Sparks that were more energy than light flickered on the stone walls of the cell. Gold and orange and greenish blue. Little flames, the fire of Shanga, to burn the heart. Because he was afraid, Winters said, "But the radiation, the ray that comes through the prism. Is it the same as that in Kahora?" "Yes. The secret of the projectors was lost also with Caer Dhu. Presumably they use cosmic rays. By substituting ordinary quartz for the prisms, we could make the radiation weak enough for our purpose in the Trade Cities." "Who is 'we,' Kor Hal?" Laughter, soft and wicked. "Earthman--we are Mars!" Dancing fire, growing, growing, glinting on his flesh, darting through his blood, his brain. It was not like this in the solariums, with their pretty trees. It was pleasure there, tantalizing, heady pleasure. It was exciting, and strange. But this.... His body began to move, to arch itself into strong writhing curves. He thought he could not endure the lovely, lovely pain. Kor Hal's voice boomed down some huge fateful distance. "The wise men of Caer Dhu were not so wise. They found the secret of Shanga, and they escaped their wars and their troubles by fleeing backward along the path of evolution. Do you know what happened to them? They perished, Earthman! In one generation, Caer Dhu vanished from the face of Mars." It was getting hard to answer, hard to think. Winters said hoarsely, "Did it matter? They were happy, while they lived." "Are you happy, Earthman?" "Yes!" he panted. "Yes!" The words were only half articulate. Twisting, rolling on the hide rugs, in the grip of such magnificent, unholy sensation as he had never dreamed of before, Burk Winters was happy. The fire of Shanga blazed down upon him like a wicked sun, and all his troubles were melting away, and there was nothing left but joy. Again, Kor Hal laughed. * * * * * After that, Winters was not sure of anything. His mind rocked, and there were periods of darkness. When he was conscious, he knew only a feeling of _strangeness_. But he carried one memory with him, at least part way down that eerie road. During a lucid period, a space of only a minute or two, he thought that one of the stones had rolled back to reveal a quartzite screen, and that through the screen a face looked at him, watching as he bathed naked in the beautiful flame. A woman's face. Martian, high-bred, with strong delicate bones and arrogant brows, and a red mouth that would be like a bitter-sweet fruit to kiss. Her eyes were golden as the fire, and as hot, and proud, and scornful. There must have been a microphone in the wall, for she spoke and he heard her voice, full of a sweet cruel magic. She called his name. He could not rise, but he managed to crawl toward her, and to his reeling brain she was part of the unearthly force that played with him. A destruction and a fascination, as irresistible as death.