“Tanar! Tanar!” she cried, pounding upon the paneled door. “Land, Tanar, land!” The door swung open and the Sarian stepped out upon the deck where Stellara stood pointing across the starboard rail of the drifting derelict. Close by rose the green hills of a long shore line that stretched away in both directions for many miles, but whether it was the mainland or an island they could not tell. “Land!” breathed Tanar. “How good it looks!” “The pleasant green of the soft foliage often hides terrible beasts and savage men,” Stellara reminded him. “But they are the dangers that I know—it is the unknown dangers of the sea that I do not like. I am not of the sea.” “You hate the sea?” “No,” he replied, “I do not hate it; I do not understand it—that is all. But there is something that I do understand,” and he pointed toward the land. There was that in Tanar’s tone that caused Stellara to look quickly in the direction that be indicated. “Men!” she exclaimed. “Warriors,” said Tanar. “There must be twenty of them in that canoe,” she said. “And here comes another canoeful behind them.” From the mouth of a narrow cove the canoes were paddling cut into the open sea. “Look!” cried Stellara. “There are many more coming.” One after another twenty canoes moved in a long column out upon the quiet waters and as they drew steadily toward the ship the survivors saw that each was filled with almost naked warriors. Short, heavy spears, bone-tipped, bristled menacingly; stone knives protruded from every G-string and stone hatchets swung at every hip. As the flotilla approached, Tanar went to a cabin and returned with two of the heavy pistols left behind by a fleeing Korsar when the ship had been abandoned. “Do you expect to repulse four hundred warriors with those?” asked the girl. Tanar shrugged. “If they have never heard the report of a firearm a few shots may suffice to frighten them away, for a time at least,” he explained, “and if we do not go on the shore the current will carry us away from them in time.” “But suppose they do not frighten so easily?” she demanded. “Then I can do no more than my best with the crude weapons and the inferior powder of the Korsars,” he said with the conscious superiority of one who had, with his people, so recently emerged from the stone age that he often instinctively grasped a pistol by the muzzle and used it as a war club in sudden emergencies when at close quarters. “Perhaps they will not be unfriendly,” suggested Stellara. Tanar laughed. “Then they are not of Pellucidar,” he said, “but of some wondrous country inhabited by what Perry calls angels.” “Who is Perry?” she demanded. “I never heard of him.” “He is a madman who says that Pellucidar is the inside of a hollow stone that is as round as the strange world that hangs forever above the Land of Awful Shadow, and that upon the outside are seas and mountains and plains and countless people and a great country from which he comes.”