Minutes passed. Again she became calm and fell to studying her surroundings. What manner of doom was coming? Fire in some shape, she was sure. She had noticed that the surface of the basalt slab was deeply scored down its center, where she and Brooks were chained, and its substance was crumbled and calcined as if by the passing of a fierce heat many times repeated. She besought her God that before Shamar struck, her senses might leave her, so might she die in peace. Rhaen prayed on. Above in the dome the brilliant colors played and shifted. Their magnificence hurt the girl's eyes, and she closed them. Would the end never come? Out in the city the din of war swelled louder. Bel-Ar spoke harshly, bidding Rhaen delay not. The arch-priest quit his mumbled prayer long enough to reply with some show of spirit that the doings of the god could not be hastened. The truth of the matter was, Rhaen was proceeding slowly, and with a reason. Rhaen was a politician. He had watched through the long weeks the course of war, and he did not find it hard to guess whose would be the ultimate victory. When that time came, what mercy would the king of Ruthar show to those who had given his lady to the tortures of Shamar? He lifted his hands high above his head, finally, and led his priests in a sonorous chant. As the notes of the song arose, the prismatic colors ceased in the dome. The prisms disappeared. Doors glided back in the golden roof, and an immense circular plate, or lens, of crystal made its appearance. So high was the arch of the dome where the crystal lens was hung, that it was impossible from the floor to judge its size; but it must have been at least thirty feet in diameter. It was set in a metal rim, and the whole was swung into place by chains, the mechanism doubtless operated by servants of Rhaen concealed in the vault of the dome. Tilted slightly to the east, the crystal hung. Above it a round aperture suddenly appeared in the roof. Through that opening shot a splendid shaft of sunshine that pierced the gloom of the temple-hall like an arrow of light. Blinding in its radiance, it cut downward and struck on the basalt altar, full on the head of the bull. Immediately arose the stench of burning hair and sizzling flesh. The power of the crystal lens so condensed the light-ray that where it fell its heat was all-consuming. Within half a minute naught was left of the head of the sacred bull save a few cinders and bits of calcined bone and charred tips of the horns. Where the head had been, the basalt rock glowed ruby-red in the path of that awful lance of fire. Inch by inch, and very slowly, the consuming ray crept along the altar toward the head of the girl. Rose had been nearly blinded, even through her closed lids, by the flash of light from the dome. Although she could not turn her head to see, she could smell the scorching flesh of the bull, and could guess what was coming.