All that day the black hawks drove the humans down the watercourse, around the shoulder of basalt and out onto the naked sun-seared lava bed. Some of them dropped and lay where they were, and no effort of the hawks could move them on again. Much of the time Trevor carried Jen. Part of the time he dragged her. For long vague periods he had no idea what he did. He was in a daze in which only his hatred still was vivid, when he felt Jen pulled away from him. He struggled, and was held--and he looked up to see a ring of mounted men around him. Korins on their crested beasts, the sun-stones glittering in their brows. They looked down at Trevor, curious, speculative, hostile, their otherwise undistinguished human faces made strangely evil and other-worldly by the winking stones. "You come with us to the city," one of them said curtly to Trevor. "That woman goes with the other slaves." Trevor glared up at him. "Why me, to the city?" The Korin raised his riding whip threateningly. "Do as you're ordered! Mount!" Trevor saw that a slave had brought a saddled beast to him and was holding it, not looking either at him or the Korins. "All right," he said. "I'll go with you." He mounted and sat waiting, his eyes bright with the hatred that burned in him, bright as blown coals. They formed a circle around him and the leader gave a word. They galloped off toward the distant city. Trevor must have dozed as he rode, for suddenly it was sunset, and they were approaching the city. Seeing it as he had before, far off and with nothing to measure it against but the overtopping titan peaks, it had seemed no more than a city built of rock. Now he was close to it. Black shadows lay on it, and on the valley, but half way up the opposite mountain wall the light still blazed, reflected downward on the shallow sky, so that everything seemed to float in some curious dimension between night and day, Trevor stared, shut his eyes, and stared again. The size was wrong. He looked quickly at the Korins, with the eerie feeling that he might have shrunk to child-size as he slept. But they had not changed--at least, relative to himself. He turned back to the city, trying to force it into perspective. It rose up starkly from the level plain. There was no gradual guttering out into suburbs, no softening down to garden villas or rows of cottages. It leaped up like a cliff and began, solemn, massive, squat, and ugly. The buildings were square, set stiffly along a square front. They were not tall. Most of them were only one story high. And yet Trevor felt dwarfed by them, as he had never felt dwarfed by the mightiest of Earth's skyscrapers. It was an unnatural feeling, and one that made him curiously afraid.