Once before, I had been to Gahna. It lay to one side, but fairly close to the entrance to the Water of Wild Things. Like Rax, it was built of marine vegetation—a narrow cylinder standing on end. There was a slight current to the water here. The city sustained upright by its air-pods overhead—nevertheless leaned to one side under pressure of the current. From a distance, it looked like your leaning tower of Pisa. It was a beautiful city—less densely populated and more beautiful than Rax. Its exterior surfaces—its sides and top—were laid out in parks and gardens. Large houses, many-balconied, with ferns and flowers. And the entire top one broad public garden. In the King’s sleigh we went there now. The water between the two cities was deserted. We passed straggling figures coming from Gahna—broken, bleeding figures—Marinoid refugees escaping for their lives. They came on, swimming slowly, painfully. We passed a girl, floundering, then sinking inert. Ahead lay the dim distance. The water was pale green with its glowing, inherent light. Then it began tinting red. Atar gripped me, trembling with the horror of what we knew lay ahead; and the King urged his dolphin faster. Then, Gahna! The outlines of the city loomed before us. A ring of hovering predatory figures surrounded it! We could see other figures launching themselves out from the streets, desperately; and the waiting figures surging upon them. We halted our dolphin; and presently, still at a distance, we mounted over the city, to gaze down into its garden roof. A crowd of mermaids were huddled there—huddled in groups, trying to hide in the clumps of ferns. But the half-breeds sought them out. Swords flashed silver, then red. Faint screams of agony floated up to us. Slowly we passed over the city. A Marinoid girl clung to an air-pod. Three men, dead-white of flesh, saw her there. They dove at her . . . their arms entwined her, tore at her robe. Two of the men swam aside, laughing. The other persisted; and at the girl’s resistance he suddenly drew a dagger and plunged it into her breast, furious because his comrades were laughing at him. There was a balconied, terraced home. Through the red haze that now stained the water everywhere, we saw a man and woman and little child huddled in a corner of the roof. From a roof-doorway to the house below, a group of half-breed men appeared. They rushed at the Marinoid man . . . a scuffle and the man lay dead. Two of the assailants dragged the woman away . . . she was fighting them, screaming with terror, and they cuffed her face to subdue her. . . . Two half-breeds were left with the child. One drew his sword, but the other held him back, producing from his robe a struggling white thing—a needle-fish. Then they tossed the child upward into the water, launched the fish at it. Through the child’s soft body, the fish bore its way.