Perhaps he was one of those headless bodies who had fallen beneath the short-swords of the Carthaginians, or he might have been one of those impaled by the lances of Attila's wayward horde. Possibly even--but Larry hated to remember the typically feminine way in which that tiny band of Amazon allies had treated their foes.... And then Sandra was beside him, sharing with him the triumph of the Masters' surrender. And to her he turned for an answer. "You did this, Sandra?" "I tried to tell you, Larry. It was the only thing I could think of. From Harg we learned how to operate the Time-warp machine. I set its dials, brought these warriors through to aid our cause." "But the language! They speak a thousand tongues!" Sandra smiled, and for the first time Larry noticed that she, like himself, was now wearing the _menaudo_ of the Masters. "And with this, so do I." Sert was addressing the forlorn leader of the beaten Masters. "A new order rules. From this day henceforth there shall be peace beneath our Dome. No longer will there be Underlings, you Masters. Acknowledge this truth and your fellows will be spared. Together we will build a new civilization to surpass the old." The Master nodded humbly. "So be it!" he said. But in the moment of armistice came the last and greatest blow. A droning sounded throughout the vast arena, and the voice of Harg filled the plaza. "Think you that you have won, barbarian from the past?" Sandra's eyes filled with alarm. She clutched Larry's arm tensely. "Harg! But where does he speak from?" As if in answer to her words, Harg spoke again, his voice rage-choked and malevolent. "Know then, fools, that in a few moment's time the last Master dies--and with him dies the civilization of this accursed planet! When I draw back this lever--" Larry stiffened. "The dome control turret! He has taken it again!" VII Within arm's reach were a half-dozen riderless mounts of those who had died in battle. To the back of one of these Larry leaped. His nearest companion was an olive-skinned son of antique Persia. He glanced wonderingly at the white-complexioned six-footer beside him, but only for an instant. In this strange meeting place of the ages, existed no lingual difficulties. Larry wore the _menaudo_, and that headgear spoke in the one universal tongue, the language of thought. Now, succinctly, he broadcast the meaning of this threat to the allies out of time. "Only the Dome above protects us all from dreadful death. The greatest rogue of all has escaped, and has taken refuge in the chamber that controls that dome. If he pulls the main lever, he can bring it and the world crashing into ruin about us--"