THE JEWEL OF BAS A WEIRD NOVEL OF FASCINATING POWER by LEIGH BRACKETT There was a boy-God, sleeping through eternity. And there were his "Stone of Life" and the androids he had created of matter and energy. And there was a world that was to die from the machinations of the androids' diabolic minds. There were Mouse and Ciaran to stem the death-flood--two mortals fighting the immortals' plans for conquest. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Mouse stirred the stew in the small iron pot. There wasn't much of it. She sniffed and said: "You could have stolen a bigger joint. We'll go hungry before the next town." "Uh huh," Ciaran grunted lazily. Anger began to curl in Mouse's eyes. "I suppose it's all right with you if we run out of food," she said sullenly. Ciaran leaned back comfortably against a moss-grown boulder and watched her with lazy grey eyes. He liked watching Mouse. She was a head shorter than he, which made her very short indeed, and as thin as a young girl. Her hair was black and wild, as though only wind ever combed it. Her eyes were black, too, and very bright. There was a small red thief's brand between them. She wore a ragged crimson tunic, and her bare arms and legs were as brown as his own. Ciaran grinned. His lip was scarred, and there was a tooth missing behind it. He said, "It's just as well. I don't want you getting fat and lazy." Mouse, who was sensitive about her thinness, said something pungent and threw the wooden plate at him. Ciaran drew his shaggy head aside enough to let it by and then relaxed, stroking the harp on his bare brown knees. It began to purr softly. Ciaran felt good. The heat of the sunballs that floated always, lazy in a reddish sky, made him pleasantly sleepy. And after the clamor and crush of the market squares in the border towns, the huge high silence of the place was wonderful. He and Mouse were camped on a tongue of land that licked out from the Phrygian hills down into the coastal plains of Atlantea. A short cut, but only gypsies like themselves ever took it. To Ciaran's left, far below, the sea spread sullen and burning, cloaked in a reddish fog. To his right, also far below, were the Forbidden Plains. Flat, desolate, and barren, reaching away and away to the up-curving rim of the world, where Ciaran's sharp eyes could just make out a glint of gold; a mammoth peak reaching for the sky. Mouse said suddenly, "Is that it, Kiri? Ben Beatha, the Mountain of Life." Ciaran struck a shivering chord from the harp. "That's it." "Let's eat," said Mouse. "Scared?"