigi! Hear me! Gigi!" Did the manikin move? Breaking his passion of concentration came a cry. News-boys shouting some foolish happening of importance onthis foolish world on which he was cast away! It brokethe threads, shattered the fragile links that he had feltforming between himself and the manikin. Cursing, hestraightened. His sight dimmed; he fell. Effort had toldupon him; the treacherous weakness crept back. He draggedhimself to the cabinet, knocked the head off a secondbottle, let half of it pour down his throat.
	The whipped blood sang in his ears; strength flowedthrough him. He snapped off the lights. A ray from thestreet came through the heavy curtains, outlining the three toy figures. Once more Kenton gathered himself for amighty effort of will.
	"Gigi! It is I! Calling you! Gigi! Answer me! Gigi!"The manikin stirred, its body trembled, its head raised!Far, far away, thin and cold as tip of frost lance uponglass, ghostly and unreal, coming from immeasurable dis-tances, he heard Gigi's voice.
	"Wolf I hear you! Wolf! Where are you?" His mind clung to that thread of sound as though itwere a line flung to him over vast abysses.
	"Wolf-come to us!" The voice was stronger."Gigil Gigi! Help me to you!" The two voices-that far flung, thin, cold one and hisown met and clung and knit. They stretched over thatgulf which lay between where he stood and the unknowndimension in which sailed the ship.
	Now the little figure no longer squatted! It was upright!Louder rang Gigi's voice: "Wolf! Come to us! We hear you! Come to us!"Then as though it chanted words of power: "Sharane! Sharane! Sharane!" Under the lash of the loved name his will now streamedfiercely.
	"Gigi! Gigi.' Keep calling!"  He was no longer conscious of his room. He saw theship far, far beneath him. He was but a point of lifefloating high above it, yearning to it and calling, callingto Gigi to help him. The strand of sound that linked themstrained and shook like a cobweb thread. But it heldand ever drew him down.
	And now the ship was growing. It was misty, nebulous; but steadily it grew and steadily Kenton dropped downthat rope of sound to meet it. Strengthening the twovoices came other sounds weaving themselves within theirthreads-the chanting of Sigurd, the calling of Zubran,the thrumming of the fingers of the wind on the harp-string of the ship's stays, the murmuring litany of thebreaking waves telling their beads of foam.
	Ever more real grew the ship. Striking through its sub-stance came the wavering image of his room. It seemedto struggle against the ship, to strive to cover it. Butthe ship beat it back, crying out to him with the voices ofhis comrades and the voices of wind and sea in one.
	"Wolf! We feel you near! Come to us-Sharane! Shar-ane! Sharane!" The phantom outlines leaped into being; they enclosedhim.
	The arms of Gigi reached out to him, gripped him,plucked him out of space! And as they gripped, he heard a chaotic whirling, aroaring as of another world spinning from under himand lashed by mighty winds.
	He stood again upon the ship.
	He was clasped tight to Gigi's hairy chest. Sigurd'shands were on his shoulders. Zubran was clasping andpatting Kenton's own hands clutching Gigi's back, singingin his joy strange intricate Persian curses.
	"Wolf!" roared Gigi, tears filling the furrows of hiswrinkled face. "Where did you go? In the name of all thegods-where have you been?" "Never mind!" sobbed Kenton. "Never mind where I'vebeen, Gigi! I'm back! Oh, thank God, I'm back!"


16. How The Ship Was Manned

	FAINTNESS conquered him. The wounds and the effort of will had sapped his strength to its limit. When hecame back to consciousness he was on the divan inSharane's raped cabin. His bandages had been replaced,his wounds redressed. The three men and four of Sharane'smaids were looking down upon him. There was no re-proach on any of their faces-only curiosity, temperedwith awe.
	"It must be a strange place to which you go, Wolf,"Gigi said at last. "For see! The slash across my chest ishealed, Sigurd's cuts, too-yet your wounds are as freshas though made but a moment ago." Kenton looked and saw that it was so; the slash acrossGigi's breast was now only a red scar.
	"Also it was a strange way to leave us, blood-brother,"rumbled the Viking.
	"By the fire of Ormuzd!" swore the Persian. "It was avery good way! A good thing for us that you left as youdid. Cyrus the King taught us that it was a good generalwho knew how to retreat to save his troops. And thatretreat of yours was a masterly one, comrade, Withoutit we would not be here now to welcome you." "It was no retreat! I could not help but go!" whisperedKenton.
	"Well," the Persian shook a dubious head, "whateverit was, it saved us. One instant there you were lifted onthe paws of the black priest's dogs. Another instant you had faded into a shadow. And then, lo, even the shadowwas gone!" "How those dogs who had held you shrieked and ran,"laughed Zubran. "And the dogs who were biting at usran too-back to their kennels on the bireme they ran,for all Klaneth's cursing. They had great fear, comrade-and so in fact for a moment had I. Then down went  their oars, and away sped their ship with Klaneth's cursingstill sounding even after they had gotten safely out ofsight of us." "Sharane!" groaned Kenton. "What did they do to her?Where have they taken her?" "To Emakhtila, or Sorcers' Isle, I think," answered Gigi."Fear not for her. Wolf. The black priests want you both.To torture her without your eyes looking on, or to slay youwithout hers beholding your agonies would be no revengefor Klaneth. No-until he lays hands on you Sharane issafe enough." "Not comfortable, perhaps, nor happy, but assuredlysafe enough," confirmed the Persian, "Three of her maids they took with her in the nets,"said Sigurd. "Three they slew. These four they left whenyou vanished." "They took Satalu, my little vessel of joy," mournedGigi. "And for that Klaneth shall also pay when reckon-ing comes." "Half the slaves were killed when the bireme crashedagainst us," went on the Viking. "Oars crushed in ribs,broke backs. Others died later. The black-skin we put inZachel's place is a man! He fought those who droppedinto the pit and slew his share. Only eight oars havewe now instead of twice seven. The black-skin sits at oneof them-unchained. When we take new slaves he shallbe overseer again and honored." "And I remember now," it was Gigi, dropping back tohis first thought, "that when I dragged you up the side ofKlaneth's cabin that day you fought his priests, you stillbled from the bites of Sharane's girls. Yet with us therehad been time and time again for them to have healed,And here you are once more with old wounds fresh. Itmust be a strange place indeed, that you go to, Wolf-is there no time there?" "It is your own world," he answered. "The world fromwhence all of you came." And as they stared at him, he leaped up from the divan.
	"Sail to Emakhtila! At once! Find Sharane! Free her!How soon, Gigi? How soon?" He felt the wound in his side open, fell back, his spurt ofstrength exhausted.
	"Not till your wounds are healed," said Gigi, and beganto unfasten the reddening bandages. "And we must make  the ship strong again before we take that journey. Wemust have new slaves for the oars. Now lie quiet, untilyou heal. Klaneth will do Sharane no harm as long as there is hope of taking you. I, Gigi, tell you this. Soset your heart at ease." And now began for Kenton a most impatient time ofwaiting. To be chained here by his wounds when, despiteGigi's assurances, the black priest might be wreaking hisultimate vengeance upon Sharane! It was not to be borne.
	Fever set in. His wounds had been more serious than hehad known. Gigi nursed him.
	The fever passed, and as he grew stronger he told him ofthat lost world of theirs; what had passed there during thecenturies they had sailed on the timeless ship; of its ma-chinery and its wars, its new laws and its customs.
	"And none now go Viking!" mused Sigurd. "Clearlythen I see that there is no place for me there. Best forSigurd, Trygg's son, to end his days where he is." The Persian nodded.
	"And no place for me," he echoed. "For a man oftaste such as I, it seems no world at all to live in, I likenot your way of waging wars. nor could I learn to like it-I who seem to be a soldier of an old, old school,indeed." Even Gigi was doubtful.
	"I do not think I would care for it," he said. "Thecustoms seem so different. And I notice, Wolf, that youwere willing to risk chains and death to get out of thatworld-and lose no time getting back to this." "The new gods seem so stupid," urged Zubran. "Theydo nothing. By the Nine Hells, the gods of this place arestupid enough-still they do something. Although perhapsit is better to do nothing than to do the same stupidthings over and over," he ruminated.
	"I will make me a steading on one of these islands,"said Sigurd, "after we have carried away Kenton's womanand slain the black priest. I will take me a strong wifeand breed many younglings. I will teach them to buildships. Then we shall go viking as I did of old. Skoal! Skoalto the dragons slipping through Ran's bath with the red ravens on their sails and the black ones flying overhead!"shouted Sigurd.
	"Say, blood-brother," he turned to Kenton, "when youhave your woman back will you make a steading beside  mine? With Zubran taking wives and he and Gigi-if heis not too old-breeding young, and with those who willjoin us-by Odin, but we could all be great Jarls in thisworld!" "That is not to my liking," replied the Persian promptly."For one thing it takes too long to rear strong sons tofight for us. No-after we have finished our business withKlaneth I will go back to Emakhtila where there areplenty of men already made. It will be strange if I findthere no discontented ones, men who can be stirred to re-volt. If there be not enough of them-well, discontent isthe easiest thing in the world to breed; much easier thansons, Sigurd. Also I am a great soldier. Cyrus the Kinghimself told me so. With my army of discontented menI shall take his nest of priests and rule Emakhtila myself!And after that-beware how you raid my ships, Sigurd!" Thus they talked among themselves, telling Kenton thingsof their own lives as strange to him as his own tales musthave been to them. Steadily, swiftly his wounds healeduntil they were at last only red welts, and strength flowedback in his veins.
	Now for many sleeps, while he grew well, they had lainhidden within a land-locked cove of one of the goldenisles. Its rock-jawed mouth had been barely wide enoughfor them to enter. Safe enough this place seemed frompursuit or prying eyes. Nevertheless they had drawn theship close against a high bank whose water side droppedstraight down to the deep bottom. The oars had been takenin. The branches of the feathery trees drooped over thecraft, covered it.
	The time came when Kenton, awakening, felt full tideof health. He walked back to the rudder bar where Sigurd,Gigi and the Persian were stretched out talking. He pausedfor the hundredth time beside the strange compass thatwas the helmsman's guide in this world, where there wasneither sun nor moon nor stars, no east or west, northor south. Set within the top of a wooden standee was asilver bowl covered with a sheet of clear crystal. Aroundthe lip of this bowl were inlaid sixteen symbols, cunei-form, scarlet. Attached to a needle rising vertically fromthe bowl's bottom were two slender pointers, serpentshaped, blue. The larger, he knew, pointed always towardEmakhtila, that land to which, were Gigi right, Sharane  had been carried by the black. priest. The smaller pointedtoward the nearest land.
	As always, he wondered what mysterious currentsstirred them in this poleless world; what magnetic flowfrom the scattered isles pulled the little one; what constantflow from Emakhtila kept the big one steady? Steadierfar than compass needles of earth pointed to the north.
	And as he looked it seemed to him that the little blueneedle spun in its scarlet pool and lay parallel with thegreater one-both pointing to the Isle of Sorcerers! "An omen!" he cried. "Look, Sigurd! Gigi-Zubran-look!" They bent over the compass, but in the instant be-tween his call and their response the smaller needle had shifted again; again pointed to the isle where they laymoored! "An omen?" they asked, puzzled. "What omen?""Both the needles pointed to Emakhtila!" he told them."To Sharane! It was an omen-a summons! We must go!Quick, Gigi-Sigurd-cast loose! We sail for Emakhtila!" They looked at him, doubtfully; down at the compassonce more; at each other covertly.
	"I saw it, I tell you.'" Kenton repeated. "It was no il-lusion-I am well! Sharane is in peril! We must go!" "Sh-h-h!" Gigi held up a warning hand, listened in-tently, parted the curtains of the leaves and peered out.
	"A ship," he whispered, drawing back his head. "Bid the maids get arrows and javelins. Arm-all of you. Quietnow-and speed!" They could hear the drop of oars; voices: the low tap-ping of a hammer, beating the stroke for the rowers. Themaids of Sharane silently ranged themselves along theport rail near the bow, bows standing, arrows at strings, beside them their stabbing javelins, their swords, too; theirshields at feet.
	The four men crouched, peeping out through the trees.What was coming? Questing ship of Klaneth that hadnosed them out? Hunters searching the sea for themspurred on by the black priest's promises of reward? Through the narrow entrance to the hidden harbordrifted a galley. Twice the length of the ship of Ishtar, itwas single tiered, fifteen oars to the side and doublebanked-two men to each sweep. There were a dozen ormore men standing on the bow deck; how many others  not visible there was no knowing. The galley crept in. Itnosed along the shore. When less than two hundred feetaway from the hidden watchers grapnels were thrown overthe side and the boat made fast.
	"Good water here, and all we need," they heard one say.
	Gigi put his arms around the three, drew them closeto him.
	"Wolf," he whispered, "now do I believe in your omen.For lo! close upon its heels follows another and betterone. A summons indeed. There are the slaves we musthave for our vacant oars! And gold too, I'll warrant, thatwe shall want when we reach Emakhtila." "Slaves and gold, yes," muttered Kenton; then sardon-ically as half a dozen more men came up from belowand joined the group on the bow-"only remains to findthe way to take them, Gigi." "Nay, but that will be easy," whispered Zubran. "Theysuspect nothing, and men surprised are already halfbeaten. We four will creep along the bank until we arejust opposite their bow. When we have been away foras long as Zala there-" he motioned to one of the war-rior maids-"can count two hundred, the maids shall pourtheir arrows into that group, shooting fast as they canbut taking careful aim and bringing down as many asthey can. Then we will leap aboard and upon those left.But when the maids hear us shout they must shoot nolonger at the bow, lest we be struck. Thereafter let themkeep any others from joining those forward. Is it a goodplan? I'll warrant we shall have their ship in less timethan it has taken me to tell it." A qualm shook Kenton.
	"Now by the gods!" came the voice, evidently of thecaptain of the galley. "Would that cursed Ship of Ishtarhad been here. Had it been-well, I think none of uswould need go faring out of Emakhtila again. Gods! Ifwe might only have crept upon her here and wonKlaneth's reward!" Kenton's compunction fled; here were the hunters, anddelivered into the hands of the hunted.
	"Right, Zubran," he whispered fiercely. "Beckon Zalato us and tell her the plan." And when that had been done he led them over tothe side of the ship into the covert. There was a ledgethat helped them in their going and it seemed to Kenton,  watching hungrily the craft which, won, might meanSharane, that the maids' arrows would never fly.
	At last they came, buzzing like bees and swarmingamong the cluster of men on the strange ship. And themaids were aiming straight. Of the near score fully halfwere down, spitted, before they broke for shelter, cryingcrazily. Kenton shouted and leaped upon the deck, cuttingwith his sword, while the mace of Gigi struck, and theblade of Sigurd, the scimitar of Zubran look toll. Beatenere they could raise a hand, those left alive knelt andcried for mercy. A little band running to their aid fromthe stern met an arrow storm from the maids, threw downtheir arms, raised hands of submission.
	They herded their captives together, disarmed themand thrust them into the forward cabin. They lockedthem in, first making sure there were no weapons thereand no way for them to escape. They took the keys tothe rowers' chains. The Viking went down into the pit,picked out nineteen of the sturdiest slaves, loosed anddrove them two by two over to the ship. He mana-cled them to its empty oars.
	Much gold they found, too, and other things that mightprove useful in Emakhtila-clothes of seamen in the fash-ion of the place, long robes to cover them and make themless open to detection.
	Arose then the question of what was so be done withtheir prize-and the men aboard her. Gigi was for put-ting them all to the sword. The Persian thought that itwould be best to bring back the slaves, leave their shipwhere she was, and after killing all those on the captivegalley, put forth to Emakhtila on her. There was much inhis plan to be commended. The Ship of Ishtar was amarked vessel. There was no mistaking her. This othercraft would arouse no suspicion in the minds of thosewho saw it sailing. And once landed at Emakhtila, andwhat lay before them done, they could sail back on itand recover their own.
	But Kenton would not have it. And the upshot wasthat the captain was called out for questioning and toldthat if he answered truthfully his life and those of theothers would be spared.
	There was little he could tell them-but that littlewas enough to quicken Kenton's heart-bring new dreadto it also. Yes, there had been a woman brought to  Emakhtila by Klaneth, the Priest of Nergal. He had wonher in a fight, Klaneth had said, a sea battle in whichmany men had been slain. He had not said where, orwith whom this battle had taken place, and his soldiershad been warned to be silent. But it began to be whis-pered that the woman was the woman of the Ship ofIshtar. The priestesses of Ishtar had claimed her. ButKlaneth who had great power had resisted them, and asa compromise the Council of Priests had made herpriestess of the God Bel and placed her in Bel's Boweron top of the Temple of the Seven Zones.
	"I know that Temple and the Bower of Bel," Sigurdhad nodded. "And why its priestess must live there," hehad whispered, looking askance at Kenton.
	This woman appeared now and then, heavily veiled,attending certain ceremonies to the God Bel, the cap-tain went on. But she seemed to be a woman in a dream.Her memory had been taken from her-or so it was re-ported. Beyond that he knew nothing-except that Klanethhad doubled his reward for three of them-he pointed toGigi, Zubran and the Persian; and had trebled it for him-he pointed to Kenton.
	When they were done with him they unloosed the re-maining slaves and sent them ashore. They hailed theship and the Nubian brought her over. They watched thecaptain and his men pass over the side of the galley anddisappear among the trees.
	"Plenty of water and food," grumbled Gigi. "Theyfare far better at our hands than we would have faredat theirs." They hitched the captured galley to the ship; slowlypulled it out of the harbor through the rock-lipped mouth.And after they had gone a mile or so Sigurd dropped intoit, did a few things with an axe, and climbing backcut it loose. Rapidly the galley filled and sank.
	"Now," cried Kenton, and took the rudder bar, steeringthe ship straight to where the long blue arrow pointed.
	Pointed to Emakhtila and to Sharane--- Sharane!


17. They Seek Sorcerers' Isle

	LUCK clung to them. The silver mists hung closeabout the ship, shrouding her so that she sailed within acircle not more than double her length. Ever the mistshid her. Kenton, sleeping little, drove the slaves at theoar to point of exhaustion.
	"There is a great storm brewing," warned Sigurd.
	"Pray Odin that it may hold back till we are well with-in Emakhtila," answered Kenton.
	"If we but had a horse I would sacrifice it to the All-Father," said Sigurd. "Then he would hold that storm tillour needs called it." "Speak low, lest the sea horses trample us!" warnedKenton.
	He had questioned the Viking about that interruptionof his when the captain of the captured galley had saidthat the captured woman was Priestess of Bel's Bower.
	"She will be safe there, even from Klaneth-so longas she takes no other lover than the god," Sigurd had said.
	"No other lover than the god!" Kenton had roared,hand dropping to sword and glaring at Sigurd. "She shallhave no lover but me-god or man, Sigurd! What do youmean?" "Take hand from sword. Wolf," Sigurd had replied. "Imeant not to offend you. Only-gods are gods! And therewas something in that captain's talk about your womanwalking in dream, memory withdrawn from her-wasthere not? If that be so-blood-brother-you are in thosememories she has lost!" Kenton winced.
	"Nergal once tried to part a man and a woman wholoved," he said, "even as Sharane and I. He could not. Ido not think Nergal's priest can succeed where his masterfailed." "Not well reasoned, Wolf." It was Zubran who had  come quietly upon them. "The gods are strong. Thereforethey have no reason for subtlety or cunning. They smite-and all is done. It is not artistic, I admit-but it is un-answerable. And man, who has not the strength of thegods, must resort to cunning and subtlety. That is whyman will do worse things than the gods. Out of his weak-ness he is forced to it. The gods should not be blamed-ex-cept for making man weaker than they. And thereforeKlaneth is more to be feared by you than Nergal, hismaster." "He cannot drive me out of Sharane's heart!" Kentoncried.
	The Viking bent his head down to the compass.
	"You may be right," he muttered. "Zubran may beright. All I know is that while your woman is faithfulto Bel, no man may harm her!" Vague as he might be on that one point, the Vikingwas direct and full of meat upon others. The Norsemanhad been observant while slave to the priests of Nergal.He knew the city and the Temple of the Seven Zonesintimately. Best of all he knew a way of enteringEmakhtila by another road than that of its harbor.
	This was indeed all important, since it was not withinthe bounds of possibility that they could enter that har-bor without instant recognition.
	"Look, comrades," Sigurd scratched with point ofsword a rude map on the planks of the deck. "Here liesthe city. It is at the end of a fjord. The mountains riseon each side of it and stretch in two long spits far outto sea. But here"-he pointed to a spot in the coastline close to the crotch where the left hand mountain bar-rier shot out from the coast-"is a bay with a narrowentrance from the sea. It is used by the priests of Nergalfor a certain secret sacrifice. Between it and the city ahidden way runs through the hills. That path brings youout to the great temple. I have traveled the hidden wayand have stood on the shores of that bay. I went therewith other slaves, bearing priests in litters and thingsfor the sacrifice. While it would take two good sleepsfor a ship to make the journey from Emakhtila to thisplace, it is by the hidden way only half so far as a strongman could walk in my own land between the dawn andnoon of a winter day. Also there are many places therewhere the ship can be hidden. Few galleys pass by and  no one lives near-which is why the priests of Nergalpicked it.
	"Also I know well the Temple of the Seven Zones-since long it was my home," went on Sigurd. "Itsheight is thirty times the ship's mast." Kenton swiftly estimated. That would make the templesix hundred feet-a respectable height indeed.
	"Its core," said the Viking, "is made up of the sanc-tuaries of the gods and the goddess Ishtar, one upon eachother. Around this core are the quarters of the priestsand priestesses and lesser shrines. These secret sanctuar-ies are seven, the last being the house of Bel. From Bel'sHouse a stairway leads up into his Bower. At the baseof the temple is a vast court with altars and other shrineswhere the people come to worship. Its entrances arestrongly guarded. Even we four could not enter-there! "But around the temple, which is shaped thus"-hescratched the outline of a truncated cone-"a great stonestairway runs thus"-he drew a spiral from base to topof cone. "At intervals, along that stairway, are sentinels.There is a garrison where it begins. Is this all clear?" "What is clear," grunted Gigi, "is that we would needan army to take it!" "Not so," the Viking answered. "Remember how wetook the galley-although they outnumbered us? We willrow the ship into that secret harbor. If priests are therewe must do what we can-slay or flee. But if the Nornsdecree that no priests be there, we will hide the ship andleave the slaves in care of the black-skin. Then the four ofus, dressed as seamen in the clothes and the long cloakswe took from the galley, will take the hidden way and gointo the city.
	"For as to that stairway-I have another plan. It ishigh walled-up to a man's chest. If we can pass with-out arousing the guards at its base, we can creep upunder shadow of that wall, slaying the sentinels as wego, until we reach the Bower of Bel and entering, bearSharane away.
	"But not in fair weather could we do this," he ended."There must be darkness or storm that they see us notfrom the streets. And that is why I pray to Odin, that thisbrewing tempest may not boil until we have reachedthe city and looked upon that stairway. For in that  storm that is surely coming we could do as I havesaid and swiftly." "But in all this I see no chance of slaying Klaneth,"growled Zubran. "We creep in, we creep up, we creep outagain with Sharane-if we can. And that is all. By Ormuzd,my knees are too tender for creeping! Also my scimitaritches to scratch itself on the black priest's hide." "No safety while Klaneth lives!" croaked Gigi, playingupon his old tune.
	"I have no thought of Klaneth now," rumbled theViking. "First comes Kenton's woman. After that-wetake up the black priest." "I am ashamed," said Zubran. "I should have remem-bered. Yet in truth, I would feel easier if we could killKlaneth on our way to her. For I agree with Gigi-whilehe lives, no safety for your blood-brother or any of us,However-Sharane first, of course." The Viking had been peering down into the compass.He looked again, intently, and drew back, pointing to it.
	Both the blue serpents in the scarlet bath were parallel,their heads turned to one point.
	"We head straight to Emakhtila," said Sigurd. "But arewe within the jaws of that fjord or out of them? Whereverwe are we must be close." He swung the rudder to port. The ship veered. Thelarge needle slipped a quarter of the space to the rightbetween the red symbols on the bowl edge. The smallerheld steady.
	"That proves nothing," grunted the Viking, "except thatwe are no longer driving straight to the city. But we maybe close upon the mounts. Check the oarsmen." Slower went the ship, and slower, feeling her waythrough the mists. And suddenly they darkened beforethem. Something grew out of them slowly, slowly. Itlay revealed as a low shore, rising sharply and meltinginto deeper shadows behind. The waves ran gently to it,caressing its rocks. Sigurd swore a great oath of thankful-ness.
	"We are on the other side of the mounts," he said."Somewhere close is that secret bay of which I told you.Bid the overseer drive the ship along as we are." He swung the rudder sharply to starboard. The shipturned; slowly followed the shore. Soon in front of them  loomed a high ridge of rock. This they skirted, circledits end and still sculling silently came at last to anothernarrow strait into which the Viking steered.
	"A place for hiding," he said. "Send the ship into thatcluster of trees ahead. Nay-there is water there, thetrees rise out of it. Once within them the ship can be seenneither from shore nor sea." They drifted into the grove. Long, densely leavedbranches covered them.
	"Now lash her to the tree trunks," whispered Sigurd."Go softly. Priests may be about. We will look forthem later, when we are on our way. We leave theship in charge of the women. The black-skin stays be-hind. Let them all lie close till we return---" "There would be better chance for you to return ifyou cut off that long hair of yours and your beard,Sigurd," said the Persian, and added: "Better chance forus, also." "What!" cried the Viking, outraged. "Cut my hair! Why,even when I was slave they left that untouched!" "Wise counsel!" said Kenton. "And Zubran-that nam-ing beard of yours and your red hair. Better for you andus, too, if you shaved them both-or changed theircolor." "By Ormuzd, no!" exclaimed the Persian, as outragedas Sigurd. "The fowler sets the net and is caught with the bird!"laughed the Viking. "Nevertheless, it is good counsel. Bet-ter hair off face and head than head off shoulders!" The maids brought shears. Laughing, they snippedSigurd's mane to nape of neck, trimmed the long beardinto short spade shape. Amazing was the transformationof Sigurd, Trygg's son, brought about by that shearing.
	"There is one that Klaneth will not know if he seeshim," grunted Gigi.
	Now the Persian put himself in the women's hands.
	They dabbled at beard and head with cloths dipped ina bowl of some black liquid. The red faded, then dark-ened into brown. Not so great was the difference betweenhim and the old Zubran as there was between the newand old Sigurd. But Kenton and Gigi nodded approvingly-at least the red that made him as conspicuous as theNorseman's long hair was gone.
	Remained Kenton and Gigi. Little could be done for  either of them. There was no changing Gigi's frog slit ofa mouth, the twinkling beady eyes, the bald pate, theimmense shoulders.
	"Take out your earrings, Gigi," bade Kenton.
	"Take off that bracelet on your arm," replied Gigi, "Sharane's gift! Never!" exclaimed Kenton, as out-raged as had been both the Norseman and the Persian.
	"My earrings were put there by one who loved me asmuch as she does you." For the first time since Kentonhad known Gigi there was anger in his voice.
	The Persian laughed softly. It broke the tension. Kentongrinned at the drummer, somewhat guiltily. Gigi grinnedback.
	"Well," he said. "It seems that we must all make oursacrifices-" he began to unscrew the earrings.
	"No, Gigi!" Kenton could not bring himself to breakthat golden band upon which Sharane had graven thesymbols of her love. "Leave them be. Rings and bracelet-both can be hidden." "I do not know-" Gigi paused doubtfully. "It seems tome to be better. That idea of sacrifice-it grows stronger." "There is little sense in what you say," said Kentonstubbornly.
	"No?" mused Gigi. "Yet many men must have seenthat bracelet of yours that time you fought the blackpriest's men and lost Sharane. Klaneth must have seen it.Something whispers to me that token is more perilousthan the rings in my ears." "Well, nothing whispers to me," said Kenton, shortly,He led the way into what had been Klaneth's cabin andbegan stripping to clothe himself in the sailors' gear theyhad taken from the captured galley. He slipped on a looseshirt of finely tanned, thin leather whose loose sleevesfastened around his wrists.
	"You see," he said to Gigi, "the bracelet is hidden." Next came loose hose of the same material drawn tightby a girdle around the waist. He drew on high, lacedbuskins. Over the shirt he fastened a sleeveless tunic ofmail. On his head he placed a conical metal covered capfrom whose padded sides dropped, shoulder deep, foldsof heavy oiled silk.
	The others dressed with him in similar garments. Onlythe Persian would not leave off his own linked mail. Heknew its strength, he said, and the others were new to  him It was an old friend, often tried and always faithfulhe said he would not cast it off for new ones whoseloyalty was still untried. But over it he drew one of theshirts and a tunic. And Gigi, after he had set the capupon his head, drew close the folds of silk so thatthey hid his ears and their pendants. Also he fastenedaround his neck another long fold of silk, binding theothers fast and hiding his mouth.
	And when they had covered themselves with the longcloaks they scanned each other with lightened hearts. TheViking and the Persian were true changelings. Little fearof recognition there. Changed enough by his new garb, itseemed to them, was Kenton. The cloak hid Gigi's stumpylegs and the cloths around his face, the close fitting, coni-cal cap altered it curiously into one not easily recognzi-able.
	"It is good!" murmured the Viking.
	"It is very good!" echoed Kenton.
	They belted themselves and thrust into the belts boththeir own swords and short ones of Sigurd's forging. OnlyGigi would take neither that nine foot blade the Norse-man had made for him nor the great mace. The latterwas too well known; the other too cumbersome fortheir journey; impossible, like the mace, to hide. He tooktwo swords of average length. Last he picked up a long,thin piece of rope, swiftly spliced to it a small grap-pling hook. He coiled the rope around his waist, hang-ing the grapple to his belt.
	"Lead, Sigurd," said Kenton.
	One by one they dropped over the ship's bow, wadedthrough shallow water and stood upon the shore whileSigurd cast about for his bearings. The mists had grownthicker. The golden leaves, the panicles of crimson andyellow blooms were etched against them as though uponsome ancient Chinese screen. In the mists Sigurd moved,shadowy.
	"Come," the Viking joined them. "I have found theway." Silently they followed him through the mists, underthe silver shadows of the trees.


Part IV
18. In the Sorcerers' City

	THERE was a hidden way, in truth. How Sigurd fol-lowed it in the glimmering fog, by what signs led, Kentoncould not tell. But the Viking walked along, unhesitant.
	Between high rocks covered with the golden ferns thenarrow road ran, and through thickets where the still airwas languorous with the scent of myriads of strange blos-soms; through dense clumps of slender trunks which werelike bamboo stems all lacquered scarlet, and throughgroves where trees grew primly in park-like precision andunder which the tarnished silver shadows were thick. Theirsteps made no sound on the soft moss. They had longlost the murmur of the sea. Sound of any kind aroundthem there was none.
	At the skirt of one of the ordered groves the Viking paused.
	"The place of sacrifice," he whispered. "I go to see ifany of Nergal's black dogs are about. Wait for me here." He melted into the mists. They waited, silent. Eachfelt that something evil lay sleeping within those trees andif they spoke or moved it would awaken, draw them toit. And out of it, as though the sleeping evil breathed,pulsed the sickly sweet and charnel odor that had hungin Klaneth's cabin.
	Silently as he had gone, Sigurd returned.
	 "No black robes there," he said. "Yet-something oftheir dark god dwells in that grove always. Eager am Ito pass this place. Go softly and quickly." They pushed on. At last Sigurd paused, exhaled a vastsigh of relief.
	"We have passed," he told them.
	He led them with increased speed. And now the waybegan to climb steeply. They passed through a long anddeep ravine in which the glimmering, misty light washardly strong enough for them to pick their way overthe boulders that strewed it.
	They passed out of it between two huge monoliths-and halted. Abruptly the silence that had enveloped themhad been broken. Before them was nothing but the wallof the mists, but from them and far, far below came amurmuring, a humming of a great city, the creaking ofmasts, the rattle of gear, the splashing of oars and nowand then a shouting, darting up like a kite from the vagueclamor.
	"The harbor," said Sigurd, and pointed downward tothe right. "Emakhtila lies beneath us-close. And there,"-he pointed again downward and a little to the left-"there is the temple of the Seven Zones." Kenton followed the pointing finger. A mighty massloomed darkly in the silvery haze, its nebulous outlinescone-shaped, its top flattened. His heart quickened.
	Down they went, and down. The murmuring of the citycame to them ever louder and louder. Ever the great bulkof the temple grew plainer, climbing higher and higherinto the heavens as they descended. And ever the mistshid ths city from them.
	They came to a high stone wall. Here Sigurd turnedand led them into a grove of trees, thick, heavily shad-owed. Through the trees they slipped, following the Vikingwho now went on with greater caution.
	At last he peered out from behind an enormous trunk,beckoned them. Beyond the trees was a deep rutted, broadroadway.
	"A road into the city," he said. "A free road on whichwe can walk without fear." They clambered down a high bank and took that road,walking now side by side. Soon the trees cave way tofields, cultivated as far as the mists would let them see; fields filled with high plants whose leaves were shaped  like those of the corn, but saffron yellow instead of greenand instead of ears long panicles of gleaming white grains; rows of bushes on whose branches shone berries green asemeralds: strange fruits; three-stemmed vines from whichfell star-shaped gourds.
	They saw houses, two-storied; block-like with smallercubes for wings like those a child makes. They werepainted startlingly-both in colors and patterns; facadesstriped with alternate vertical, yard wide bands of blue,and yellow facades of dull blue through which dartedscarlet zigzags like the conventionalized lightning bolt; broad horizontal bands of crimson barred with stripes ofgreen.
	The road narrowed, became a thoroughfare paved withblocks. The painted houses became thicker. Men and wom-en passed them, brown faced and black, clad alike in onesleeveless white garment cut short just below the knees.On the right wrist of each of these was a bronze ringfrom which fell a half dozen links of chain. They carriedburdens-jugs, baskets of the fruits and gourds, loavesof bread colored ruddy brown, flat cakes a foot across.They glanced at the four curiously as they passed.
	"Slaves," said Sigurd.
	Now the painted houses stood solidly, side by side.These were galleried and on the galleries were floweringtrees and plants like those upon the rosy cabin of the ship.From some of them women leaned and called out tothem as they went by.
	They passed out of this street into a roaring avenuethronged with people. And here Kenton halted in sheeramazement.
	At its far end loomed the huge bulk of the terracedtemple. Its sides were lined with shops. At their doorsstood men crying out their wares. Banners fell from themon which in woven silk ran the cuneiform letters thattold their goods.
	Past him walked Assyrians, men of Nineveh and Baby-lon with curled heads and ringleted beards; hook nosed,fierce eyed Phoenicians; sloe-eyed, muslin skirted Egyp-tians; Ethiopians with great golden circles in their ears,almond lidded, smiling yellow men. Soldiers in cuirassesof linked mail, archers with quivers on back and bows inhand strode by; priests in robes of black and crimsonand blue. Stood in front of him for an instant a ruddy  skinned, smooth muscled warrior who carried upon oneshoulder the double bladed ax of ancient Crete. Over hisother shoulder lay the white arm of a sandalled woman inoddly modern pleated and patterned skirt, snake girdledand with high, white breasts peeping from her opened andas oddly modern blouse. A Minoan and his mate he knewthe pair to be, two who had perhaps watched youths andmaids who were Athen's tribute to the Minotaur gothrough the door of the labyrinth to the lair where themonstrous man-bull awaited them.
	And there went a cuirassed Roman, gripping a shortsword of bronze that might have helped cut out the pathsthe first Caesar trod. Behind him strode a giant Gaul withtwisted locks and eyes as coldly blue as Sigurd's own.
	Up and down along the center of the thoroughfare rodemen and women in litters borne on the shoulders ofslaves. His eyes followed a Grecian girl, long limbed andlithe, with hair as yellow as the ripened wheat. They fol-lowed, too, a hot eyed Carthaginian lovely enough to bea bride of Baal who leaned over the side of her litterand smiled at him.
	"I am hungry and I thirst," grunted Sigurd. "Why dowe stand here? Let us be going." And Kenton realized that this pageant of past agescould be no strange thing to these comrades who were alsoof that past. He nodded assent. They swung into the crowdand stopped before a place wherein men sat eating anddrinking.
	"Better for us to enter two by two," said Gigi. "Klanethseeks four men and we are four strangers. Wolf, go you infirst with Sigurd. Zubran and I will follow-but do notnotice us when we enter." The shopkeeper set food before them and high beakersof red wine. He was garrulous; he asked them when theyhad made harbor, if their voyage had been a good one.
	"It is a good time to be off the sea," he gossiped.'Storm comes-and a great one. I pray to the Dispenserof Waters, that he hold it until Bel's worship is ended. I close my shop soon to see that new priestess they talk somuch about."   Kenton's face had been bent over, his cap veils hiding it. But at this he raised it and stared full into the man'sface.
	 The shopkeeper blanched, faltered, stared back at him.
	with wide eyes.
	Had he been recognized? Kenton's hand sought stealth-ily his sword.
	"Pardon!" gasped the shopkeeper, "I knew you not-'"Then he peered closer, straightened and laughed. "ByBel! I thought you were-another-Gods!" He hurried away, Kenton looked after him. Was hisdeparture a ruse? Had he recognized him as the manKlaneth sought? It could not be. His fright had been tooreal; his relief too sincere. Who was it then that Kentonso resembled to bring forth this fright and relief? They finished their food quickly, paid from the goldthey had taken from the galley; passed out into the street.Almost at once Gigi and the Persian joined them.
	Two by two they passed down the street, not hurrying,like men just in from a long voyage. But as they wentKenton, with an ever growing puzzlement and apprehen-sion, saw now one and now another glance at him, pauseas though in wonder and then, averting eyes go swiftlyby. The others saw it, too.
	"Draw the cap cloths about your face," said Gigi, un-easily. "I like not the way they stare." Briefly Kenton told him of the shopkeeper.
	"That is bad," Gigi shook his head. "Now who can it beyou so resemble that those who look at you grow fright-ened? Well-hide your face as best you can." And this Kenton did, keeping his head bent as hewalked. Nevertheless heads still turned.
	The street entered a broad park. People were strollingover its sward, sitting on benches of stone, and giganticroots of trees whose trunks were thick as the sequoia andwhose tops were lost in the slowly thickening mists. Andwhen they had gone a little way Sigurd turned off the high-way into this park.
	"Wolf," he said. "Gigi is right. They stare at you toomuch. It comes to me that it will be better for all if yougo no further. Sit upon this bench. Bow your head asthough asleep or drunken. There are few here and theywill be fewer as the temple court fills. The mists hide youfrom those who pass along the street. The three of us willgo on to the temple and study that stairway. Then we willreturn to you and we will take counsel." Kenton knew the Viking was right. Steadily his own  unease had grown. And yet-it was hard to stay behind,not to see for himself that place where Sharane lay cap-tive, leave to others the chance of finding way to her.
	"Courage, brother," said Sigurd as they left him. "Odinhas held off the storm for us. Odin will help us get yourwoman." Now for a time, a long. long time, it seemed to him, hesat upon that bench with face covered by hands. Strongerand stronger grew that desire to see for himself Sharane'sprison, study its weaknesses. After all, his comrades werenot as interested as he; their eyes not sharpened by love.He might succeed where they would fail; his eyes see whattheirs would miss. And at last the desire mastered him. Hearose from the bench, made his way back to the throngedstreet. When it was a few steps away, he turned and wentalong through the park, paralleling the street but not goingout on it.
	And in a short while he came to the end of the parkand stood, half hidden, looking out.
	Directly before him, not fifty yards away, arose the im-mense bulk of the Temple of the Seven Zones.
	It blocked his vision like a Cyclopean cone. The greatstairway coiled round it like a serpent. For a hundred feetup from its base the temple shone like burnished silver.There a circular terrace bit into the cone. Above that ter-race for another hundred feet the surface was coveredwith some metal of red gold color, rich orange. Anotherterrace and above that a facade of jet black, dull anddead. Again a terrace. The mists hid the walls above thislast, but he thought that through them he could see a glintof flaming scarlet and over it a blue shadow.
	His eyes followed the girdling stairway. He stepped for-ward that he might see a little better. Broad steps led upfrom its base to a wide platform on which stood manymen on armor. That, he realized, was the garrison whichthey must either trick or overcome. His heart sank as hecounted the soldiers that guarded it.
	He looked beyond them. The rise of the stairway fromthe platform of the guards was gradual. About five thou-sand feet away the park came close to the side of the tem-ple. There was a clump of high trees whose branches al-most touched the stairway at that point.
	Gigi's rope and grapple! Ah, wise had been the Ninevite,anticipating some such chance. Kenton was lightest of the  four-he could climb those trees, drop to the stairway, orif that were not possible, cast the grapple over the wall ofit, swing in and climb up the rope and over! Then he could drop that rope for the three to swarm it.It could be done! And if in such a storm as Sigurd pro-phesied, with certainty of giving no alarm to the garrisonbelow.
	Suddenly he had the sense of being watched. He sawthat the space between him and the temple was empty ofpeople; saw an officer of the garrison standing at the baseof the steps staring.
	Kenton turned; swiftly skirted the street until he wasback to the bench. He seated himself on it as he bad beenbefore-bent over, face in hands.
	And as he sat there some one dropped down beside him.
	"What is the matter, sailor?" came a voice, roughlykind. "If you are sick why not go home?" Kenton spoke huskily, keeping his face covered.
	"Too much of Emakhtila wine," he answered. "Leaveme be. It will pass." "Ho!" laughed the other, and gripped an arm about theelbow. "Look up. Better seek home before the tempestbreaks." "No, no," said Kenton, thickly. "Never mind the tem-pest. Water will help me." The hand dropped from his arm. For a time, whoeverit was beside him, was silent. Then he arose.
	"Right, sailor," he said heartily. "Stay here. Stretch outon the bench and sleep a little. The gods be with you!" "And with you," muttered Kenton. He heard the foot-steps of that brief companionship retreating. Cautiouslyhe turned his head, looked in their direction. There wereseveral figures walking there among the trees. One was anold man in a long blue cloak; another an officer dressedlike the one who had watched him from the base of thegreat stairway; a sailor; a hurrying citizen. Which had itbeen? The man who had sat beside him had gripped his arm,gripped it where Sharane's bracelet bound! And that of-ficer-the watching soldier of the garrison! Had it beenhe? Had he been followed? He sat bolt upright, clapped his right hand on the sleeveof the leather shirt. His hand touched-the bracelet!The sleeve had been slit by a knife to reveal it!  Kenton leaped to his feet-to run. Before he could takea step there was a rustling behind him, a trampling. Aheavy cioth was thrown over his head like a bag. Handsclutched his throat. Other hands wound strand afterstrand of rope around his arms, pinioning them to his sides.
	"Take that cloth off his face-but keep your handsaround his throat," said a cold dead voice.
	His head was freed. He looked straight into the paleeyes of Klaneth! Then from the double ring of soldiers around him camea gasp of amazement, a movement of terror. An officerstepped forward, stared at him incredulously.
	"Mother of the Gods!" he groaned, and knelt at Ken-ton's feet. "Lord-I did not know-" He leaped up, setknife to his bonds.
	"Stop!" Klaneth spoke. "It is the slave! Look again!" Trembling, the officer studied Kenton's face, lifted thecap veils; swore.
	"Gods!" he exclaimed, "but I thought he was--" "And he is not," interposed Klaneth smoothly. His eyesgloated over Kenton. He reached down into his belt, drewfrom it the sword of Nabu.
	"Hold!" the officer quietly took it from him. "This manis my prisoner until I deliver him to the King. And tillthen I keep his sword." The feral light in the pupils of the black priest glowed.
	"He goes to Nergal's House," he rumbled. "Best be-ware, captain, how you cross Klaneth." "Cross or no cross," replied the officer, "I am theKing's man. His orders I obey. And you know as well asI do that he has commanded all prisoners to be broughtbefore him first-no matter what even high priests maysay. Besides," he added slyly, "there is that matter of thereward. Best to get this capture a matter of record. TheKing is a just man." The black priest stood silent, fingering his mouth. Theofficer laughed.
	"March!" he snapped. "To the temple. If this man es-capes-all your lives for his!"  In a triple ring of the soldiers walked Kenton. On oneside of him strode the officers; on the other the blackpriest, gloating gaze never leaving him; Klaneth, lickinghis merciless lips.               Thus they passed through the wooded park, out intothe street and at last through a high archway, and wereswallowed up within a gateway of the temple.


19. The Lord Of The Two Deaths

	THE KING of Emakhtila, Lord of the Two Deaths, sat,legs crooked, on a high divan. He was very like Old KingCole of the nursery rhyme, even to that monarch'srubicund jollity, his apple round, pippin red cheeks. Merri-ment shone in his somewhat watery blue eyes. He woreone loose robe of scarlet. His long, white beard, stainedhere and there with drops of red and purple and yellowwine, wagged roguishly. The judgment chamber of the King of Emakhtila wassome hundred feet square. His divan rested on a platformfive feet high that stretched from side to side like a stage.The chequered floor raised in a sharp concave curve TObuild it. The curved front was cut through by a broadflight of low wide steps ascending from the lower floor andending about five feet from the divan of the king.
	Two and ten archers in belted kirtles of silver and scar-let stood on the lowest step, shoulder to shoulder, bows atstand, arrows at strings, ready on the instant to be raisedto ears and loosed. Four and twenty archers knelt at their feet. Six and thirty shafts of death were leveled at Kenton,black priest and the captain.
	Out from each side of the steps and along the curvedwall to where it met the sides of the chamber another fileof bowmen stretched, scarlet and silver, shoulder to shoul-der, arrows alert. The twinkling eyes of the king could see the backs of the heads ranged over the edge of his stagelike footlights.
	Along the other three walls, shoulder to shoulder, ar-rows at strings, eyes fixed on the King of Emakhtila, ran.an unbroken silver and scarlet frieze of archers. They    stood silent; tense as automatons tightly wound and wait-ing for touch upon some hidden spring.
	The chamber was windowless. Pale blue tapestries cov-ered all its walls. A hundred lamps lighted it with still,yellow flames.
	Twice a tall man's height away from the king's left handa veiled shape stood, motionless as the bowmen. Eventhrough its thick veils came subtle hints of beauty.
	At the same distance from the king's right hand an-other veiled shape stood. Nor could its veils check hintof horror seeping forth from what they covered.
	One shape set the pulses leaping.
	One shape checked them.
	On the floor, at the king's feet, crouched a giant Chi-nese with a curved and crimson sword.
	Close to each end of the divan stood, fair and youngand naked to their waists. Six to this side-six to that.They held ewers filled with wine. At their feet were greatbowls of wine, red and purple and yellow, in larger bowlsof snow.
	At the right hand of the Lord of the Two Deaths knelta girl with golden cup on outstretched palms. At his lefthand another knelt, a golden flagon on her palms. Andthe king to drink used equally well his left hand and hisright, raising cup or flagon, setting them to his lips, put-ting them back. Whereupon at once they were refilled.
	Through many passages the captain and the black priesthad hurried Kenton to this place. And now the king drankdeep, set down his cup and clapped his hands.
	"The King of Emakhtila judges!" intoned the Chinese,sonorously.
	"He judges!" whispered the bowmen ranged along thewalls.
	Kenton, black priest and captain stepped forward untiltheir breasts touched the foremost arrow points. The kingleaned, merry eyes twinkling on Kenton.
	"What jest is this, Klaneth?" he cried in a high, thintreble. "Or have the Houses of Bel and Nergal declaredwar upon each other?" . "They are not at war, lord," answered Klaneth. "Thisis the slave for whom I have offered great reward andwhom I now claim since I have taken---" Since I have taken, Mighty One," interrupted the cap-  tain, kneeling as he spoke. "And so have earned Klaneth'sreward, O Just One!" "You lie, Klaneth!" chuckled the king. "If you are notat war why have you trussed up--" "Look again, lord," interrupted Klaneth. "I do not lie." The watery eyes peered closer at Kenton.
	"No!" laughed the king. "You are right. He is what theother man would be were he half as much a man. Wellwell--" He raised the flagon; before he had half lifted it to hislips he paused and looked into it.
	"Half full!" giggled the king. "Only half full!" He glanced from the flagon to the girl who stood closestto the kneeling girl at his left. His round face beamed onher.
	"Insect!" chuckled the king. "You forgot to fill myflagon!" He raised a finger.
	A bow string sang along the left wall, an arrow shrilled.It struck the trembling girl in the shoulder on the rightside. She swayed, eyes closed.
	"Bad!" the king cried merrily, and again held up a fin-ger.
	From the frieze along the right wall another bow stringsang; an arrow whittled across the room. The shaft cleftthe heart of the first archer. Before his body touched thefloor the same bow sang once more.
	A second shaft leaped into sight deep within the leftside of the wounded girl.
	"Good!" laughed the king.
	"Our lord has granted death!" chanted the Chinese."Praise him!" "Praise him!" echoed the bowmen and the cup maidens.
	But Kenton, mad with swift rage at that heartless kill-ing, leaped forward. Instantly the bow strings of the sixand thirty archers before him were drawn taut, arrowshafts touched ears. Black priest and captain caught him,threw him down.
	The Chinese drew a small hammer and struck the bladeof his sword. It rang like a bell. Two slaves came out onthe dais and carried the dead girl away. Another girl tookher place. The slaves dragged off the dead archer. Anotherslipped through the curtains and stood where he hadbeen.
	 "Let him up," crowed the king-and drained his filled flagon.
	"Lord-he is my slave." All the black priest's will couldnot keep the arrogant impatience out of his voice. "He hasbeen brought before you in obedience to your generalcommand. You have seen him. Now I claim my right totake him to his place of punishment." "Oh-ho!" the king set down his cup, beamed atKlaneth. "Oh-ho! Sh-so you won't let him up? And youwill take him away? Oh-ho! "Toe nail of a rotting flea!" he shrilled. "Am I King ofEmakhtila or am I not? Answer me!" From all around the chamber came the sigh of tightdrawn bow strings. Every arrow of the silver and scarletfrieze of bowmen was pointed at the black priest's greatbody. The captain threw himself down beside Kenton.
	"God's!" muttered that shoulder. "Hell take you andthe reward. Why did I ever see you!" The black priest spoke, voice strangled between rageand fear- "King of Emakhtila you are!" He knelt. The king waved his hand. The bow stringsdropped loose.
	"Stand up!" cried the king. The three arose. The Kingof Emakhtila shook a finger at Kenton.
	"Why were you so angered," he chuckled, "by my boonof death to those two? Man-how many times, think you,will you beeseech death to come, and pray for my swiftarchers before Klaneth is done with you?" "It was slaughter," said Kenton, eyes steady on thewatery ones.
	"My cup must be kept filled," answered the king gently."The girl knew the penalty. She broke my law. She wasslain. I am just." "Our lord is just!" chanted the Chinese.
	"He is just!" echoed the archers and the cup maidens.
	"The bowman made her suffer when I meant painless death for her. Therefore he was slain," said the king. "I am merciful." "Our lord is merciful!" chanted the Chinese.He is merciful!" echoed the bowmen and the cupmaidens.
	Death!" the king's face wrinkled jovially. "Why, man-death is the first of boons. It is the one thing out of  which the gods cannot cheat us. It is the one thing that isstronger than the fickleness of the gods. It is the onlything that is man's own. Above the gods, heedless of thegods, stronger than the gods-since even gods in their duetime must die! "Ah!" sighed the king-and for a fleeting instant allKing Cole jocundity was gone. "Ah! There was a poet inChaldea when I dwelt there- a man who knew death and how to write of it. Maldronah, his name. None hereknows him--" And then softly: " Tis better be dead than alive, he said-But best is never to be!" Kenton listened, interest in this strange personality ban-ishing his anger. He too knew Maldronah of ancient Ur; had run across that very poem from which the king hadquoted while going through some of the inscribed claytablets recovered by Heilprecht in the sands of Nineveh-back in that old life, half forgotten. And involuntarilyhe spoke the beginning of the last macabresque stanza: "Life is a game, he said; Its end we know not-nor care,And we yawn ere we come to its end--" "What!" the king cried. "You know Maldronah!You--" Old King Cole again, he shook with laughter."Go on!" he ordered. Kenton felt the bulk of Klanethbeside him tremble with wrath. And Kenton laughed, too-meeting the twinkling eyes of the king; and while theLord of the Two Deaths beat time with cup and flagon hefinished Maldronah's verse, with its curious jigging lilt en-tangled in slow measure of marche funerale: "Yet it pleases to play with the snare,To skirt the pit, and the peril dare,And lightly the gains to spend; There's a door that has opened, he said,A space where ye may tread- But the things ye have seen and the things ye have done,What are these things when the race is run      And ye pause at the farthest door?  As though they never had been, he said- Utterly passed as the pulse of the dead!  Then tread on lightly with nothing to mourn! Shall he who had nothing fear for the score? Ah-better be dead than alive, he said- But best is ne'er to be born!" Long sat the king in silence. At last he stirred, raisedhis flagon and beckoned one of the maidens.
	"He drinks with me!" he said, pointing to Kenton.
	The archers parted; let the cup maiden pass. She stoodbefore Kenton; held the flagon to his lips. He drank deep; lifted head and bowed thanks.
	"Klaneth," said the king, "no man who knows Mal-dronah of Ur is a slave." "Lord," answered the black priest, stubbornly. "Yet thisman is my slave." The king again sat silent, drinking now from cup andnow from flagon; eyes now on Kenton, now at Klaneth.
	"Come here," he ordered at last-and pointed with onefinger at Kenton, with another at the side of the Chinese.
	"Lord!" said Klaneth, more uneasily yet as stubbornly."My slave stays beside me." "Does he?" laughed the king. "Ulcer on a gnat's belly!Does he?" All around the chamber the bow strings sighed.
	"Lord," panted Klaneth, with bowed head. "He goes toyou." As he passed him, Kenton heard the black priest's teethgrate; heard him sob as does a man after a long race. AndKenton, grinning, stepped through the opened space ofarchers; stood before the king.
	"Man who knows Maldronah," smiled the king. "Youwonder how I, alone, have greater power than these priestsand all their gods? Well-it is because in all Emakhtila Iam the only one who has neither gods nor superstitions. Iam the one man who knows there are only three realities.Wine-which up to a certain point makes man see moreclearly than the gods. Power-which being combined withman's cunning makes him superior to the gods. Death-which no god can abolish and which I deal at will." "Wine! Power! Death!" chanted the Chinese.
	"These priests have many gods-each of them jealous  of all the others. Ho! Ho!" laughed the king. "I have nogods. Therefore I am just to all. The just judge must bewithout prejudice; without belief." "Our lord is without prejudice!" chanted the Chinese."He has no beliefs!" intoned the bowmen."I am on one side of the scales," nodded the king. "Onthe other side are many gods and priests. There are onlythree things that I am sure are real. Wine, power, death!Those who try to outweigh me have beliefs many timesthree. Therefore I outweigh them. If there were but onegod, one belief opposite me-lo, I would be outweighed!Yea-three to one! That is paradox-also it is truth." "The Lord of Emakhtila speaks truth!" whispered thebowmen.
	"Better three straight arrows in your quiver than three-score crooked ones. And if there should arise one man inEmakhtila with but one arrow and that arrow straighterthan my three-that man would soon rule in my place,"beamed the king.
	"Archers-hear ye the king!" chanted the Chinese."And so," the king said, briskly, "since all the gods andall the priests are jealous of each other, they make me-who gives not a curse for any god or priest-king ofEmakhtila-to keep peace among them and hold themback from destroying each other! And this, since I nowhave ten bowmen to every one of theirs, and twentyswordsmen to each swordman of the priests, I do verywell. Ho! Ho!" laughed the king. "That is power.""Our lord has power!" cried the Chinese.
	"And having power I can get drunk at will," chuckledthe king.
	"Our lord is drunken!" whispered the archers, all aroundthe chamber.
	"Drunken or sober-I am King of the Two Deaths!"tittered the ruler of Emakhtila.
	"The Two Deaths!" whispered the archers, nodding toeach other.
	"To you-man who knows Maldronah-I unveil them,"said the king.
	"Bowmen at sides and back-bend your heads!" shoutedthe Chinese. The heads of the archers along three sides ofthe living frieze dropped immediately upon their breasts.
	The veils fell from the shape upon the left hand of theking.
	 There, looking at Kenton with deep eyes in which weretenderness of the mother, shyness of the maid, passion ofthe beloved mistress, stood a woman. Her naked body wasflawless. In it, harmonies of mother, maid and mistressflowed in one compelling chord. From her breathed allspringtides that ever caressed earth. She was the doorwayto enchanted worlds, the symbol of everything that lifecould offer both of beauty and of joy. She was all thesweetnesses of life, its promises, its ecstasies, its lure andits reason. Looking on her Kenton knew that life wassomething to be held fast. That it was dear and filled withwonders. Exquisite-not to be let go! And that death was very dreadful! He had no desire toward her. But she fanned to roaringflame desire for life in full continuance.
	In her right hand she held a strangely shaped instru-ment, long, with sharp fangs and rows of tearing claws.
	"To her," chuckled the king, "I give only those whom Igreatly dislike. She kills them slowly. Looking upon her,they cling to life; fiercely, terribly they cling to it. Eachmoment of life that she draws from them with those clawsand teeth is an eternity through which they battle againstdeath. Slowly she draws them out of life-wailing, cling-ing to it, turning stubborn faces from death! And now-look!" The veils fell from the shape at his right hand.
	There crouched a black dwarf, misshapen, warped,hideous. He stared at Kenton out of dull eyes that heldevery sorrow and sadness and disillusionment of life; heldall of life's uselessness, its weariness, its empty labor. Andlooking at him, Kenton forgot that other shape-knew thatlife was dreadful, not to be borne.
	And that death was the one good thing! In his right hand the dwarf held a slender sword, rapierthin, needle pointed. Kenton fought increasing desire tohurl himself upon that point-die upon it! "To him," laughed the king, "I give those who havegreatly pleased me. Swift is their death and a sweet cupto their lips." "You there-" the king pointed to the captain who hadtrapped Kenton. "Not too pleased am I with you for tak-ing this man who knows Maldronah, even if he be Kla-neth's slave. Go up before my left hand death!" Face bloodless white, the captain marched to the steps;  rigid he marched through the archers, marched withoutpause until he stood before the woman. The Chinese struckhis sword. Two slaves entered, heads bent low, carrying alattice of metal. They stripped the captain of his armor,strapped him naked to the grate. The woman leanedover him, tenderness, love, all life's promise in her wondrous face. She thrust the fanged instrument againsthis breast-so lovingly! From his lips came a shrieking, anguished, despairing; prayers and curses; the wailing of the newly damned.
	Still the woman leaned over him, smiling, tender, hereyes brooding upon his.
	"Let be!" giggled the king. She lifted the thing of tor-ment from the soldier's breast; bent to her veils and threwthem over her. The slaves unbound the captain; dressedhis shaking body. Sobbing, he staggered back, sank onknees at the black priest's side.
	"I am displeased," said the king, merrily. "Yet you did your duty. Therefore-live for a while, since that is yourdesire. I am just." "Just is our lord," echoed the chamber."You-" he pointed to the archer who had slain cupmaiden and a fellow bowman-"I am much pleased with you. You shall have your reward. Come to my right handdeath!" Slowly at first the archer stepped forward. Faster hemoved as the dull eyes of the dwarf met his and clung tothem. Faster and faster-he raced up the steps, hurling thearchers aside and leaped upon the slender sword! "I am generous," said the king.
	"Our lord is generous," intoned the Chinese.
	"Generous!" whispered the bowmen.
	"I am thirsty," laughed the king. He drank deep from left hand and right. His head nodded; he swayed a bit; quite drunkenly.
	"My command!" he opened and closed one twinklingeye after the other. "Hear me, Klaneth! I am sleepy. Iwill sleep. When I was awaken-bring this man who knowsMaldronah to me again. Let no harm come to him beforethen. It is my command. Also he shall have a guard of bowmen. Take him away. Keep him safe. It is my com-mand!" He reached for his cup. It dropped from his lax hand.
	 "By my Deaths!" he whimpered. "What shame that caskscan hold so much and man so little!" He sank upon the divan.
	The Lord of the Two Deaths snored.
	"Our lord sleeps!" chanted the Chinese, softly.
	"He sleeps!" whispered the bowmen and cup maidens.
	The Chinese arose, bent over the king. He raised himon his shoulders like a child. The Two Deaths followedhim. The two and ten archers upon the lowest step turned,marched up and circled the four. The four and twentyturned, marched and circled them. The bowmen beside thecurved wall swung round and six abreast marched up thesteps. The living frieze of scarlet and silver swung six bysix out from their walls and followed them.
	The double ring stepped forward, passed through thecurtains at the rear. After them strode the bowmen.
	Six fell out of the ranks, ranged themselves beside Ken-ton.
	The cup maidens picked up ewers and bowls. Theytripped through the curtains.
	One of the six bowmen pointed to the lower floor. Ken-ton walked down the steps.
	Black priest on one side of him, white faced captain onthe other, three archers marching before them, three afterthem, he passed out of the judgment chamber of the king.


20. Behind The Wall

	THEY LED Kenton to a narrow room in whose high wallswere slitted windows. Its heavy door was solid bronze.Around its sides ran stone benches. In its center was an-other bench. The bowmen sat him on it, tied his ankleswith leathern thongs, threw cloaks on its top and pressedhim down upon them. They seated themselves two by twoon three sides of the room, eyes fixed on black priest andcaptain, now ready.
	The captain tapped the black priest on the shoulder.
	 "My reward?" he asked. "When do I get it?""When the slave is in my hands and not before," an-swered Klaneth, savagely, "If you had been-wiser, you would have had it by now." "Much good it would be doing me, with an arrowthrough my heart or-" he shuddered-"wailing even nowat the feet of the king's left hand death!" The black priest looked at Kenton evilly; bent over him."Put no hope in the king's favor," he muttered. "Itwas his drunkenness that was speaking. When he awakens he will have forgotten. He will give you to me withoutquestion. No hope there!" "No?" sneered Kenton, meeting the malignant eyessteadily. "Yet twice have I beaten you-you black swine." "But not a third time," spat Klaneth. "And when theking awakens I will have not only you but that templedrab you love! Ho!" rumbled the black priest as Kentonwinced, "that touches you, does it? Yes, I will have youboth. And together you shall die-slowly, ah, so slowly,watching each other's agonies. Side by side-side by sideuntil slowly, slowly, my torturers have destroyed the lastof your bodies. Nay, the last of your souls! Never beforehas man or woman died as you two shall!" "You cannot harm Sharane," answered Kenton. "Car-rion eater whose filthy mouth drips lies! She is Bel'spreistess and safe from you." "Ho! You know that do you?" grunted Klaneth; thenbent, whispering close to Kenton's ear so softly that noone but him could hear. "Listen-here then is a sweetthought to carry you while I am away. Only while thepriestess is faithful to the god is she beyond my reach.Now listen-listen-before the king awakes your Sharaneshall have taken another lover! Yea! Your love shall lie in the arms of an earthly lover! And he will not be-you!" Kenton writhed, striving to break his bonds."Sweet Sharane!" whispered Klaneth leering. "Holy Vase of Joy! And mine now to break as I will-while the Kingsleeps!" He stepped back to the soldier who had taken Kenton.. "Come," he said.
	"Not I," answered the soldier, hastily. "By the gods, Iprefer this company. Also if I lose sight of this man-I  might forever lose sight of that reward you owe me for him." "Give me his sword," ordered Klaneth, reaching towardthe blade of Nabu which the officer had retained, "The sword goes with the man," answered the captain,setting it behind him; he looked at the archers.
	"That is true," the bowmen nodded to each other."Priest, you cannot have the sword." Klaneth snarled; his hands flew out. Six bows bent, sixarrows pointed at his heart. Without word, the black prieststrode out of the cell. An archer arose, dropped into placea bar, sealing the door. A silence fell. The officer brooded; now and then he shivered as though cold, and Kentonknew he was thinking of that Death who with smiling,tender eyes had pressed teeth of torture in his breast. Thesix bowmen watched him unwinkingly.
	And at last Kenton closed his own eyes-fighting tokeep back the terror of Klaneth's last threat against hisbeloved; fighting against despair.
	What plot had the black priest set going against her,what trap had he laid, to make him so sure that so soon hewould have her in his hands-to break! And where wereGigi and Sigurd and Zubran? Did they know how he hadbeen taken? A great loneliness swept over him.
	How long his eyes were closed, or whether he had slept-he never could tell. But he heard as though from in-finite distances away a still, passionless voice.
	"Arise!" it bade him.
	He opened his lids; lifted his head. A priest stood be-side him, a priest whose long blue robes covered him fromhead to foot. Nothing could he see of the priest's face.
	He knew that his arms and ankles were free. He sat up.Ropes and thongs lay on the floor. On the stone benchesthe bowmen leaned one against the other asleep. The offi-cer was asleep.
	The priest pointed to his sword, the sword of Nabulying across the sleeping soldier's knees. Kenton took it.The priest pointed to the bar that held the door. Kentonlifted it and swung the door open. The blue priest glidedthrough the doorway, Kenton close behind.
	The blue priest drifted along the corridor for a hundredpaces or so and then pressed against what, to Kenton'ssight, was a blank wall. A panel opened. Now they stoodin a long corridor, dimly lighted. Along it they went in a  great curve. It came to Kenton that this hidden passage followed the huge arc of the temple, that it ran behind thetemple's outer wall.
	Now a massive bronze door closed the way. The bluepriest seemed only to touch it. Yet it swung open; itclosed behind them.
	Kenton stood in a crypt some ten feet square. At oneend was the massive door through which he had come; at the other was a similar one. At his left was a ten-footslab of smooth, pallid stone.
	The blue priest spoke-if indeed it were he speaking,since the passionless, still voice Kenton heard seemed,like that which had bidden him arise, to come from in-finite distance.
	"The mind of the woman you love-sleeps!" it said,"She is a woman walking in dream-moving amongdreams that another mind has made for her. Evil creepsupon her. It is not well to let that evil conquer-Yet theissue rests on you-on your wisdom, your strength, yourcourage. When your wisdom tells you it is the time-open that farther door. Your way lies through it. And re-member-her mind sleeps. You must awaken it-beforethe evil leaps upon her." Something tinkled on the floor. At Kenton's feet lay alittle wedge shaped key. He stooped to pick it up. As heraised his head he saw the blue priest beside the far door.
	The blue priest seemed but a wisp of wind-drawn smoke that, even as he looked, faded through the bronze andvanished! Kenton heard the murmur of many voices, muffled,vague. He slipped from door to door, listening. The voiceswere not within the passage. They seemed to seep throughthe slab of pallid smooth stone. He placed an ear againstit. The sounds came to him more distinctly, but still hecould distinguish no words. The stone must be exceeding-ly thin here, he thought, that he could hear at all. He sawat his right a little shining lever. He drew it down.
	A three-foot wide, misty disc of light began to glowwithin the stone. It seemed to eat through the stone; itflashed out dazzlingly. Where the disc had been was acircular opening, a window. Silhouetted against it were theheads of a woman and two men. Their voices came now asclearly to his ears as though they stood beside him; overthem came the wavelike murmur of a multitude. He drew  back, fearing to be seen. The little lever snapped back intoplace. The window faded; with its fading the voices muted.He stared again at the smooth, pale wall.
	Slowly he drew down the lever; once more he watchedthe apparent burning out of the solid stone; saw the threeheads reappear. He had his free hand over the visible wallto the edge of the circle; higher he lifted it, into the discitself. And ever he touched cold stone. Even that whichwas to his eyes an opening was to the questing fingers-stone! He understood-this was some device of the sorcerers-the priests. A device to give them a peeping place, a lis-tening post, within the crypt. Some knowledge of theproperties of light not yet learned by the science of Ken-ton's own world, control of a varying vibration that madethe rock transparent from within but not from without.Whatever the secret, the stone was made as porous to theaerial waves of sound as to the etheric waves of light.
	Keeping his grip upon the handle, Kenton peered outbetween the heads and over the shoulders of those so closeto and still so unconscious of him.


21. Before The Altar Of Bel

	THE MISTS had lifted. They had become dense luridclouds pressing down almost upon the top of the ZonedTemple. In front of him was a huge court paved withimmense octagons of black and white marble. Troopingdown upon this court like a forest of faery, halting in awide semicircle around it, were hosts of slender pillars,elfin shafts all gleaming red and black whose tapering topswere crowned with carven, lace-tipped fronds glisteninglike gigantic ferns wet with dew of diamonds and sap-phires. Upon the black and scarlet columns shone mys-terious symbolings in gold and azure, in emerald andvermilion and silver. In halted myriads these pillarsreached up toward the sullen, smouldering sky.
	 Hardly a hundred feet away was a golden altar, guard-ed by crouching Kerubs, man-headed, eagle-winged, lion-bodied, carven from some midnight metal. They watchedat each corner of the altar with cruel, bearded faces setbetween paws and as alert as though alive. From thetripod on the altar a single slender crimson flame lifted,lance tipped and motionless.
	In a vast crescent, a dozen yards in the van of the col-umns stood a double ring of bowmen and spearmen. Theyheld back a multitude; men and women and children pour-ing out of the ordered grove of pillars and milling againstthe soldiers like wind driven leaves against a well. Scoreupon score of men and women and children pluckedfrom their own times and set down in this timeless world.
	"The new priestess-they say she is very beautiful?"One of the men in front of Kenton had spoken. He wasthin, white faced, a Phrygian cap over his lank hair. Thewoman was of a bold and blown comeliness, black tressed,black eyed. The man at her right was an Assyrian, beard-ed, wolf visaged.
	"She was a princess, they say," the woman spoke. "Theysay she was a princess in Babylon." "Princess in Babylon!" echoed the Assyrian, wolf facesoftening, homesickness in his voice-"Oh, to be back inBabylon!"            "The Priest of Bel loves her-so they say," the womanbroke the silence.
	"The priestess?" whispered the Phrygian; the womannodded. "But that is forbidden," he muttered. "It is-death!" The woman laughed again.
	"Hush!" it was the Assyrian, cautioning.
	"And Narada-the God's Dancer-loves the Priest ofBel!" the woman went on, unheeding. "And so-as al-ways one must speed to Nergal!" "Hush!" whispered the Assyrian.
	There was a rumbling ruffle of drums, the sweet pipingof a flute. Kenton sought the sounds. His gaze rested onhalf a score of temple girls. Five crouched beside littletambours upon whose heads rested their rosy thumbs; twoheld to red lips pierced reeds; three bent over harps. With-in their circle lay what at first seemed to him a mound ofshimmering spider web spun all of threads of jet, in whichswarms of golden butterflies were snared. The moundquivered, lifted.
	 The sable silken strands had meshed a woman, a womanso lovely that for a heartbeat Kenton forgot Sharane. Darkshe was, with the velvety darkness of the midsummernight; her eyes were pools of midnight skies in whichshone no stars; her hair was mists of tempests snared innets of silken gold. Sullen indeed was that gold, and inall of her something sullen that menaced the more be-cause of its sweetness.
	"There is a woman!" the bold eyes turned to the As-syrian. "She'll have what she wants-my bed on it!" There came a voice from beside her, wistful, dreamy, worshipping: "Ah, yes! But the new priestess-she is no woman! She is Ishtar!" Kenton craned his neck, looking for the speaker. Hesaw a youth, hardly more than nineteen, saffron robedand slight. His eyes and face were those of a beautifuldreaming child.
	"He is half mad," the dark woman whispered to theAssyrian. "Ever since the new priestess came, he haunts this place." "We are going to have a storm. The sky is like a bowlof brass," muttered the Phrygian. "The air is frightened." The Assyrian answered: "They say Bel comes to his house in the storm. Perhapsthe priestess will not be alone tonight." The woman laughed, slyly. Kenton felt desire to takeher throat in his hands. There came a low clashing ofthunder.
	"Perhaps that is he, rising," said the woman, demurely.
	There was a throbbing of the harp-strings, a complain-ing from the tambours. A dancing girl sang softly: "Born was Nala for delight,Never danced there feet so white; Every heart on which she trod.Dying owned her heel its god; Loose her girdle day or night-Born was Nala for delight!" The brooding eyes of Narada flashed angrily."Be quiet!" Kenton heard her whisper. There was a rip-ple of laughter among the girls; the two with the pipes  trilled them softly; the drums murmured. But she whohad sung sat silent over her harp with downcast eyes.
	The Phrygian asked: "Is this priestess then really so beautiful?" The Assyrian said: "I do not know. No man has ever seen her unveiled."The youth whispered: "When she walks I tremble! I tremble like the little bluelake of the temple when the breeze walks on it! Only myeyes live, and something grips my throat." "Peace!" a brown eyed girl with kindly face and babe inarms spoke. "Not so loud-or it will be a bowstring." "She is no woman! She is Ishtar! Ishtar!" cried theyouth.
	The soldiers nearby turned. Through them strode agrizzled officer, short sword in hand. Before his approachthe others drew back; only the youth stood motionless.Right and left the sword carrier peered beneath bushybrows. Ere he could fix gaze on the youth a man in sailor'scap and tunic of mail had walked between the two, grippedthe youth's wrist, held him hidden behind him. Kentoncaught a glimpse of agate eyes, black beard--It was Zubran! Zubran! But would he pass on? Could Kenton make himhear if he called? If his body could not be seen from with-out, could his voice penetrate the stone? The sword bearer scanned the silent group, uncertainly.The Persian saluted him gravely.
	"Silence here!" grunted the officer at last, and passedback among his men.
	The Persian grinned; pushed the youth from him; staredat the dark woman with eyes bolder than her own. Hejostled the Phrygian from his place; laid a hand upon thewoman's arm.
	"I was listening," he said. "Who is this priestress? I amnewly come to this land and know nothing of its customs.Yet by Ormuzd!" he swore and dropped his arm aroundthe woman's shoulders. "It was worth the journey to meetyou! Who is this priestess that you say is so beautiful?" "She is the keeper of Bel's Bower," the woman nestledclose to him.
	"But what does she there?" asked Zubran. "Now if itwere-you-I could understand without asking. And whydoes she come here?"  "The priestess lives in Bel's Bower upon the top of thetemple," the Assyrian spoke. "She comes here to worshipat his altar. When her worship is done she returns." "For such beauty as you say is hers," remarked Zubran,"her world seems small indeed. Why, if she is so beauti-ful, is she content to dwell in so small a world?" "She is the god's," answered the Assyrian. "She is thekeeper of his house. If the god entered he might be hun-gry. There must be food for him in his house and a womanto serve it. Or he might be amor--" "And so there must be a woman there," interrupted thebold eyed wench, smiling up at him.
	"We have something like that in my country," the Per-sian drew her closer. "But the priestesses seldom waitalone. The priests see to that-Ho! Ho!" God! Would Zubran never come close enough to thewall? So close that Kenton might call to him? And yet-if he did! Would not those others hear him also-? And then-- "Have any of these priestesses who-wait-" Zubran'svoice purred-"Have any of these waiting priestesses ever-ah, entertained-the god?" The youth spoke: "They say the doves speak to her-the doves of Ishtar! They say she is more beautiful than Ishtar!" "Fool!" whispered the Assyrian. "Fool, be still! Will youbring bad luck upon us? No woman can be more beauti-ful than Ishtar!" "No woman can be more beautiful than Ishtar," sighedthe youth. "Therefore she is-Ishtar!" The Phrygian said: "He is mad!" But the Persian stretched out his right arm, drew theyouth to him.
	"Have any of these priestesses ever held the god?" heasked.
	"Wait" murmured the woman. "I will ask Narodach thearcherer. He comes sometimes to my house. He knows. Hehas seen many priestesses." she held the Persian's arm fastabout her girdle, leaned forward-"Narodach! Come tome!" An archer turned; whispered to the men on each sideof him; slipped from between them. They closed up behindhim.
	 "Narodach," asked the woman. "Tell us-have any ofthe priestesses ever held-Bel?" The archer hesitated, uneasily.
	"I do not know," slowly he answered at last. "They tellmany tales. Yet are they but tales? When first I came herethere was a priestess in Bel's house. She was like thecrescent moon of our old world. Many men desired her." "Ho, archer," rumbled the Persian. "But did she-holdthe god?" Narodach said: "I do not know. They said so-they saidthat she had been withered by his fires. The wife of thecharioteer of the Priest of Ninib told me that her face wasvery old when they took away her body. She was a datetree that had withered before it had borne fruit, she said." "If I were a priestess-and so beautiful-I would notwait for a god!" the woman's eyes clung to Zubran. "Iwould have a man. Yea-I would have many men!" "There was another who followed," said the archer."She said the god had come to her. But she was mad-and being mad, the priests of Nergal took her." "Give me men, I say!" whispered the woman.
	Said Narodach the archer musing: "One there was whothrew herself from the Bower. One there was who van-ished. One there was---" The Persian interrutpted: "It seems that these priestesseswho wait for Bel are not-fortunate." Said the woman with intense conviction: "Give me-men!" There was a nearer clashing of thunder. In the lurid,ever-darkening sky, the clouds began a slow churning.
	"There will be a great storm," muttered the Phrygian.
	The girl Narada had rebuked thrummed against her harpstrings; she sang half maliciously, half defiantly: "Every heart that sought a nest,Flew straightway to Nala's breast-Born was Nala for delight--" She checked her song. From afar came the faint soundof chanting; the tread of marching feet. Bowman andspearmen raised bows and spears in salute. Behind themthe milling multitudes dropped to their knees. The Persiandrew close to the wall. And his was now the only head inthe circular window whose pane was stone.
	 "Zubran!" called Kenton, softly.The Persian turned startled face to the wall, then leaned against it, cloak tight around his face."Wolf!" he whispered. "Are you safe? Where are you?""Behind the wall," whispered Kenton. "Speak softly.""Are you hurt? In chains?" muttered the Persian."I am safe," answered Kenton. "But Gigi-Sigurd?""Searching for you," the Persian said. "Our hearts have been well-nigh broken--" "Listen," said Kenton. "There is a clump of trees-closeto the stairway above the garrison--" "We know," answered Zubran. "It is from them we makethe steps and scale the temple. But you--" "I will be in the Bower of Bel," said Kenton. "Soon asthe storm breaks-go there. If you do not find me-takeSharane, carry her back to the ship. I will follow." "We will not go without you," whispered Zubran.
	"I hear a voice speaking through the stone." It was theAssyrian, kneeling. Zubran dropped from Kenton's sight.
	The chanting had grown louder; the marching feet wereclose. Then from some secret entrance of the temple thereswept out into the open space a company of archers and acompany of swordsmen. Behind them paced as manyshaven, yellow robed priests, swinging smoking goldencensers and chanting as they walked. The soldiers formeda wide arc before the altar. The priests were silent upon asomber chord. They threw themselves flat on the ground.
	Into the great court strode a single figure, tall as Kentonhimself. A robe of shining gold covered him and a fold ofthis he held on raised left arm, completely covering hisface.
	"The Priest of Bel!" whispered the kneeling woman.
	There was a movement among the temple girls. Naradahad half risen. Never had there been such yearning, suchbittersweet desire as that in her midnight eyes as the Priestof Bel passed her, unheeding. Her slender fingers grippedthe cobwebs that meshed her; their webs were lifted by theswelling breast of her; shuddered with the sighs that shookher.
	The Priest of Bel reached the golden altar. He droppedthe arm that held the shrouding fold. And then Kenton'sstiff fingers almost loosed the shining lever.
	He looked, as in a mirror, into his own face!


22. How Narada Danced

	BREATHLESSLY Kenton stared at this strange twin. Therewas the same square jaw, firm-lipped dark face, the sameclear blue eyes.
	His mind groped toward the black priest's plot. Was thisto be-Sharane's lover? Some flash of understanding halfillumined his mind-too brief to be more than half caught.It left him groping again.
	Through the stone he heard the Persian cursing.Then-- "Wolf, are you behind me?" he muttered. "Are youtruly behind me, Wolf?" "Yes," he whispered. "I am here, Zubran. That is not I!It is some sorcery." His gaze flew back to the Priest of Bel; began now totake note of subtle differences in their two faces. The lipswere not so firm, the corners of the mouth drew down,there was hint of indecision about them and the chin. Andthe eyes were strained, shadowed with half wild, halfagonized longing. Silent, tense, the Priest of Bel staredover the lifted head of Narada, her lithe body as rigidas his own, unheeding her, intent upon that hidden portalthrough which he had come.
	The lanced, crimson flame upon the altar flickered; swayed.
	"The gods guard us!" he heard the bold-eyed womansay.
	"Be silent! What is the matter?" said the Assyrian.
	The woman whispered: "Did you see the Kerubs? Theyglared at the priest! They moved toward him!" The woman with the babe said: "I saw it! I am fright-ened!" The Assyrian said: "It was the light on the altar. Itflickered." Said the Phrygian low: "Perhaps it was the Kerubs. Are  they not Bel's messengers? Did you not say the priestloved Bel's woman?" "Silence there!" rang the voice of the officer from be-hind the double ring. The priests began a low chanting. Inthe eyes of the priest a fire began to glow; his lips quiv-ered; his body bent forward as though drawn by an un-seen cord. Across the wide place walked a woman-alone.She was cloaked from neck to feet in purple; her headwas swathed in golden veils.
	Kenton knew her! His heart leaped toward her; his blood raced. He quiv-ered under such shock of longing that it seemed as thoughhis leaping heart must break beneath it.
	"Sharane!" he called, forgetting; and again-"Sharane!" She glided through the opened ranks of the men-at-armskneeling to her as she passed. Straight to the altar shepaced and stood silent, motionless beside the Priest of Bel.
	There was a louder rolling of the metallic thunder. As itdied away the priest turned to the altar, lifted his handshigh. From his attendants droned a long, sustained hum-ming upon a single deep note. Up and out swept thepriest's arms; seven times he bowed low before the crim-son flame. He stood upright. Down upon their kneesdropped archers and spearmen; with a rustling of bows,a muffled beating of spear shafts.
	Still to that weird humming the Priest of Bel began hisinvocation: "Oh merciful among the gods!O bullnecked among the gods!Bel Merodach, king of the heavens and the worlds!Heavens and earths are thine!Breather of life art thou!Thy house is prepared for thee!We worship and await." Kenton heard a whisper-tremulous, golden-"I wor-ship and await!" Sharane's voice! The golden voice of Sharane playingupon every taut nerve of him like myriads of little fingersover stretched harp strings! Again the Priest of Bel: "O begetter! O self-begotten!  O beautiful one who givest life to the babe! O merciful one who givest life to the dead! King art thou of Ezida! Lord of Emakhtila! A resting place for the King of Heaven is thy house! A resting place for the Lord of Worlds is thy house! We worship and await thee!" And once more Sharane-tremulous-"I worship and awaitThee!" The priest intoned: "Lord of the Silent Weapon!Look favorably on thy house, O Lord of Rest!May Ezida speak peace to thee in thy house!May Emakhtila speak rest to thee in thy house!We worship and await thee!" And again Sharane: "I worship and await Thee!"Now Kenton saw the priest make toward the altar agesture in which lurked an inexplicable defiance. He turnedand faced Sharane. His voice rang loudly, jubilantly: "Full of delight is thy supremacy!Opener of the lock of morning art thou!Opener of the lock of evening art thou!To open the lock of the Heavens is thy supremacy!I worship and await thee!" At the first words the humming of the priests ceased; Kenton saw them stir, glance at each other uncertainly; saw a ripple pass through kneeling soldiers and worship-pers as their heads raised; heard murmuring, astonished,uneasy.
	Beneath him the kneeling Assyrian muttered: "That wasnot in the ritual!" The Persian asked: "What was not in the ritual?" The woman said: "That the priest cried last. It is notBel's. It belongs to Our Lady Ishtar!" The youth whispered: "Yes! Yes-he knows her too!She is Ishtar!" The woman with the babe sobbed: "Did you see theKerubs stretch their claws? I am frightened. I am fright-ened, and it is not good for the child's milk. The light onthe altar is like spilled blood!"  Said the Assyrian, uneasily: "I do not like it! It was notof Bel's ritual! And the storm is coming fast!" Narada arose, abruptly. Her handmaids bent overdrums and harps; set their pipes to lips. A soft and amor-ous theme beat up from them, delicate, clinging-like thebeating of the wings of countless doves, the clinging ofcountless little soft arms, the throbbing of countless littlerosy hearts. Under it the body of Narada swayed like agreen reed at the first touch of roving winds of spring. Themultitude looked, sighed once and was still.
	But Kenton saw that the priest's eyes never left Sharane,standing like a woman asleep beneath her veils.
	Louder the music sounded; quicker, throbbing with alllove longing, laden with all passion; hot as the simoon.To it, as though her body drank in each calling, imperiousnote, turned it into motion, made it articulate in flesh,Narada began to dance.
	In the midnight eyes that had been so sorrowful, manylittle leaping joyous stars danced. The scarlet mouth was aluring, honey-sweet flame promising unknown raptures; andthe swarms of golden butterflies meshed within her gossa-mer nets of jet hovered, swept down, clung to and ca-ressed the rose and pearl of her body as though she weresome wondrous flower. They were clouds of golden butter-flies darting upon her, covering with kisses all her loveli-ness, gleaming within the cloudy nets that swirled abouther, yet hiding no single exquisite contour. Maddening,breathless, grew dance and music, and in music anddance Kenton watched mating stars, embracing suns,moons swollen with birth. Gathered in them he sensed allpassion, all desire of all women under stars and suns andmoons. . ..
	The music slowed, softened; the dancer was still; fromall the multitude a soft sighing arose. He heard Zubran,his voice hoarse: "Who is that dancer? She is like a flame! She is like theflame that dances before Ormuzd on the Altar of TenThousand Sacrifices!" The woman jealously: "She danced the wooing of Bel byIshtar. She has danced it many times. Nothing new inthat." The Phrygian said, maliciously: "He asked who she is?"The woman said, spitefully: "Gods! That dance is nonew thing, I tell you. Many women have danced it."  The Assyrian said: "She is Narada. She belongs to Bel." The Persian said wrathfully: "Are all the fair women inthis country Bel's? By the Nine Hells-Cyrus the Kingwould have given ten talents of gold for her!" "Hush!" whimpered the Assyrian; and the other twoechoed him-"Hush!" Narada had begun once more to dance. The music grewlouder. But now it was languorous; dripping sweetness; distilling the very dew of desire.
	The blood hammered hot in Kenton's veins--"She dances the surrender of Ishtar to Bell" It was theAssyrian, gloating.
	The Persian stood upright.
	"Aie!" he cried. "Cyrus would have given fifty talents ofgold for her! She is a flame!" cried Zubran, and his voicewas thick, clogged. "And if she is Bel's-why then doesshe look so upon the priest?" None heard him in the roaring of the multitude; sol-diers and worshippers, none of them had eyes or ears foranything but the dancer.
	Nor had Kenton! Then witchery of the midnight woman was gone; rag-ing at himself he beat against the stone. For the tranquillityof Sharane had broken. Her white hand thrust aside theshrouding purple folds. She turned; moved swiftly awaytoward that hidden entrance from which she had come.
	The dancer stopped; the music died; again came the un-easy movement of the multitude; a louder murmuring.
	"That was not in the ritual!" The Assyrian sprang to hisfeet. "The dance is not yet finished." There was a clashing of thunder almost overhead.
	"She grows impatient for the god," the woman said,cynically.
	"She is Ishtar! She is the moon hiding her face behinda little cloud!" The youth took a step toward the men-at-arms guarding the priestess.
	The bold-eyed woman arose, caught his arm; spoke tothe soldiers.
	"He is mad! He lives at my house. Do not hurt him! Iwill take him away!" But the youth broke away from her; thrust her aside.He darted through the guards and raced across the squareto meet the advancing priestess. He threw himself at herhurrying feet. He hid his face in the hem of her cloak.
	 She paused, regarding him through her veils. InstantlyBel's priest was at her side. He thrust a foot against theyouth's face; sent him rolling a yard away.
	"Ho! Alrac! Druchar! Take this man!" he shouted. Twoofficers came running to him, swords drawn; the attendantpriests clustered, whispering; all the multitude was silent.
	The youth twisted, sprang upon his feet, faced thepriestess.
	"Ishtar!" he cried. "Show me your face. Then let medie!" She stood silent, as though she neither heard nor saw.The soldiers seized him, drew back his arms. And then,visibly, strength flowed into the youth's slight frame. Heseemed to expand, to grow in height. He threw thesoldiers from him; he struck the Priest of Bel across theeyes. He gripped the veils of the priestess.
	"I will not die until I see your face, O Ishtar!" hecried-and so crying tore the veils away. . . .
	Kenton looked upon the face of Sharane.
	But not the Sharane of the ship-vital, filled with thefire of life.
	Here was a Sharane of wide, unseeing eyes; upon whosewhite brows dream sat throned; a mind that floatedthrough linked labyrinths of illusion.
	The Priest of Bel's voice shrilled: "Slay that man!" The swords of the two captains bit through the youth'sbreast.
	He fell, still holding tight the veils. Sharane lookeddown upon him, unconcerned.
	"Ishtar!" he gasped. "I have seen you-Ishtar!" His eyes glazed. Sharane tore the veils from his stiffen-ing hands; threw the tattered remnants over her face.She swept on to the temple-was gone from Kenton'sstraining sight.
	From the multitude a clamor arose. Archers and spear-men began to push back the throng through the forest ofthe slender, lacquered pillars; sifted among them; vanishedwith those they herded. Past the Priest of Bel went hissoldiers and acolytes; and after them slipped the harpers,the pipers and the drum girls of Narada.
	Within that vast court circled by the elfin shafts re-mained only dancer and priest. The lurid sky darkenedsteadily. The slow, churning movement of the clouds had  become more rapid. The lanced flame on the altar of Belshone brighter-angrily; like a lifted, scarlet sword.Around the crouching Kerubs the shadows thickened. Themetallic thundering had become continuous, marchingcloser.
	With the passing of Sharane, Kenton would have openedthat other door of bronze. Something counselled him thatthe time had not yet come; that a little longer he must wait.And as he waited dancer and priest drifted to that strangewindow through which he peered.
	Close to him they paused.


PART V
23. Dancer and Priest

	"BEL should be pleased with his worship, priest!" Ken-ton heard the dancer say.
	The priest asked, dully: "What do you mean?" Narada drew closer to him; her hands fluttered out tohim.
	"Shalamu," she whispered. "Did I dance for the god?You know I danced for-you. And whom did you worship,Shalamu? The god? No-the priestess. And whom, thinkyou, did she worship?" "She worshipped Bel! Our Lord Bel who has-all," thepriest answered, bitterly.
	Said the dancer, mockingly: "She worshipped herself,Shalamu!" He repeated, stubbornly, wearily: "She worshippedBel, Closer came Narada, touched him with fluttering, yearn-ing hands.
	"Does any woman worship a god, Shalamu?" she asked."Ah-no! I am a woman-and I know. This priestesswould be a god's woman-no man's. She holds herself toohigh, too precious, for man. She loves herself. She wor-SHIPS herself. She would bow down to herself as a god'swoman. Women make gods of men and then love them.But no woman loves any god she has not made, Shalamu!"  The priest said, sullenly: "Well-I worshipped her!" The dancer said: "As she worshipped-herself! Shalamu-does she long to give joy to Bel? To our Lord Bel whohas Ishtar? Can we give joy to the gods-to the godswho have all? The lotus rises to the sun-but is it to givejoy to the sun that she rises? No! It is to give joy to her-self. So the priestess! I am a woman-and I know." Her hands were on his shoulders; he took them in hisown: "Why do you say these things to me?" "Shalamu!" she murmured. "Look in my eyes. Look onmy mouth-my breasts. Like the priestess I am the god's,But I give myself to you-beloved!" He said, dreamily: "Yea-you are beautiful!" Her arms were round his neck, her lips close to his.
	"Do I love the god?" she whispered. "When I dance is itto delight his eyes? It is for you I dance-beloved. It isfor you I dare Bel's wrath-" Softly she drew his headdown on her breast-"Am I not fair? Fairer than thispriestess who is Bel's and worships herself nor will evergive herself to you? Are not my perfumes pleasing? No godpossesses me-beloved!" Dreamily he answered her again: "Yea-you are veryfair.