inside of every cell.

This, Gerry realized, was actually the prison used by the lords of
Giri-Vaaka. He had been placed in the old and abandoned dungeons beneath
as part of the scheme to lure him into calling the _Viking_ to her doom.
Glancing in the door-mirrors of the cells as he went by, Gerry saw that
most of the occupants were men and women of the Green Race of Giri, with
a fair number of Golden Amazons and a few reptile men who had been
guilty of some crime or infraction of discipline.

Then he saw Closana! The girl was tightly spread-eagled against one of
the polished metal walls of her cell, her outstretched wrists and ankles
held by steel cuffs. Gerry's jaw jutted stubbornly forward, and for a
moment he twisted helplessly against the cords that held his arms behind
him.

The guards halted before a door deep in the interior of the palace,
where a pair of scaly warriors stood on guard with gas-guns cocked and
ready. The opening itself was not closed by any door, but by what looked
like a tightly stretched curtain of some transparent green material. On
closer inspection he saw that it glowed with a steady pulsation, while
occasional specks of green fire ran through it. When one of the guards
moved incautiously back so that the tip of his scabbard touched the
green glow filling the door, there was a crackling hiss. The tip of the
scabbard simply vanished. It was as though it had been cleanly cut off
by a very sharp knife.

A challenge came from within, and one of Gerry's guards shouted a reply.
The green glow suddenly vanished from the doorway. Whatever elemental
force it was that blocked the passage had been withdrawn, and they
walked freely in through the opening.

* * * * *

The wide room before them was walled with slabs of polished black
marble. The figures of writhing snakes and rearing reptiles were inlaid
into the black walls with some iridescent green stone. Their eyes were
inlaid jewels. Thin trails of pungent smoke drifted upward from their
nostrils. A low and throbbing music, full of the thunder of muted drums,
came from unseen source. At regular intervals around the walls stood
tall golden standards with glowing globes atop them.

This was the throne room of Lansa, Lord of Giri-Vaaka, who had once been
an officer in the flying forces of Earth. The man himself sat on a black
marble throne with a dozen of the higher officers of his scaly warriors
grouped around him