He counted the steps. One hundred, one hundred and fifty--how far into the earth did they go? He cursed his lack of foresight in not bringing a torch. A minute later his outthrust foot struck level floor and he felt his way cautiously along a damp wall, testing each step lest he cast himself into an unseen pit. The wall was carven curiously; after feeling some of the figures beneath his fingertips he was almost glad he had neglected a torch. Abruptly he felt the Force. It struck him, body and face, like a blast of hot wind from the deserts. First obstructing, then suddenly altering, it impeded his progress little as it seemed to hurry him onward. He became conscious he was almost running in a desperate effort to keep up with the passage of the air, or Force. "By the Gods!" he muttered through set teeth. "This is an undignified way to receive me into Hell!" The passage ended with startling suddenness; he was in a great chamber lit by a ruddy glow. The glow came from an object lying upon a huge stone, carved as a perfect square and resting in the exact center of the great circular hall. Duar advanced cautiously with drawn sword toward the source of the light. Several times he stumbled clumsily over irregular heaps of rubbish on the floor, and once it seemed to him he only managed to keep from falling by the intentness of his gaze on the lurid fire before him. Now he was wading, like one who crosses a mountain torrent breast-high, and the Force was roaring in his ears until his temples hurt. It pressed on his head and shoulders, inexorably, urging him to lie down and rest. Tearing his eyes from the glory of the light, he glanced about, seeking a level spot on which to relax. The horror he beheld smote his weary brain back to activity. He was treading over the _remains of countless skeletons_! Here lay the answer of the destiny of the wretched culprits condemned to the Black Tower. Hundreds upon hundreds of them, back through the centuries, had been thrust down the dark stairway to feel the Force and hasten onward to their doom. Those who sat down to rest rested there for ever. An effort to retreat would be like forcing a stone wall with bare hands; the demon power was too strong. Always must the victim proceed to the light. The strength and will-power of each was denoted by the distance he or she covered toward the beckoning light before they succumbed to the baleful Force. The long-dead bones reflected dimly the weird glow of the goal they never had reached.