"Nay!" thundered the Hero Giles, "and forget not, Hero Paul--_I_ am senior Prince of Atlans!" * * * * * In the great white marble council chamber silence fell, while from wonderfully carved ivory and gold chairs the harassed, yellow-bearded princes regarded the two uneasy Americans. "Hearken, Hero Giles!" rasped another dark-browed officer in a plain, much-dented red breast plate. "I side with Paul. Away with them, I say! Time is too precious. Do not the dark hordes of Jereboam beat back our frontiers?" Hero Giles glowered and sat bolt upright in his chair--a strange disordered figure among his gorgeously robed and armored peers. "Thou wert ever a hothead! I prithee pause a moment! Remember how the dark-haired Wanderer once aided our imprisoned Emperor, whom Poseidon protect! Perchance, Hero Nelson and his friend once more can aid us in this, our hour of need." A chorus of variously opined voices broke out, while Nelson with an eye to possible violence stood ready. "Silence! Sirrah!" The fierce old veteran banged a powerful fist on a golden dolphin head forming his chair arm. "This idle wrangling accomplishes naught, and a thousand weighty matters await our attention. Is it true the phalanxes at Tricca have risen for the priests?" * * * * * [Illustration: _Map of Jarmuth and Atlans_] Before Hero Giles could reply, a stalwart guard at the door flung it open to admit a dust and sweat-bathed courier who, darting forward, flung himself at Hero Giles' no less dusty feet. While the yellow-haired Prince started back muttering in amazement, the runner raised a shaking hand. "Woe, woe to Atlans!" he panted. "Jarmuthian retortii men have crossed the boiling river. Cierum is fallen! Its garrison is drenched in clouds of fungus gas. But a handful escaped!" "Speak on: is that all?" A terribly intent expression crept over the aquiline faces around the council table. "Nay, spare thy servant!" begged the green kilted courier, raising sweaty, imploring hands. "I--I dare not--" "Speak!" snarled Hero Giles, his blue eyes terribly lit. "Speak!--else thy carcass shall be flung to the pteranodons." Wild-eyed, the fellow blinked fearfully about. The grim-lipped nobles edged closer. Nelson, realizing all that lay at stake, watched intently, conscious that Alden was now by his side. "I--I, Her Sacred Holiness, Altara--." The messenger's red face twitched and he choked as in terror. "Altara!" The name reechoed weirdly from a dozen dry throats, and Nelson saw the skin suddenly pale and tighten over Hero John's face. "What of the divine Altara, fool?" he thundered in a dreadful, shaken monotone. "Have those foul swine of Jarmuth dared--?"