"Ourobos...." The old man's face was slack now, his words thick and mumbled. It was as if he could no longer hear Craig's questions. "Other planets, too ... not just Lysor. That's ... why I asked help. Zenaor ... dreams of conquest." "Tumek--!" Craig choked. "Tumek, the crystal--tell me about that!" But again, he could not know if the other even heard. "Narla ..." the old man whispered, "see Narla...." And then: "Disc ... on roof ... here...." * * * * * The words died in a rattle. Muscles tensed in a small convulsive movement.... The mouth fell open. The old head sagged back. Tumek died. For a long, long moment, Craig Nesom slumped beside him. It was no end for genius. Not here, in a dirt-floored hovel off an alley. Only that was death's way. It paid no heed to propriety or convenience. Nor to right, either, nor the needs of men. Without Tumek, the Baemae cause might go down to disaster. Lord Zenaor could yet live to fulfill his dream of conquest, carve his path across the universe with the ourobos. Unless the crystal stopped him. "The crystal"--that was all Tumek had said about it. Not what it was, nor how to use it. But ... there was still Narla. Narla, of the cool grey eyes and flaxen hair. Narla, who laughed and tempted--and then went cold with sudden fury. Narla, Lord Zenaor's own daughter. Tumek had said to see her. Slowly, Craig got up. Stiff, shuffling, weary, he made his way to the room's one slot-like window. The night outside was brighter now, blue with Roh's chill rays. The Kukzubas towers loomed sleek and shining, sheer to the very sky. And there was the Central Tower, also; the Tower of Zenaor--rising even higher and more starkly than the rest. How could any man hope to get into that grim crypt to talk to Narla? Every door would be locked, every entrance guarded. At least, on the lower levels. But higher, perhaps.... Thoughtfully, Craig appraised the towering structure. Invading it would be madness, pure and simple. And yet, with the starship shattered, what did he have to lose? Besides, Zenaor owed him a debt ... a debt that only blood could cancel. Blood. The blood of the starship's crew, and of the Baemae. Of Tumek, and a grey-thatched serving-serf without a name. And on the roof here, Tumek had said, a disc lay ready. A disc, and a debt of blood, and the Tower of Zenaor. And Narla. Why was he hesitating? Cold-eyed, tight-lipped. Craig Nesom groped towards the stair.... CHAPTER IV The disc came down to the roof like a drifting feather. Stepping from it, Craig paused for a moment, staring out with brow furrowed at the spangled night of Torneulan. City of barons or city of Baemae, there was beauty here in this silent moment. Only now was no time for beauty. Not here, atop Lord Zenaor's sleek, shining fortress tower. Craig turned.