Above an artificial harbor as calm as glass, the palace rose an imposing pile. At the quays of the harbor their colored sails picked out by flaming fire-urns, their gilded hulls set asparkle in the flicker of the light-giving flames, lay a number of elaborate pleasure craft more like gold and copper galleys than anything else.
Steps led up from the stone quays to the palace proper, giving on a wide expanse of crystal flagging, under a heavy portico supported by pillars of lemon-yellow stone. And beyond this through wide airy arches was the main court, in the center of which was a pool of limpid water, some fifty feet long, by as many wide.
Like the other Palosian palaces this central court was the main gathering place of the inmates and guests. On Anthra the structure was flagged in a pale-green stone. The pillars supporting the balcony about it were lemon-yellow, and the stairways at either end of a clear translucent blue. Innumerable oil-lamps lighted it this night, and about one corner of the central pool were arranged the tables for the feast.
Here Croft found the man he sought, reclining on a padded divan, his too full red lips slightly parted in a bibulous smile, his long hair curled and anointed and perfumed till he reeked of aromatic scents; his well-formed hands loaded with rings, his body clad in a crimson garment, embroidered in gold.
Beside him, lying outstretched like some splendid creature of the jungle as it came to Croft, was a woman; tawny as a lioness in the tint of her hair and heavy-lidded eyes, lithe as a lioness, too, in every sensuous line of her body, well-nigh unclothed.
Her sandalless feet were stained on the soles with crimson. Anklets gripped her lower limbs, and tinkled tiny golden bells as she moved. Bracelets banded her graceful naked arms. Gem-incrusted cups, fastened by jeweled bands covered in part her breasts. A bit of gold gauze, studded with bright red stones, accentuated rather than veiled the rest of her perfect figure from waist to the bend of her knees. She lay there close to Kyphallos and after a bit she lifted a golden goblet and pressed it to his lips and laughed.
Beyond her was a man, Croft marked at a glance. He was heavy, gross; yet gave an impression of mighty strength in the size of his hairy arms, the pillars of his mighty limbs, the breadth of his shoulder and chest. And he, too, was tawny haired.
And on the other side of Kyphallos was a figure to give Croft pause. A blue warrior sat there; but surely no member of the serving class, Jason thought. This man was never made to serve. His were the features of one who commands, strong, firm-lipped, high-cheeked, with almost a somnolent sneer in the expression of his mouth and the glint of his eyes as he turned them on Kyphallos and the woman by his side. This was some Mazzerian chief—here in the palace of Cathur's prince. Who then were the tawny woman and man, Croft asked himself, and found he was soon to know.
For as the woman laughed Kyphallos spoke. "Your laughter is music better than any I can offer, my Kalamita. Since first I heard it in Niera, the time I met you there with your brother, Bandhor, I have longed to hear it more. Your graciousness in coming to this farewell feast, ere I sail for Aphur, burdens me with debt. Yet were I loath to have sailed without a final sight of you—a parting word. And I have provided such entertainment as I might."
"As you do always, Prince of Aphur," his companion responded. "Is it not true, Bandhor, my brother, that we are honored to be present when Cathur desires?"
"Aye. Wine, food, music, and women. What more can a man desire?" the massive individual at whom she smiled over her rounded shoulder replied. "When Cathur returns, he must come to our house at Niera as he has done before. There are others of Zollaria I desire him to meet, as well as other men of Mazzer, besides the noble Bazd, whom we made bold to bring with us tonight."
As he finished the blue man smiled, and Kyphallos picking up his own goblet of wine passed it to the Mazzerian with a languid grace. "Thy friends are my friends, O Bandhor of Zollaria!" he exclaimed, and bending close to the face of the girl said: "Shall I come when I return from Aphur?"
And as he gazed upon her the heavy lids slowly contracted until her eyes narrowed to slits. Then they shot up, fully open, and she flashed him a smile. "Aye, my Kyphallos, unless you desire me to suffer, come when you return."
Kyphallos took back the cup from which Bazd, the Mazzerian, had drunk and drained it at a gulp. "I shall come," he shouted and clapped his hands. "Let the entertainment begin!"
After that Croft could only watch and marvel at what he beheld. A sound of harps burst forth. Golden and scarlet curtains drew apart at one end of the immense court. He caught a glimpse of moving figures behind them, and then—fifty dancing girls broke forth.
Swaying, posturing, gesturing they moved down the hall toward the tables. At first they were clothed. But as they advanced they dropped veil after veil from their posturing bodies, until they gleamed white and pink swinging figures, caught in the eddies of the dance. Closer and closer they came. They reached the tables themselves. They sprang upon them. They danced among the remnants of the feast. The hands of the guests—other companions of Cathur's prince, reached toward them—sought to capture them and draw them down upon the divans.
And then the music ceased. Crying aloud the dancers leaped from the table into the pool. Like nymphs they swam across it and disappeared behind a curtain of flowers and shrubs at the farther end. Yet in a moment they were back, dragging what looked like a monster shell in which sat the figure of an aged man, carrying yet another shell in his hand, and wearing a long green robe.
This they launched in the pool, and seizing ropes fastened to it they swam back toward the tables towing it along. At the corner of the pool they clustered on each side, while the aged passenger rose and stepped to land.
Kyphallos rose, too. "Hail Kronhor—Ruler of the Seas!" he exclaimed. "I am about to entrust myself to your domain for a journey to the south. What fare may I expect?"
"Good, O Prince of Cathur," the aged one returned. "I shall instruct all handmaids to wait upon you and steer your ship in safety, even as they have brought me into your presence tonight."
Kyphallos filled a goblet with wine and held it out.
He who played Kronhor took it.
"Drink!" the Cathurian cried. "Cathur does honor to Kronhor—thus."
Kalamita sprang to her feet. She filled other goblets, swiftly motioning the others about the tables to do the same. "Drink!" her voice rang out. "Drink to Kronhor. Drink to Kyphallos and the safety of his voyage."
The toast was drunk. Kronhor made his adieus and was towed back to the other side of the pool. Kalamita was leaning with both hands locked over Kyphallos's shoulder. "Tell me," she whispered. "Why does Jadgor of Aphur ask your presence, my friend?"
"I know not," said the Cathurian prince. "Some business of state, no doubt, to which I must attend for my father, who grows feeble with age as you know."
The dancing girls were hauling the shell from the pool. They made what looked like a straining group in pink bisque.
"It was a pretty play," Kalamita murmured. "Did you design it, Kyphallos? I know from the past you are clever."
The man turned and looked once more into her eyes. "I designed it—I planned it to amuse—you."
Croft turned away. He had seen enough. This was the man to whom it was planned to give the woman he—Jason Croft—loved; that sweet, pure Naia of Aphur who had knelt two nights ago in appeal before Azil the Angel of Life. This scented sensualist, caught fast in the charms of a Zollarian woman, of a type Croft could not mistake. Jadgor had hinted at something like this in his talk with Lakkon two days before. And tonight—on the eve of his departure of Aphur, Kyphallos of Cathur sat as the host of the enemies of his land. Surely Jadgor had reason for the fears he had expressed. Surely here was food for serious thought.
Croft left the court and made his way outside into the calm beauty of the night. Flooded by the moonlight, he stood watching the flicker of the fire-urns on the waters of the tiny harbor, where lay the gilded pleasure craft.
And after a time he turned back attracted by the fact that the inner lights had died. Only for a moment, however, did he remain inside. In the court, flooded now only by the moons, a wild and loathesome orgy was taking place between the dancing girls and the guests, in and about the pool. Cries, shrill laughter, sounds of splashing and fleeting glimpses of flitting shapes told him the full story as to the end of Kyphallos's feast. It sickened him, and once more he fled the spot to spend the night outside.
Naia! The thought came to him. Suddenly he wanted to see her, be near her, away from this scene of brutal carnival where license reigned supreme. He wanted to be in the hills of Aphur, where she had her home. And swiftly he was. There was Lakkon's palace, white under the triple moons—and here was the window of the room where she had knelt and prayed.
Invisible, yet seeing, he crept inside, like a wraith of the night. Only the moon gave him light. But it showed him the woman of his soul. She lay on the metal couch, asleep. Her fair hair shadowed her face as he bent above her. A slender arm was thrown out to one side. Coverings as light as silk betrayed the grace of her form. Her lips were half parted, and as Jason bent down, she sighed.
Croft straightened and stood like a guardian spirit above her. His soul was once more on fire at the thought of what was planned. This was the girl who was to be offered to the lecherous young spawn of royalty, even now disporting himself with the tawny siren from another nation—that Kalamita, whose name, Croft knew, might best be translated into English as Magnet. Kalamita—the magnet—a human magnet—a female magnet to draw men to her by her shameless charms and bind them fast past any chance of escape.
How much he wondered did Jadgor of Aphur really know of what was going on. How fully was he informed of what was coming now to seem, to Croft, as one side of the workings of Zollaria's plot? Surely he must know how much to be willing to sacrifice this fair young sleeper, his sister's child. Little by little Croft was coming to understand the workings of Jadgor's mind—to believe him a patriot really rather than a seeker of selfish power, such as he had fancied he might be for all his brave words at first.
What then? Croft could not answer. Bound as he was—despite his ability to hear and see and know, he could do nothing in himself. All night long he raved in impotent rage, unknowing that by degrees he was solving the problem presented to him.
At morn he went back to Anthra. He witnessed the departure of Kyphallos in a gilded galley, with red sails and red silken cordage rowed by twenty blue men, ten to each bank of oars.
Kalamita's barge, in which rode the Zollarian woman, her brother and Bazd the Mazzerian chief, accompanied the Cathurian for some two hours before it turned north and made off for Niera, as Croft gathered from what conversation passed.
Kyphallos's craft continued south. Croft let him go. He himself went back to Scira and the national school for his lessons of the day. The Cathurian prince was safe for five days while he sailed and rowed to Himyra. Meanwhile Croft was determined to learn all he could. It was after that he first met Jasor and studied him during the few days remaining until the first meeting between Kyphallos and Naia which he had determined to attend. And in so studying the youth, he discovered Jasor's full recognition of his own shortcomings, and that his knowledge of his own backward mental powers was preying upon his mind to produce a melancholic turn in the young man's thoughts.
At night Jasor sat in his quarters brooding, or took long solitary walks. Even in the four days he lost flesh. Croft realized that his introspections were sapping the young Nodhurian's strength—that he was physically as well as mentally sick. He had drawn into himself and no longer took part in the games in which, not only the dares of his classmates, but his very stature, told Croft he had once excelled.
Then came the seventh day, and Croft had willed himself back to Himyra once more, with an eye out for the galley from Anthra along the yellow Na.
He found it a little below the city wall, and followed it as it worked its way up the current with flashing dripping blades which rose and glistened and fell in the brilliant light. Under a scarlet awning, Kyphallos, curled and perfumed, lay on a burnished divan and watched the city slip past until the galley swung into one of the quays in front of the palace, where a chariot accompanied by a part of the royal guard waited as the galley moored. Meanwhile vast crowds lined the terraces along that portion of the Na and trumpets blared a greeting to the northern guest.
The Cathurian came ashore and entered the burnished car. The detachment of the guards fell in on either side. The procession mounted the inclines from terrace to terrace past the gathered throngs, until in the end it passed through the monster entrance of the palace and brought up in the principal court.
There various nobles of the state, Lakkon among them, waited to conduct the visiting noble to Aphur's king. Under their escort Kyphallos moved through the corridors and across courts to where, in an audience-room of huge proportions, Jadgor sat in state.
Here his guard of honor drew aside and left the prince standing alone as Jadgor rose.
"Welcome Cathur, to such poor hospitality as is mine," said Aphur's king.
"Hail Aphur," Kyphallos replied, bowing in the least degree. "Cathur sends greeting through me, his son."
Jadgor descended a step of the dais on which he sat. He put out a hand. "Accept a seat beside me, son of Cathur, whose presence gladdens the eye," he went on.
Kyphallos advanced, clasped palms with the Aphurian king, mounted the steps and seated himself on the gilded divan where Jadgor had sat alone.
The king of Aphur turned to two guards stationed on either side. "Announce that Cathur is Aphur's guest."
"Cathur is the guest of Aphur!" proclaimed the soldier heralds.
This completed the ceremonial of the royal arrival and the nobles withdrew with the exception of Lakkon, who, at a sign from Jadgor, remained and approached the dais.
Jadgor waved away his guards. "I would speak with you on matters of weight, O Cathur," he said when the three were alone.
"I give ear, King of Aphur," Kyphallos replied.
Like the man of purpose he was Jadgor did not waste time in airy persiflage. "Cathur guards the western gate with Aphur, Kyphallos," he began. "To my mind it occurs the guards are bound by a common interest. It occurs to me to strengthen the tie."
"To what end?" A slight frown grew between the younger man's eyes. He seemed like one taken suddenly by surprise and his words came only after a perceptible pause.
"To the end of strengthening our nation," Jadgor shot out his reply. "In one year Tamhys's reign is done, unless he be reelected, as you know. With Cathur's help and that of Nodhur, which is well assured, and support from Milidhur already promised, Aphur can win the day."
"Ah!" Suddenly Kyphallos smiled. And as swiftly his eyelids drew together. "But what," he asked, "if Cathur should look toward Zitra as well?"
Like a stab of light a thought pierced Croft's listening brain. Was that it—was that the bait Zollaria held forth? Kyphallos on the throne of Tamarizia—not for ten years, but for life—Zollaria and Tamarizia practically one if not actually united—Cathur in Zollaria's hands and Kyphallos a noble of a vast empire—a dual monarchy such as Palos had never seen. The conception from the standpoint of royalty at least was no less than magnificent.
Jadgor, too, gave his companion a piercing glance. "Could Cathur win without Aphur?" he asked.
Kyphallos shrugged. "My words were but a question," he evaded the answer direct. "What does Aphur propose?"
"An alliance of their houses," Jadgor said and paused.
And once more Kyphallos frowned without reply. Plainly he was giving this matter consideration.
Jadgor resumed. "It is in our minds to offer you the fairest flower in Aphur's garden of women to this end."
"Hai! A woman! Thou meanest marriage?" Kyphallos cried.
"Aye."
Kyphallos smiled. "And this wonderful woman—who is she?"
"The daughter of Prince Lakkon here," Jadgor declared. "Naia, the child of my sister, more beautiful than any girl in Aphur and pure as the Virgin Ga."
"Naia!" Kyphallos's eyes lighted. "I have heard of her, O Aphur. It would seem you plan to make this alliance strong."
"The guard of the western gate should be strong," Jadgor said.
Kyphallos nodded. "Yet have I never seen her," he remarked in a tone of musing, "though the fame of her beauty has reached Cathur ere this. I have heard she has hair like spun gold and eyes as purple as the twilight in the mountains. Is this true?"
"Cathur shall judge the truth for himself," Jadgor made response. "Prince Lakkon craves the presence of Kyphallos at a feast tomorrow night. The maiden shall be there."
"Good." Once more Kyphallos smiled. Women were his main interest in life. "I have never given serious thought to marriage, yet it can do no harm to see this fairest of Aphur's maids. Say to Prince Lakkon that Cathur shall do himself the pleasure to accept his invitation to a feast. As for the rest—" He shrugged. "A man, O Jadgor, should never marry in haste. I must think upon your words."
There was something in the Cathurian's mind. Croft tried to read the secret thought, and failed. Jadgor, too, seemed to sense some reason beyond the one assigned for the man's hesitation, although an immediate answer was hardly to have been expected to such a proposition as that by which the prince was faced.
And Jadgor did not seek to press the matter further. Instead, he turned to Lakkon with a request to escort the royal guest to the rooms prepared against his coming, and rose from his seat.
Croft sought Prince Lakkon's palace without more delay.
He found it receiving the finishing touches of preparation for the Cathurian's entertainment, and Naia, with her own maid beside her, supervising the hangings of fresh draperies in the huge central court.
His soul quickened at sight of her and then sank as he saw the expression of her face. It was an expression of deliberate endurance, and he recalled how nights before she had sighed in her sleep.
Yet he hovered near her and after hours Lakkon himself arrived and came to her side. Father and daughter sat upon one of the carved and gilded seats with which the court had been set forth.
Naia looked into Lakkon's eyes. "What said the Cathurian to Jadgor's proposal?" she inquired.
"He accepted our invitation for the night after this," Lakkon replied. "He seems a cautious man. He would see you before he decides."
"He would see me!" Naia of Aphur flashed. "He would view me—learn if I please his royal fancy—Zitu! must I submit to this?"
"Nay." Lakkon shook his head. "Cathur's prince was but gaining time to consider all sides of the case. Jadgor's offer took him by surprise."
"Perhaps," said Naia in almost eager fashion, "he does not wish a wife."
Lakkon shook his head again. "Scythys, his father, is old. Kyphallos must marry when he gains the throne at latest. Is everything prepared?"
"Aye—even to—the sacrifice." Naia's tone was bitter. She rose and moved away without more words, mounting the stairs toward her rooms.
Croft's heart was bitter, too, as he left the place and returned by his will to Scira and the apartment of Jasor of Nodhur.
Just why he went there he hardly knew—save that the sympathy he felt for the soul-sick youth seemed to keep the boy in his mind. Yet once in his presence he found the youth sitting before an untouched plate of food. And after a time he hurled this to the floor and buried his head in his hands, to break into muttered speech.
Croft listened and after a time he found the cause. Jasor's father had sent him word to come home. The two leaves of a writing tablet—bits of thin metal covered with hardened wax, in which characters were cut with a metal stylus, lay unbound and spread out on the table where the food had sat. Jasor's father had evidently become convinced that his son was a dullard and was wasting his time in seeking to learn more than he already knew.
Croft remained with him during the night. For a time he whimpered and cursed. Later he destroyed the tablets as he had destroyed his food. After that he flung himself on his couch and for hours he dozed and waked and tossed and muttered. Croft fancied him in a fever from the broken nature of the words he spoke. And in the morning the boy did not rise. The woman of whom he rented his lodgings came to clean and found him muttering and mouthing. He sprang up and drove her from the room. She ran crying downstairs and out to the street and along it for some distance to a house where quite evidently one of the nursing caste lived.
Presently a woman in the uniform of her calling, a short blue-skirted costume, embroidered with a red, heart-shaped symbol came forth and followed her back to her house. Five minutes after her arrival she had sent the old woman for a doctor and was herself bathing Jasor's flushed neck and face.
The doctor came, examined the patient, left some liquid substance to be given in interval doses and went away. Croft remained till evening. Jasor was more quiet by then, and he left. But, physician as he was, he felt that the young Nodhurian's days were numbered, that unless he had the will to recover he would sink slowly and die in the end. And he knew Jasor had not the will to get well.
His own will carried him to Himyra in a flash, and to Lakkon's palace at once. Night had fallen when he reached it and the central court was a blaze of light from a myriad of oil-lamps. In the main expanse of the crystal flooring the tables were set forth, decked with flowers and loaded with viands. Serving men and maidens of the blue Mazzerian race were still at work in the final preparations. Of Naia or Lakkon there was no sign.
The latter came down the stairs at one end after some time, however, and signing to Bazka, the Mazzerianmajor-domo, took up a place near the massive doors. There he remained until a clatter of hoofs marked the first arriving guests.
They came in a stream thereafter, nobles of Aphur and their daughters and wives; captains of the civic guard, and finally, with a blare of trumpets from riders mounted on gnuppas, Jadgor himself and Kyphallos in a golden coach drawn by eight gnuppas harnessed four abreast.
And still Naia had not appeared. But as the King of Aphur and the Prince of Cathur moved down the crystal pave from the doors toward the tables in the center of the court, she came slowly down the stairs.
Croft stared in delight. She was a thing of purple and gold. The gown she had described that first day wrapped her supple form like a second skin, from right shoulder to hip, and fell from there to the knees. It was a shimmering thing embroidered in purple stones.
Halfway down the stairs she stood and inclined her head, while Jadgor and Kyphallos paused. Then as the men advanced she began again to descend, until near the head of the tables she sank on her left knee and bowed before the king.
Jadgor's own hand helped her to rise. Jadgor made Kyphallos known. Prince and princess touched hands. Lakkon led toward the feast.
At the head sat Jadgor and Kyphallos side by side. Lakkon reclined beside the king. Naia's place was on the Prince of Cathur's left. Blue servants in Lakkon's livery placed the other guests and began their service at once.
For an hour the feast went on. Hidden musicians filled the air with the sound of their harps. That snow-chilled wine, of which Lakkon had spoken, poured from golden pitchers into goblets of silver as serving-maids passed up and down the board to keep all well supplied.
Croft noted Kyphallos more closely than the rest. He had seen the swift lighting of his eyes when Naia appeared on the stairs; the swift instinctive parting of his too full lips, the twitch of his nostrils, accompanying that first glance of the maid suggested for his wife.
Now, as he lay on the divan, he found him watching her with what seemed a steady interest, plying her with gallant conversation, finding excuse to frequently touch her hands, staring into her long-lashed purple eyes. With his resentment for the Cathurian growing by swift leaps and bounds, he realized that Kyphallos was impressed, sensed that before this chaste beauty of his own people, he had forgotten Zollaria's magnet for the time.
Also he thought it had been better had the wine been less nicely chilled, for Kyphallos drank deep and his eyes began to sparkle as time passed with new toasts proposed and drunk about the board. It came to Croft that Cathur's prince was losing his head at a time when he had better have kept it, as his voice became more and more loud.
Intoxication may be very well on Anthra, where it was the accepted thing. In Himyra and the palace of Lakkon, before his proposed bride, it might prove another thing. He was strengthened in his belief by the questioning glance Naia cast at the northern noble from time to time—a glance of something like surprised dismay.
The harps struck up a different measure toward the last. Golden curtains parted under the balcony, near the stairs. A band of dancing girls trooped in. They were things of beauty, laughing faced, their soft hair flowing, clad in what seemed no more than garlands of flowers twined about their slender bodies and halfway down their limbs. Beginning to dance they advanced and as they danced they sang. The scene became one of rhythmic beauty, delightful to the senses. Each girl bore a parti-colored veil of gauze and waved it as she moved. Massed inside the rectangle of the tables on the crystal floor, they seemed to be a very dancing, nodding bed of flowers, amid which twinkled their flying feet and gesturing arms, beating time to the pulse of the harps.
Then it was done. The dancers were drawing back with graceful genuflections, as applause broke forth from the guests. Lakkon tossed a handful of silver pieces among them. Jadgor cast a double handful of jewels into the scarf of a maid who advanced at his sign.
"Divide them among you," he said.
The girl sank to the floor, and rose.
"Hold!" cried Cathur's prince. His face was flushed and his eyes shone with an unholy light. Croft saw his nostrils fairly quiver as he watched the lissom dancer. He lifted himself and struck the table. "Up!" he commanded thickly. "Up beauteous maid."
With a glance at Jadgor, who made no sign whatever, the dancing girl obeyed. She stood on the table before Kyphallos.
"Unveil!" he said.
Again the woman glanced at Aphur's king. But Jadgor did not draw back from the situation invoked by his bibulous guest. Too much hung on the moment as Jadgor saw it to quibble over the uncloaking of a dancer. "Unveil!" he added his command.
The girl lifted her hands. Her garlands fell away. She stood a lithely rounded form, her feet lost in the mass of blossoms she had worn.
Kyphallos laughed. His eyes were blazing. He caught up a goblet of wine and rose. "Hail Adita, goddess of womanly beauty," he exclaimed. "Now, are you perfect as you stand revealed, stripped of the silly trappings which concealed the greater charms beneath. Flowers are things of beauty in their place, but—woman unadorned is the fairest flower of life. Arise, my friends, and drink with me to woman as she is, this new Adita I have found!"
They rose at Jadgor's sign, though Croft caught more than one glance of question passing among the guests.
So much he saw and turned back to Naia who had risen, too, her face a mask of outraged dignity and scorn.
Kyphallos lifted his goblet and set it to his lips.
Naia lifted hers and cast it from her so that its contents spilled and flowed across the table at the dancer's feet.
"Thou beast!" her voice came in tones of sharp displeasure. "Thou sensuous offspring of Cathur! 'Tis thus I drink your toast!"
Silence came down—a breathless pause about the tables.
Kyphallos lowered his cup and turned toward the Princess of Aphur slowly.
And suddenly the Cathurian smiled. He replaced his goblet on the table and sank to one knee before the haughty daughter of his host. "By Zitu!" his voice rang out; "but you are truly royal. You are magnificent, daughter of Aphur. Did I pick me a lesser toy, 'twas but that I knew you for what you are—one fit to be a queen. Naia of Aphur, wilt pledge yourself queen of Cathur's throne?"
The words were out. Croft felt his senses sink. Yet even so he saw the whole psychology of the event. To Cathur, the maiden offered, had seemed but an easy prize—to take at his pleasure, if at all. To Cathur drunk the dancer had appealed. To Cathur still drunk Naia of Aphur, offended, angered, hurling her scorn in his teeth, appeared suddenly not a thing to be taken lightly, but a beautiful consort to be won if taken at all.
On Jadgor's face was a satisfaction unvoiced. He rose and lifted his hands. "My lords and ladies," he announced, "I call you to witness that Cathur asks the hand of Aphur's princess. Let Naia choose."
Kyphallos drew himself up and folded his arms. To Croft it seemed the man was sobered by Jadgor's words. Yet as cries of assent and acclamation rang out through the court, he remained silent before the tense figure of the girl.
And slowly the golden head beneath the curling plume of purple bowed. One bared arm rose and extended its fingers toward the northern prince. "Aphur accepts." Her words came scarcely above a whisper and were drowned in a greeting roar of voices upraised by the waiting guests.
Cathur caught the extended hand and turned to the forward straining faces, the watching eyes.
"A happy consummation to our feast," rang the words of Aphur's king. "Men and women of Aphur this shall be arranged. I, Jadgor, myself shall sponsor the formal betrothal on a day one twelfth of a cycle hence."
The thing was done. A month from tonight would see it ratified. A sick impotency filled Croft's soul as once more cries of approbation greeted the promise of the king. And into the midst of his despair there flashed one ray of blinding thought. Before it he staggered, drew back, shaken in the primal elements of his being. Yet he did not put it aside. He held it. He marveled at it. And suddenly taking it with him, he left the scented atmosphere of Lakkon's palace court and rose up toward the heavens, studded with stars.
To earth! His will gathered, centered, focused by the wonder of the thing he had conceived cast all its driving power into the demand. Palos and all it held sank swiftly away beneath him. He opened the eyes of the form he left on his library couch.
Nothing had been disturbed. Everything was as he had last seen it, save that a layer of dust had collected, thanks to the absence of Mrs. Goss, and that due to the difference of the length of the Palosian day. Nine terrestrial days had passed since Croft had lain his body on the couch.
Rising slowly, he ignited the flame of a small alcohol-lamp and quickly brewed himself a cup of strong beef-extract, which he drank. The hot beverage and the food put new physical life into his sluggish veins, as he knew it would. Seating himself in a chair, he gave himself over to a consideration of the thought he had brought with him from Palos—a thought more weird than any of which he had ever dreamed.
Briefly, Croft had conceived of a way to acquire a physical life on Palos. That was his unheard-of plan, the possibility of which had wakened in his consciousness as Jadgor announced the formal betrothal of Naia to Kyphallos at the end of the month. It was that that had sent him back here to his study and his books.
And after a bit he rose and drew a volume from a case and brought it back to the desk. It was a work dealing with obsessions—that theory of the occultist that a stronger spirit might displace the weaker tenant of an earthly shell, and occupy and dominate the body it had possessed.
He read over the written page and sat pondering once more while the night dragged past. Even as he had gone a step farther in astral projection, carrying it into spirit projection as a further step, so now he was considering a step beyond mere obsession, and questioning whether or not it were possible for a spirit, potent beyond the average ego of earth, to enter and revivify the body laid down by another soul.
His thoughts were of Jasor as he sat there wrapped in thought. The young Nodhurian was dying, unless Croft's medical knowledge was all at fault. Yet he was dying not from disease in the physical sense. His body was organically healthy. It was his soul which was sick unto death. And—here was the wonderful question: Could Croft's strong spirit enter Jasor's body as Jasor laid it aside and, operating on the still inherent and reasonably sound cell-energy still contained within it, possess it for its own?
It was an amazing thought—a daring thought—yet not so far beyond the spirit which had dared the emptiness of the unknown in the adventure which had brought Croft to his present position, thereby inspiring the thought itself. Day broke, however, before Croft made up his mind.
He realized fully that he must remain on earth for a day or two to provide his present body against another period of trance. He realized also that in the experiment he meant to make he might lose that earthly body and fail in his other attempt at one and the same time. But he made up his mind none the less.
Should he succeed, he would live as an inhabitant of Palos—would be able to physically stand between Naia—the one woman of his soul—and her fate—and, winning, be able perhaps to claim her for himself. Against the possibility of such a consummation to his great adventure no argument of a personal peril held weight.
Croft sent for Mrs. Goss, telegraphing her shortly after it was light. He spent the day waiting her arrival in feeding his body with concentrated foods. He met her when she came, and for a week life went on in the Croft house as it had gone on before. Then Croft summoned the little woman and bade her sit down in one of the library chairs. He told her he was engaged on a wonderful investigation of the forces of life. He made her understand dimly he was doing something never attempted before, which, if it succeeded, would make him very happy. He explained that he was about to take a long sleep—that it would last for three, and possibly four days. He forbade her to disturb his body during that time, or to touch it for a week. Then, if he was not returned and in his sane mind, she might know that he was dead.
With quivering lips and wide eyes and apron-plucking hands, she promised to obey. Croft sensed her anxiety for himself, and tried to be very gentle as he saw her from the room.
But with the door closed behind her, he moved quickly to the couch and stretched himself out. For a moment he lay staring about the familiar room. Then into his mind there came a thought of Naia—and of Jasor—of love for the one and pity for the other. He smiled and fastened his mind on the object of this present attempt. And suddenly his eyelids closed and his body relaxed. Once more time and space suffered annihilation, and he knew himself in Jasor's room.
It was full. The nurse was there, and the physician. And there was another—a young man with a strong, composed face, clad in a tunic of unembroidered brown, whom Croft recognized as a priest.
He stood by the couch on which Jasor lay, pallid as wax, with closed lids, and a barely perceptible respiration. He held a silver basin in his hands, and as Croft watched he sprinkled the face of the dying youth with his fingers dipped in the water it contained. A quiver of emotion shook Croft's spirit. He had returned to Palos none too soon.
The priest drew back. The doctor approached the bed. He lifted the wrist of Jasor and set his fingers to the pulse. In a moment he laid it down, and bowed his head. And as he did so, Jasor sighed once deeply like one very tired.
"He passes," the physician said.
Priest, nurse, and physician all saw it. But Croft saw more than they. He saw the astral form, the soul-body of Jasor, rise from the discarded clay. And swiftly casting aside all other considerations, he willed his own consciousness into the vacant brain.
Thereafter followed an experience, the most terrible he had ever known. He was within Jasor's body, yet he was chained. For what seemed hours he fought to control the physical elements of the fleshy form he had seized. And always he failed. In some indefinable way it seemed to resist the new tenant who had taken the place of the old. Croft describes his own sensations as those of one who presses against and seeks to move an immovable weight.
He suffered—suffered until the very suffering broke down the bonds in a demand for some outward expression. Then, and only then he knew that the chest of the body had once more moved, and that he had drawn air into the lungs. Encouraged, he exerted his staggering will afresh, and—he knew he was looking into the faces above him—through Jasor's physical eyes!
"He lives!"
With Jasor's ears he heard the physician exclaim:
"This passes understanding, man of Zitu. He was dead, yet now he lives again!"
"The ways of Zitu oft pass the understanding, man of healing," said the priest, advancing to the bed. "What is man to understand the things that Zitu plans?"
Croft thrilled. Coordination between his conscious spirit and the body of the man of Palos was established. He had won again—won a visible, material existence on the planet with the woman he loved. The thought brought a sense of absolute satisfaction; he closed the lids above Jasor's eyes, and slept.
For several hours he lay in restful slumber, then awoke refreshed. His deductions had been correct. Jasor's body was healthy, aside from the weakening influences of his spirit. Given a strong spirit to dominate it now, it responded in full tide.
He glanced about. It was night. By the dim light of an oil-lamp he saw two persons in the room. One was the nurse. The other was the priest. They appeared to converse in lowered tones.
"Man of Zitu," Croft spoke for the first time with his new-found tongue.
The priest rose and hurried to him. "My son."
"I am much improved," said Croft. "In the morning I shall be almost wholly well."
"It is a miracle," the priest declared, holding his forearms horizontally before him until he made a perfect cross.
A miracle! Croft considered the words. They carried a sudden meaning to his mind. Truly the priest had spoken rightly. This was little short of a miracle indeed, did the other know the facts. Swiftly Croft formed a plan. "Father, what is your name?" he inquired.
"Abbu, my son."
Croft turned his eyes. "Send the nurse away. I would talk with you alone."
The priest spoke to the woman, who withdrew slowly, her face a mingled mask of emotions, chief among which Croft read a sort of awed wonder.
"Why does she look at me like that?" he asked.
The priest seated himself on a stool beside the couch. "I said your recovery was a miracle, my son," he replied. "I am minded that I told the truth. You have changed, even your face has changed while you slept. You are not the same."
Croft felt his muscles stiffen. He understood. The new spirit was molding the fleshy elements to itself—uniting itself to them, knitting soul and body together. The experiment was a success. He smiled. "That is true, Father Abbu," he replied. "I am not the same as the Jasor who died."
"Died?" The priest drew back. His eyes widened.
"Died," repeated Croft. "Listen, father. These things must be in confidence."
"Aye," Abbu agreed.
Croft told what had occurred.
Abbu heard him out. At the end he was seized by a shaking which caused him to quiver through body and limbs.
"Listen, father," Croft said. "I am not Jasor, though I inhabit his form. Yet I know something of him, and of Tamarizia as well. Jasor had a father."
"And a mother." The priest inclined his head.
Croft had gained information, but he did not make a comment upon it then. "To them I must appear still as Jasor," he returned.
"They are looked for in Scira," Abbu declared. "We hoped for their coming. Why have you done this thing? Are you good or evil?"
"Good, by the grace of Zitu," said Croft. "I come to help Tamarizia. Think you I could have come had not Zitu willed?"
Suddenly the face of the young priest flamed. "Nay!" he cried, and rose to stand by the couch. "Now my eyes are open and I see. This thing is of Zitu, nor could he save by his will. It is as I said, a miracle indeed." Again he lifted his arms in the sign of the cross.
"Then," said Croft, striking quickly while the man was lost in the grip of religious fervor. "Will you help me to do that for which I came—will you help me to help Tamarizia should the need arise?"
"Aye." To his surprise Abbu sank before him on bended knees. "How am I to serve him who comes at the behest of Zitu, in so miraculous a way?"
"Call me Jasor as in the past," decided Croft. The name was near enough to his own to fit easily into both his ears and mouth. "Yet think me not Jasor," he went on. "Jasor was a dullard, weak in his brain. Soon shall I show you things such as you have never dreamed. Think you I am Jasor or another indeed?"
"You are not Jasor," said the priest.
"Nay—by Zitu himself, I swear it," said Croft. "Go now and send back the nurse. Say nothing of what I have told you. Swear silence by Zitu, and come to me every day."
"I swear," Abbu promised, rising, "and—I shall come, O Spirit sent by Zitu." He left the room backward and with bowed head.
Croft let every cell of his new body relax and stretched out. He closed his eyes as he heard the nurse return, and gave himself up to thought. It appeared to him that he had made a very good beginning and won an ally in Abbu, into whose astonishment he had woven a thread of the man's own religion to strengthen his belief. Now it remained to gain utter control of the body he possessed—to master it completely, and make it not only responsive to his physical use, but to so impregnate it with his own essence that he might leave it for short times at least in order to return to the earth.
And to accomplish that he had just four days. Lying there apparently asleep, he sought to exercise that control he possessed over the body now lying on his library couch. And he failed. Strive as he might, he could not compass success. In something like a panic he desisted after a time and sought to fight back to a balanced mental calm.
Was he trapped? he asked himself. Was he a prisoner of the thing he had sought to make his own? Reason told him the question was folly—that already the body was responding in a physical sense. In the end he decided to take a longer time in his endeavors, and so at last fell into a genuine sleep.
From that he awakened to the sound of voices, and turned his eyes to behold a woman past middle age, with graying hair, and a man, strongly built, with a well-featured face, in the room.
Working swiftly, his mind recalled Abbu's words concerning Jasor's parents. The priest had said they were expected in Scira. This woman, then, must be the Nodhurian's mother.
He opened his lips and called her by that word.
She ran to him and sank her knees by the couch. "Jasor, my son!" she cried in a voice which quavered, and as the man approached more slowly, turned her face upward to meet his eyes. "He knows me, Sinon—he knows me," she said.
"Aye, Mellia, praise be to Zitu. Jasor, my son, dost thou know me also?" the Nodhurian's father said.
"Aye, sir," said Croft, marking his parents' names. "But—how come you in Scira?"
"Did we not write that we should arrive and take you with us on our return?" Sinon asked.
Croft saw it in a flash, and the slip he had made. This explained Abbu's assertion that they were expected. The tablets hurled to the floor by Jasor had been deciphered after his illness, it appeared. "Aye," he admitted somewhat faintly. "But—I have been ill."
"And are recovered now," he who was to be his father said.
"Aye. Had I my clothing I could rise."
"We shall return then at once," Sinon declared.
But Mellia, the mother, broke into protests, and Croft became much more cautious, spoke for delay. He did not wish to undertake a trip to Nodhur before he had returned to earth. That was necessary if he was to protect his earth body from Mrs. Goss at the end of the week, since now he knew he must have more time. He determined to make another attempt at escape from his new body, when he would appear merely to be asleep.
And he succeeded late that night, freeing himself and once more rousing on the library couch. He did several things at once. He examined his own body and found it sound. He wrote a note telling his housekeeper he had returned and gone away for at least a month. He knew many a body had been kept entranced for longer periods by the Indian adepts of the East, so did not fear the attempt.
Next he crept up-stairs to his former bedroom and packed a suitcase, carrying it to one of the several spare rooms seldom used and always kept closed. Locking himself into this room, he opened the window slightly to assure a supply of air. He had told Mrs. Goss to remain at the house or go to her daughter's, as she preferred, until his return. He felt assured he would be undisturbed. Laying himself on the bed, he once more satisfied himself that all was as he wished it, and returned to Jasor's room.
Dawn was breaking on Palos as he opened his eyes. The nurse dozed not far from his couch. He waked her and demanded his clothing. She brought it in some doubt and assisted him to put it on. Ten minutes later he sat on the edge of the couch a Palosian in all physical seeming. Yet the woman regarded him still in a more or less uncertain fashion.
Croft smiled. "Thank you for your kindness, my nurse," he said. "I shall ask my father to remunerate you for it. Now I would eat."
She nodded and hurried from the room, to return with food. Hardly had Croft disposed of the meal with a zest evoked of his physical needs, that Sinon of Nodhur appeared.
Croft rose and stood as the man came in. "We return home today, my father," he declared.
Sinon seemed embarrassed before the words of his son. "Aye, if you wish," he made answer after a pause. "Sit you, my son. We must speak together. Your sickness has wrought changes within you. You are not the Jasor to whom I wrote it were useless to remain in Scira. The glance of your eye, the sound of your voice, even the lines of your face, have changed."
Croft smiled. "That is true," he agreed. "Yet even so it is of small value to remain in Scira, since now I know all and more than the learned men can teach me, were I to linger among them for many more cycles that I have."
"Zitu!" Sinon regarded him oddly. "My son, is this change to make you a braggart instead of a dullard?" he began slowly after a time.
"Not so," Croft returned. "My father, I am as one born anew. I shall prove my words, yet not until I have returned to our home. Let us begin the journey this day."
"It shall be as you wish," Sinon said, and left the room.
Later Abbu came and was admitted. To him Croft explained that he was going south to Nodhur with his father. He went further and questioned the priest concerning Sinon himself, learning that he was a wealthy merchant, residing in Ladhra, capital of the southern state.
The information was a considerable shock to Croft. The merchant caste, while exercising great influence and weight in Tamarizian affairs, were not of noble blood. Hence now, at the very beginning he found himself confronted by a gulf of caste separating him from Naia of Aphur hardly less completely than before he had made Jasor's body his own. For a moment the thought occurred to him that he had chosen that body rather badly. Then his natural determination came to his aid, and he set his lips as he resolved to find a way to win to Naia's side.
Abbu rather drew back before the gleam which crept into his eyes. "Jasor, since I know you by no other name," he cried, "wherein have I given offense?"
Croft laughed. He rose and flexed his arms and stared into Abbu's face. "In nothing; I was but thinking," he made answer. "Abbu, give me tablets to the priesthood at Himyra, stating those things you have seen."
Abbu nodded. "You stop at Himyra?" he said.
"Aye." The first step of winning to the woman of his soul flashed into Croft's brain, even as his plan for winning a body had flashed there days before.
But he kept it to himself, locked safely in his breast, as he set forth for his new home, with his parents, Sinon and Mellia, that afternoon.
That Sinon of Nodhur was wealthy he was assured when he saw the galley in which the homeward journey was to be made. It was a swift craft, gilded and ornate as to hull and masts and spars. Ten rowers furnished power on its two banks of oars, seated on the benches in the waist of the hull. Behind them were the cabin and a deck under an awning of the silklike fabric, a brilliant green in hue. Not only did all this show Croft his supposed father's financial condition, but he learned from Sinon that he was owner of a fleet of merchant craft which plied up and down the Na, and across the Central Sea. In addition, the largess Sinon bestowed on the nurse was evidence of a well-filled purse.
All these things Croft considered in the intervals of conversation with Sinon and Mellia while the galley ran south. In his boyhood Jason had been possessed of a natural aptitude for mechanics. In later manhood he had owned and operated his own automobiles, making most of the repairs upon the cars himself. Learning now of his father's line of business, it occurred to him to revolutionize transportation on Palos as a first step toward making his name a word familiar to every tongue.
To this end he approached Sinon the first evening as he and Mellia reclined on the deck.
"My father," he said, "what if the trip to Ladhra could be shortened by half?"
"Shortened, in what fashion?" Sinon asked, turning a swift glance toward Croft.
"By increasing the speed."
Sinon smiled. "The galley is the best product of our builders," he replied.
"Granted," said Croft. "But were one to place a device upon it, to do the work of the rowers with ten times their strength?"
"Zitu!" Sinon lifted himself on his couch. "What, Jasor, is this? What mean you, my son? What is this device?"
"One I have in mind," Croft told him. "Come. You make your money with ships. Apply some of it to making them more swift of motion. Let me make this device, and they shall mount the Na more swiftly than now they run with the current and the wind."
Sinon turned his eyes to the woman at his side. "And this is our son, who was a dullard!" he exclaimed.
"In whom I always have had faith," Mellia replied with a smile of maternal joy on her face.
"You have faith in this thing he proposes?" Sinon went on.
"Aye. I think Zitu himself spoke to him in his deathlike sleep," the woman said.
"Then, by Zitu—he shall make the attempt!" Sinon roared. "Should he succeed, the king himself would make him a knight for his service to the state."
Croft's heart leaped and ran racing for a minute at the words. Knighthood! That was the answer to the question in his brain—the bridge which should cross the gulf between Naia of Aphur and himself. He crushed back his emotions, however, and faced Sinon again. "Then I may carry out my plan?"
"Aye—to the half of my wealth," Sinon declared. "Jasor, I do not understand the change which has come upon you. But this thing you may do if you can."
"Then we stop at Himyra," Croft announced.
"At Himyra!" Sinon stared.
"Aye. I would see Jadgor of Aphur so quickly as I may."
"See Jadgor? You?" Sinon protested. "Think you Jadgor receives men of our caste without good cause?"
"He will see Jasor of Nodhur," Croft told him with a smile. "Wait, my father, and you shall witness that, and more."
And now all doubt, all foreboding left him, and he planned. That night as he lay in his bunk aboard the galley, he smiled. To him it seemed that any doubt must have been transferred to the minds of Sinon and Mellia. He heard them speaking above the lap of the waters and the squeak of the oars. He realized how much of an enigma he had become to these two who believed themselves his parents—how wonderful to them must be the change in their son.
But his own mind was coolly collected and calm. He would see Jadgor. He would use his knowledge of that monarch's present wishes to interest him in his plans. He would become not a knight of Nodhur, but a knight of Aphur instead. And then—then—Croft smiled and fell asleep.
The next day he questioned Sinon concerning the nature of the oil used in the lamps, and found it a vegetable product, as he had feared. But—he had been given evidence that the wine supply of the country held no small alcoholic content, which could be recovered in pure form with comparative ease. And—he knew enough of motors to know that slight changes would enable them to burn alcohol in lieu of petroleum-gas. Straightway he asked for something on which to draft his plans.
Sinon, eager now in the development of his son's remarkable plan, furnished parchment and brushes with a square of color, something like India ink, and Croft set to work during the remainder of the trip. He had assembled more than one motor in his day, and after deciding upon his type of construction he immediately went to work. At the end of four days, while the galley was mounting the Na toward the gates of Himyra, he finished the first drafting of parts, and was ready for Jadgor the king. Yet he did not go to Jadgor first, when once he has stepped ashore.
"Wait here," he requested Sinon. "After a time I shall return."
"Hold, my son," Sinon objected at once. "What have you in mind?"
"To see the priest of Zitu without delay," Croft replied without evasion. "Shall Jadgor not give ear, if the priest of Zitu asks?"
"And the priest?" Sinon asked.
"I carry a message to him from Abbu of Scira." Croft held up the tablets that Abbu had inscribed.
"My son!" Sinon gave him a glance of admiration. "Go, and Zitu go with you. We shall wait for you here."
Croft nodded and left. He had purposely had the galley moored as near the Palace as he might. Now he rapidly made his way to the bridge across the Na, and along it to the middle span. And there he paused and gazed about him, at the palace, the pyramid, the vista of the terraced stream. This was Himyra—this was the home of Naia. Today he stood here unheralded and unknown. Yet he stood there because of the dominant spirit which was his, which had dared all to stand there, and—it should not be long until all Himyra—all Tamarizia knew of Jasor of Nodhur, as he surely must be known.
He went on across the bridge and approached the pyramid. It lifted its vast pile above him. He found an inclined way and began to mount. After a considerable time he reached the top and entered the temple itself. The huge statue of Zitu sat there as he had seen it in his former state. Now almost without volition he bent his knees before it. After all, it stood for the One Eternal Source. He gave it reverence as such.
A voice spoke to him as he knelt. He rose and confronted a priest.
"Who art thou?" the latter asked, advancing toward him. "How come you here at no hour appointed for prayer?"
Croft smiled and held forth the tablets he had brought.
The priest took them, unbound them, and looked at the salutation. His interest quickened. "Ye come from Scira?" he said.
"Aye. Carrying these tablets from the good Abbu, as you see."
The priest considered. "Come," he said again at last, and led the way back of the statue to the head of a descending stair.
Together they went down, along the worn tread of stone steps, turning here and there, until at length they came into a lofty apartment where sat a man in robes of an azure blue.
Before him Croft's guide bowed. "Thy pardon, Magur, Priest of Zitu," he spoke, still in his stilted formal way. "But one comes carrying tablets inscribed with thy name. Even now he knelt in the Holy Place, so that I questioned—asking what he sought."
Magur, high priest in Himyra, at least as Croft judged, took the tablets and scanned each leaf. As he read, his expression altered, grew at first well-nigh startled, and after that nothing short of amazed.
In the end he waved the lay brother from the room and faced Croft alone. "Thou art called how?" he began.
"Jasor of Nodhur—son of Sinon and Mellia of Nodhur," Croft replied.
"Whom, Abbu writes, Zitu hath changed?"
"Aye."
"Thou comest to Himyra, why?"
"To assist the State—to safeguard Tamarizia from the designs of Zollaria perhaps."
"Hold!" Magur cried. "What know ye of Zollaria's plans?"
"Zollaria desires Cathur and plots the downfall of Tamarizia, Priest of Zitu. Think that I bring no knowledge to my task?"
"Yet, were you Jasor indeed, thou mightest know somewhat of Zollaria's plans to some extent," said the priest.
"And Jasor was a dullard, as the schools of Scira will declare," Croft flashed back. "Let my works show whether I stand a fool or not."
"Thy works?" Magur inquired.
"Aye—those I shall do in Tamarizia's name. The first shall be one which shall span the desert twenty times as quickly as the sarpelca caravan—or drive a boat without sails or oars, or propel a carriage without any gnuppa, and so haul ten times the load."
"Thou canst do this?" Magur laid the tablets on the lap of his robe and sat staring at the man who spoke such words.
"Aye."
"And what do you desire of me?"
"An audience with Jadgor," Croft replied: "Since Aphur's king suspects the things Zollaria plans."
Magur frowned. Croft's knowledge seemed to have swept him somewhat off his feet. For moments he sat without motion or sound. But after a time he raised his head. "To me Abbu seemeth right in this," he said. "In this Zitu's hand is. This thing shall be arranged."
He clapped his hands. A brown-robed priest appeared.
"Prepare my chariot for use," the high priest said.
The other bowed and withdrew.
Thereafter Magur sat through another period of silence ere he rose and, signing to Croft, led him through a passage to a small metal platform which, when Magur pulled on a slender cord, began to descend.
Croft smiled. It was a primitive sort of elevator as he saw while they sank down a narrow shaft. He fancied it not unlike the ancient lifts employed in Nero's palace in Rome. But he made no comment as they reached the bottom of the shaft and emerged past double lines of bowing priests to the waiting chariot.
Magur mounted and took the reins. Croft stepped into a place at his side. The gnuppas leaped forward at a word. They rumbled down the street and out upon the bridge. Croft had crossed it alone and on foot an hour before. Now he rode back in the car of Zitu's priest.