The unknown artist had been clever. From one angle they were animals, from another birds, from a third they were vaguely humanoid creatures, glowering at him with primitive ferocity. The fourth view was so shocking he had to turn away quickly. No definable form or sculptured line was visible, yet he felt, or saw--he did not know which senses told him--the immeasurable gulf of a million years of painful evolution. Then nothing. It was not a curtain drawn to prevent him from seeing more. There was no more. * * * * * He stumbled toward the pool's wall and clutched for support, but his knees buckled. His hand slid down the wall, over the ancient inscriptions. He sank to the floor. Before he lost consciousness he wondered, fleetingly, if a lethal instrument was in the statue. He woke with a ringing in his ears, feeling drugged and sluggish. Sounds came to him. He opened his eyes. The cavern was crowded. These creatures were not only humanoid, but definitely human, although more slight of build than earth people. The only difference he could see at first sight was that they had webbed feet. All were dressed from the waist down only, in a shimmering skirt that sparkled as they moved. They walked with the grace of ballet dancers, moving about the plaza, conversing in a musical language with no meaning for Stinson. The men were dark-skinned, the women somewhat lighter, with long flowing hair, wide lips and a beauty that was utterly sensual. He was in chains! They were small chains, light weight, of a metal that looked like aluminum. But all his strength could not break them. They saw him struggling. Two of the men came over and spoke to him in the musical language. "My name is Stinson," he said, pointing to himself. "I'm from the planet Earth." They looked at each other and jabbered some more. "Look," he said, "Earth. E-A-R-T-H, Earth." He pointed upward, described a large circle, then another smaller, and showed how Earth revolved around the sun. One of the men poked him with a stick, or tube of some kind. It did not hurt, but angered him. He left the chains by his own method of travel, and reappeared behind the two men. They stared at the place where he had been. The chains tinkled musically. He grasped the shoulder of the offender, spun him around and slapped his face. A cry of consternation rose from the group, echoing in the high ceilinged cavern. "SBTL!" it said, "ZBTL ... XBTL ... zbtl." The men instantly prostrated themselves before him. The one who had poked Stinson with the stick rose, and handed it to him. Still angered, Stinson grasped it firmly, with half a notion to break it over his head. As he did so, a flash of blue fire sprang from it. The man disappeared. A small cloud of dust settled slowly to the floor. Disintegrated! Stinson's face drained pale, and suddenly, unaccountably, he was ashamed because he had no clothes. "I didn't mean to kill him!" he cried. "I was angry, and...."