The voice interrupted him. It came from the outer chamber: harshly gloating, unrelievedly triumphant. It called: "Kortha. Come where I can see you, Kortha. I want to talk to you." "Guantra," whispered Kortha, and ran. He found the quartz-crystal televisi-screen finally, perched in a niche in the hall, where it could command a view of the closed doors. Kortha went and stood before it. He drew back his lips, and spat. * * * * * The image of the man in the screen recoiled slightly, then thrust forward again, pushing the lean hawk's face with jutting, black-bearded chin and hooked nose and slightly bald forehead almost to the limits of the screen. The thin lips twisted in a savage smile. The dark eyes glittered under thin brows. "I have you, Kortha. At last, I have you where I want you. I have searched for a long time without success. Where did you hide yourself? Ah, well--it makes no difference. You are to die, Kortha, and I--Guantra!--am to be your executioner. "Did you suspect that I learned the secret of Yassa, Kortha? If you did, and I think as much, you are right. It cost ten men's lives, but I learned it. It was a lethal ray that blasted whoever passed those black doors. We smashed it out of existence, reluctantly. It was a hellish thing. I would have given much to have saved it, but," sighing, "it could not be done. But I found other articles to take its place." "Two of them," assented Kortha dryly. Guantra seemed startled, then nodded. "Two, yes. A lightning-blaster and a--no, I'll not tell you the other. That is _my_ secret.... I see the lightning-blaster surprises you." "Another myth," whispered Xax, looking up at Kortha. "Myth?" puzzled Guantra, brows meeting over its hooked nose. "Oh. You mean the one concerning the weapons of the Great War. The rhyme that goes-- "They culled the lightnings from the sky, "And summoned all who were to die--" "A neat bit of doggerel, but let's talk of living men. Kortha, I know you for my enemy. If you were my friend, now--" Guantra jerked suddenly, drawing back. His lean face looked tense, thoughtful. His thin lips drew down at the corners, and slowly curved into a smile. It was not a nice smile to see. He whispered, "If you were my friend." Kortha lifted his big hammer and showed it to Guantra. "Talk no more of friendship between us, _yavit_," he said clearly. But Guantra leaned forward and smiled again. His dark eyes were steady on the big man in the white fur harness, whose sun-browned skin seemed like smooth bronze against the bearskin. "Zut love me, but you _will_ be my friend, Kortha. Wait! I am sending men for you. You cannot fight me, for all Mars is at my beck. My men will bring you to me, and I will _make_ you my friend!"