uld go on no further, for Herakles, the arch-priest, raised his
snowy head suddenly, his eyes blazing. "To save Atlans in her hour of
trial, we demand that ye deliver to us the Wanderers. They shall die
as an offering to Ares, God of War. Perchance he will preserve us."
The arch-priest's deep-set and glittering eyes swept with venomous
hatred the two calm-featured aviators, who looked very plain and
unromantic in their flying jackets and khaki serge. "We, familiars of
the Gods, herewith demand that the blasphemers perish on the War God's
altar! Else shall ye all die unbeloved of the Gods!"

"And we do your bidding, will ye give us back His Splendor?" demanded
Hero Giles.

"Nay--we priests do not bargain like hucksters."

Risking all, Nelson muttered a swift aside to Alden. "How big were
those pteranodons?"

"Some species had a wing spread of twenty-five feet."

The muscular pilot's mouth closed into a firm, colorless line as he
nodded and glanced at the vindictive old man who was by now white with
fury.

Up sprang a good three-quarters of the nobles present and turned on
the grim figure at the head of the board.

"Surrender the Wanderers!" they shouted. "We demand it!"

* * * * *

In another instant the death sentence would have been forced on Hero
Giles, but Victor Nelson leaped forward, pistol menacing the raging
gray-bearded priest.

"Listen, all of you!" he shouted in deep tones that were strangely
authoritative. "Beware, foolish Princes, how you threaten us. Great is
our knowledge and power: you've seen that already. Even now, the other
Wanderer and I can save or ruin Atlans, as we wish! Have ye forgotten
the battle by Lake Copias?"

The Princes, furious at the American's defiance, half rose, hand on
sword hilt, but sank back at a swift, menacing gesture from Nelson's
pistol.

"What sayest thou, mad fellow?" screeched the arch-priest, his black
eyes bright as knife points. "Save Atlans--?" Fierce questioning was
in his sombre, sunken eyes.

"I said," repeated Nelson, "that, if we choose, we can yet save your
Altara and the Emperor from death."

"Impossible! He is mad!" shouted Paul, the one-eyed Hero. "Not the
Gods themselves could rescue Altara from the claws of the demon
Beelzebub!" The nearest nobles flung themselves back in their chairs
and snarled threats of all kinds as they gripped their sword hilts.

Sensing an inescapable climax, the khaki-clad American ra