"And then," Jerry added softly for Winslow's hearing, "we'll beat it. And, with luck, we'll make it safe." "There's a chance," said Winslow softly, "there's a chance--and that's all we ask." * * * * * "It's up to you, Marahna," Jerry told her. His words were meaningless, but the tone sufficed. She drew herself proudly erect, wrapped herself closely in the robe of braided gold, and stepped firmly and fearlessly through the portal and down toward the platform of the priests. The two men watched from the shadows. Beyond the outline of the platform they saw the warrior clans, a phalanx of protecting bodies. And beyond, drawn back in huddled consternation, were masses of white-faced people--Marahna's people--who listened, now, in wondering silence to their princess. Marahna made her way slowly to the platform's edge. Of all the countless ones to have gone that road, she was the first ever to return. She stood silent, while her eyes found their way scornfully over the enemy below. Then looking beyond them, she began to speak. Her soft voice echoed liquidly throughout the room. She gestured, and Jerry knew that she was giving them the message. From the priests there came once a hoarse, inarticulate growl of hate and unbelief. She silenced them with her hand. She pointed to the heavens, and she told them of the sun and of the two who were true children of the sun, who had come to save them from their false god. * * * * * Her voice rose as she told her people in impassioned tones that which she had seen. And she was shouting above the tumult of the priests and pointing directly at them as she made the roof echo with the message: "_Oong devah! Oong devah!_" "The god is dead," translated Jerry. "_Devah_ means death; she said that of herself before we left. Come on!" he shouted, and laid-hold of one great claw. "It's our turn now." Winslow was tugging at the other foot. Between them they dragged into the light the obscene burden. Down the long ramp they took it and off upon the platform of the priests, where Marahna waited. The priests, as Jerry's quick glance showed, were milling wildly about. It seemed that a charge was soon to follow, but the commotion ceased as the two men come upon the platform, hauling between them the great scorched head of "Oong." The vast hall was without movement or sound as they made their way out to the front. Jerry stood erect and faced the crowd. He pointed, as had Marahna, toward the sun somewhere above those thick masses of rock; he traced it in its course across the sky; he pointed to Winslow and himself. And in loudest tones he roared throughout the room his message. "Oong," he shouted, "_Oong devah!_" "I'll count three," he whispered in the utter silence. "Then let 'er go!" Again he took a firm hold on the flabby paw. "One," he whispered, and swung his body with the word. "Two ... and _three_!" * * * * *