Not a blast of heat. The mob, surprised, then frightened, stared upward. The soft tropical foliage in a great wide swath was dead, with naked sticks of limbs. Black, then turning white. Not with heat--but cold. Ice was forming from the moisture in the humid air. And then the sudden condensation brought snow--a thick white fall of it sifting down into the palm-laden garden; falling gently, then swirling in a sudden wind which had begun. As though itself stiffened by the cold just overhead, the mob stood transfixed. Then a murmur of horror came. And I saw through the veil of whirling snow, that into some of the trees _slaans_ had climbed. Their bodies, frozen now, slid and fell--black plummets hurtling downward through the swirling snow-flakes. CHAPTER XXV _Immortal Terror_ To Elza, approaching with Tarrano on the tiny flying platform the City of Ice, the place seemed truly like a child's dream of Fairyland. The rude snow huts of the Arctic of our Earth were all that she had ever conceived could be built of frozen water. Here, in the outskirts of the city, she saw indeed, quite similar huts. But further in--ornate buildings several stories high. She caught a vague glimpse of them only, as the platform flew above them and descended in the center of the city. They had passed over great outer encircling ramparts--a huge wall many _helans_ long--built entirely of ice blocks--fortifications like that fabled wall which in the dim history of our Earth had once encircled a portion of the domain of the Yellow Race. The platform came down before a central building--the Palace of Ice. Even in this dim daylight of the Cold Country summer, the great building gleamed and glittered resplendent. A building of many levels, storied and winged, with spider bridges and aerial arcades connecting the wings. Frescoed everywhere! ornate with carved design chipped in ice blocks hard as marble. Rolling terraces of snow and ice surrounded it--lawns of smooth white, with winding paths of ice. A many balconied building; towers, spires and minarets crowning it. All blue-white. Glittering. Seemingly fragile; from a distance, a toy--a sample of the ultra-skill of some master confectioner, as though the whole thing were a toy of sugar for children to admire. But at close range--solid; in the cold of this terrible region, as solid as though constructed of blocks of stone. With the flying platform landed, and its warming rays cut off, attendants rushed forward. Tarrano and Elza were wrapped in furs at once--heavy furs which covered them from head to foot. "Well! Well, Graten!" Tarrano greeted his subordinate smilingly. "Things are in condition here? You got my message?" "Yes, Master. All is in good fashion here. We welcome you." In his furs, with face almost hidden, Elza could not see what manner of man this was.