Jaro threw open the door. Both men thrust their guns in the face of the little Mercurian waiter who had served the food. "I'm growing accustomed," the waiter said; "to your peculiar sense of humor." He marched between the two big men, closed and locked the heavy storm shutters, marched back out. Joan burst into peals of laughter. Jaro and Landovitch sheepishly returned their guns to their holsters. "Will you quit laughing like a hyena," said Jaro, "I think I hear something." Joan subsided into giggles. From beneath their feet came a thin minor melody. It possessed a maddening undercurrent indescribable in its effect. Other instruments joined the first until the sound was like a field of katydids. "The flutes," said Joan. "It's the flutes." Jaro, listening to their reedy melody, thought of the pipes of Pan. He allowed his pale blue eyes to examine Joan Webb. She had long legs, hips that were full, rounded, but not too broad, a slim waist, high breasts. He took a long drink of Latonka. He said, "I want to revel." Landovitch said with admiration in his voice, "You sure can pick 'em, Jaro." She glanced in alarm from Jaro to Landovitch. "Don't get any ideas, you two predatory wolves, you. I absolutely refuse to be a party to any orgies." "Tell me," said Jaro, "what is this Festival of the Rains? What does it symbolize?" Joan explained: "It celebrates the marriage of Nemi, the god of the rain, with the soil. Each year Nemi takes a new bride. She's chosen from the prettiest girls of Acecia. She symbolizes the earth. The last night of the festival, she is led into a beautiful chamber deep in the lower levels of the rain god's temple and placed in bed and left. Nemi, himself, is--ah--er, supposed to visit her during the night. For a whole year she must remain faithful to Nemi. The people actually believe her a goddess. But at the end of that time Nemi divorces her, and she is relegated to the Temple Priestesses. The Temple Priestesses," she added dryly, "aren't noted for their rigidity of morals." They all took a drink of Latonka. The flutes were louder, more insistent in their suggestion. Landovitch twitched his blond scalp pensively. He did it like a horse twitches a patch of hide. Joan stared at him fascinated. She said, "How did you do that?" She wrinkled her nose, frowned, trying to imitate his feat. "Gimme that jug," said Jaro. He turned to Joan. "We," he said impressively, "are the revolution." Joan realized that the two men had consumed considerable wine. Landovitch threw wide his arms. "Camarade!" he shouted. There were tears in his eyes. Jaro put down the jug empty. "Camarade!" he cried. They embraced. Joan watched them, her brown eyes round as saucers. Jaro turned to Joan. "Camarade!" he said. He embraced her. She said, "Camarade" in a weak voice. He continued to embrace her. Landovitch lost interest in the revolution. He was searching for another jug. With a chortle, he dragged one forth from beneath the bed.