"Aye, my Lord!" This time Rakshasi's agreement was more swift. He had, Ramey thought, pulled a successful sandy. "So told I them, yea, and even my brother Ravana which lent an ear to their impious murmurings. These are in truth the gods, spake I, come to mete justice and right to their children. Still--" Here her voice took on a plaintive, querulous tone--"Still cannot we of Videlia understand why the gods should show favor to the blue lord of Gaanelia, when it is _our_ people which have ever been their most ardent followers. All know that the blue ones of Gaanelia are a cynical, impious race. Theirs is a culture of agnostic science. Many, indeed, have declared there are no gods at all, but only primal causes--" "Hold, my Lady!" interrupted Ramey. "The protector Sugriva is a good man--" * * * * * A note of passionate rebellion throbbed in the golden one's voice. "A good man, aye!" she cried witheringly. "In his feeble way! But they are a decadent, dying race, the Gaanelians! Where as we of Videlia--" A tenseness gripped her figure, and the shadowy amber of her breast rose and fell with her emotion--"are a great and growing race, young and strong. As the gods," she cried challengingly, "have much to offer men, so have their followers much to offer the gods! Allegiance and devotion, aye, and sacrifice! "Speak you, Lord Ramey--were it not to the gods' own benefit that they should cast down these weaklings of Gaanelia, and raise to the heights those who are their own true believers?" Her meaning was clear. Ramey stared at her with sudden sharp intentness, a warning bell chiming in his ears. Here was open proof of the faithlessness Sugriva had feared. A plea for divine approval of Videlian ambitions. It was a good thing he had come here tonight. He must nip this movement in the bud. "The gods, my Lady Rakshasi," he said sternly, "desire naught but peace. They will neither sponsor nor permit the elevation of one race over another. All must live in amity." The golden amazon's excitement died. Her voice lost its challenging note and became softer, throatier, more insinuating. She stirred nearer him, and the silk rustled languid invitation. The warmth of her body touched his own, hip and thigh, and the scent of her hair was a titillation to his nostrils. "But, say, my Lord," she whispered, "do not even the gods look with favor upon those who please them?" The warning bell was clamoring brassily now. It rose and fell with the pound of Ramey's pulse. His temples hammered, his lips were parched, and forgotten now were Sugriva and Dr. Aiken, Red, the O'Briens, all those who had accompanied him into this strange adventure. Even the mist-blue eyes of Sheila Aiken were a far memory, colorless and without warmth. He choked, "It is ... true ... that even a god might look with longing upon ... one like you, Lady Rakshasi."