lay half over, legs barring the
threshold.

Contemptuously Norhala stepped over it. We were within that chamber of
the pool. About it lay a fair dozen of the armored men. Ruth's defense,
I thought with a grim delight, had been most excellent--those who had
taken her and Ventnor had not done so without paying full toll.

A violet flashing drew my eyes away. Close to the pool wherein we had
first seen the white miracle of Norhala's body, two immense, purple
fired stars blazed. Between them, like a suppliant cast from black iron,
was Yuruk.

Poised upon their nether tips the stars guarded him. Head touching his
knees, eyes hidden within his folded arms, the black eunuch crouched.

"Yuruk!"

There was an unearthly mercilessness in Norhala's voice.

The eunuch raised his head; slowly, fearfully.

"Goddess!" he whispered. "Goddess! Mercy!"

"I saved him," she turned to us, "for you to slay. He it was who brought
those who took the maid who was mine and the helpless one she loved.
Slay him."

Drake understood--his hand twitched down to his pistol, drew it. He
leveled the gun at the black eunuch. Yuruk saw it--shrieked and cowered.
Norhala laughed--sweetly, ruthlessly.

"He dies before the stroke falls," she said. "He dies doubly
therefore--and that is well."

Drake slowly lowered the automatic; turned to me.

"I can't," he said. "I can't--do it--"

"Masters!" Upon his knees the eunuch writhed toward us. "Masters--I
meant no wrong. What I did was for love of the Goddess. Years upon years
I have served her. And her mother before her.

"I thought if the maid and the blasted one were gone, that you would
follow. Then I would be alone with the Goddess once more. Cherkis will
not slay them--and Cherkis will welcome you and give the maid and the
blasted one back to you for the arts that you can teach him.

"Mercy, Masters, I meant no harm--bid the Goddess be merciful!"

The ebon pools of eyes were clarified of their ancient shadows by his
terror; age was wiped from them by fear, even as it was wiped from his
face. The wrinkles were gone. Appallingly youthful, the face of Yuruk
prayed to us.

"Why do you wait?" she asked us. "Time presses, and even now we should
be on the way. When so many are so soon to die, why tarry over one? Slay
him!"

"Norhala," I answered, "we cannot slay him so. When we kill, we kill in
fair fight--hand to hand. The maid we both love has gone, taken with her
brother. It will not brin