There were no walls or gateways, no roads leading in. One minute the beasts padded on the grass of the open plain. The next, their claws were clicking on a stone pave and the buildings closed them in, hulking, graceless, looking sullen and forlorn in the shadowed light. There was no sound in them anywhere, no gleaming of lamps in the black embrasures of cavernous doors. The last furious glare of the hidden sun seeped down from the high peaks and stained their upper walls, and they were old--half as old, Trevor thought, as the peaks themselves. It was the window embrasures, the doors, and the steps that led up to them that made Trevor understand suddenly what was wrong. And the latent fear that had been in him sprang to full growth. The city, and the buildings in it, the steps and the doors and the height of the windows, were perfectly in proportion, perfectly normal--if the people who lived there were twenty feet high. He turned to the Korins. "_You_ never built this place. Who built it?" The one called Galt, who was nearest him, snarled, "Quiet, slave!" Trevor looked at him, and at the other Korins. Something about their faces and the way they rode along the darkening empty street told him they too were afraid. He said, "You, the Korins, the lordly demi-gods who ride about and send your hawks to hunt and slay--you're more afraid of your master than the slaves are of you!" They turned toward him pallid faces that burned with hatred. He remembered how that other had gripped his brain back in the canyon. He remembered how it had felt. He understood many things now. He asked, "How does it feel to be enslaved, Korins? Not just enslaved in body, but in mind and soul?" Galt turned like a striking snake. But the blow never fell. The upraised hand with the heavy whip suddenly checked, and then sank down again. Only the eyes of the Korin glowed with a baleful helplessness under the winking sun-stone. * * * * * Trevor laughed without humor. "It wants me alive. I guess I'm safe, then. I guess I could tell you what I think of you. You're still convicts, aren't you? After three hundred years. No wonder you hate the slaves." Not the same convicts, of course. The sun-stones didn't give longevity. Trevor knew how the Korins propagated, stealing women from among the slaves, keeping the male children and killing the female. He laughed again. "It isn't such a good life after all, is it, being a Korin? Even hunting and killing can't take the taste out of your mouths. No wonder you hate the others! They're enslaved, all right, but they're not _owned_."