"That was the last guard," Gunnar whispered. "It took a ruby the size of a sparrow's egg to get him killed. Oh, well, blame Grim Hagen. He shouldn't have gouged these people so hard--" And then, to Piper: "You're bright enough, I guess, but you don't know how to row a boat. Give me the oars." He took them and slid them into their hole-pins. "Now, give Gunnar room." He bowed his broad head, leaning forward almost to his toes. Then he dug the oars into the water and straightened up and bent backward like a machine. Noiselessly the oars came up again. He bent forward and dipped them into the river again. And as he worked faster he began to count to himself in a panting whisper: "Huh--huh--huh--huf!" The boat streaked across the river's surface like a water-bug. At last they slid into some thick cat-tails. Gunnar got a hand-hold and propelled them forward until the prow grounded in the shallows. "This is as far as I can go," Piper told them in a sweating voice. "Over there is the tomb." * * * * * Odin and Gunnar scrambled ashore. Piper pushed the boat back into the river and was gone. Three thin sickles of moons were cleaving their way across the sky. A few unfamiliar stars were out. There was enough light now for them to see Maya's tomb not far away. It seemed to be fashioned of moonbeams. It was such a perfect copy of the Taj Mahal that here both death and sleep were brothers--and a nirvana of peace hung over it in an aura of silver light. "That Piper is a smart lad," Gunnar whispered. "He knows what he wants. He'll go far--maybe." They approached. Odin knew that four guards were stationed here at all times. They were all gone. The two went in, Gunnar turned on a little flash. Had there been time, Odin might have grudgingly given Grim Hagen a few kind words for the work he had done and the tribute he had paid Maya. The best of a planet's treasures and art had been brought here. But all he could see was Maya, lying upon a golden, diamond-set couch. A silk embroidered coverlet was drawn over her, and it too seemed to have been spun from moonbeams. She looked no older. Odin could see no sign of breath. But he touched her hand and it was warm. He knelt beside her. "Here," Gunnar handed him the light. "Hold this while I get busy. Here now, Nors-King. No blubbering." He opened his buckskin bag and took out the last of its treasures--a small hypodermic case. He filled the hypodermic from a little vial that glittered in the light of the lamp. "Turn the light upon her forearm, now," he instructed. Gunnar slowly counted to sixty after he had given her the shot. Maya's breasts moved. She sighed and raised a hand to her dark curls. Then her eyes opened--in fear and wonder as a child opens its eyes in a strange place. Then her vision cleared and she recognized them. "Jack--Gunnar--" she gasped. Then she was in Odin's arms. And Gunnar, the strong one, was standing over them--sniffling.