THE LAND BEYOND THE FLAME By EVELYN GOLDSTEIN _Beyond the Flame Barrier lay knowledge of the Originals. Long it stretched from horizon to horizon, a thin stream of living light; a thin path of peril for Allyn the Numan._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Cautiously Allyn the Numan moved to the edge of the outcropping rocks, black cloak swirling hip length about his lean seven foot figure. His close cropped silver hair was bare so that he had to shade his silver eyes against the shimmering waste ahead. At his back, the jagged rocks rose and fused into wild hills. Before him stretched the Graysand Desert, cruel with heat and treacherous sands. And, shrill in the fiery air, came the squeals of the rat pack. Giant carnivores, shaggy and foul-breathed, their wicked claws could tear a man fleshless. Fetid poison lay in the bite from their sharp yellow teeth, and those teeth were bared now in raging anticipation. They were on the kill! Hunger in their voices and lust. And their gray bodies, a pollution on the landscape, surged after a desperate prey. What did they pursue? Allyn strained to see. _An Olman!_ The sun blazed on the sweat of the mighty chest heaving with exertion. Like all the males of that savage group he was naked, save for a loincloth, and his bronzed corded arms swung in tempo with his pumping feet. With each step, he left a bloody trail which spurred the rats to further frenzy. The blood loss told! He fell! But, even as he went down, he spun on his back, teeth bared, and the burning wind carried his fierce yell of defiance. The rodents went mad with triumph. They leapt for the kill. Without thinking Allyn brought his flame gun from its holster. Lances of bright death seared the gray ranks. Squeals died. The rats swerved from the fallen man, scattered. Retreat was a panic stampede. And soon their shrilling faded in the distance. The prone man twisted to hands and knees to face his rescuer. Hope was bright in his eyes. But then he saw Allyn. Elation became horror. "_Numan!_" It was a despairing cry. Then he fainted. Allyn hastened across the gray sands. Hefting the unconscious man to his shoulders he staggered toward the rocks. In a crevice, sheltered by a natural ledge, he deposited his burden, and set about examining the gashed thigh. The wound was more painful than serious, and he ripped a strip from the lining of his cloak to bind it tight and stop the blood flow. He had barely finished when the young savage stirred. Allyn tensed, watchful, flame gun ready. He saw the dark eyes open, not sleepy, but with full awareness, as with a wild beast. The well conditioned muscles tightened. "Don't move!" Allyn aimed the gun.