So it came about that he landed himself and his guide in a rented 'copter on a certain, uncharted mountainside to the south and west of Parthena. Through the field glasses, the minarets of the city were just visible, but it was impossible to get any closer for there was no place to land. The old Martians had been averse to flat roofs, a circumstance which led Seeling to doubt, audibly, that they could have had the sense of an addled eel. After loading himself down with the paraphernalia that explorers are supposed to carry, he went on alone, the guide declining an invitation to accompany him. It was almost dark when he stumbled over the first bit of masonry--some prehistoric curbstone, perhaps. He had walked for hours in a tangled forest of giant reeds, and the suddenness of his discovery startled him. He had wandered right into the midst of the abandoned city without even knowing it. Such was the customary luck of George Seeling. He could see shadowy outlines of some of the eroding old towers from where he stood, but he knew it was too late in the evening to explore them safely. He had waited this long; it wouldn't hurt to wait through one more short, Martian night. He found a clearing near a roofless columnar tower and spread his sleeping bag beneath its wall. He went to sleep elated with his good fortune, and slept dreamlessly, and without disturbance. But then, it took a great deal to disturb George Seeling when he slept. * * * * * In the morning the ghels were there. There were about a dozen of them, silently squatting in a semi-circle about his camp, contemplating him at a respectful distance with their soulful, gazelle eyes. There is something disconcerting about waking up and finding that one has acquired uninvited guests, but Seeling never turned a hair. He reached over and grabbed his rifle, but the ghels never moved. They looked, for all the world, like purple-brown graven images squatting there, except that the round, black eyes blinked once in a while. The ghel tongue was a very rudimentary one, and Seeling, who was naturally adept at such things, had studied it at some length during the weeks in Parthena. He felt that he could get along. "I greet you," he said, still fondling his rifle. "I am an Earthman." "We know," one of the ghels said in a curious, whistling voice. "What do you want here?" "I come to see the city," George said. "This is the sacred dead city of Solon Regh, the wisest of the ancient ones. We do not welcome visitors here." "It's not your city, dammit," George said. "What did you say?" "Sorry, I said, this is not the work of your race. Why do you care if I look around?" "It is a shrine. The old ones took care of us before they went away. We loved them, and do not want their dead disturbed." George Seeling grinned with delight. He never enjoyed himself so much as when he was where he wasn't supposed to be.