"We are far from the Old Ones, the _ardth_, here," he said. "It would be easy to dwell here on the deserts until they have left." Fay stirred restlessly, saying, "I do not want to stay on the deserts. They are bare places. No people, no laughter." "I don't blame you. There must be something I can do." He rubbed his hands on the soft white fur that clasped his hips. A hot anger was beating up inside him, making his nostrils flare. The Old Ones! They had come back to Lyallar, where Tyr ruled! The masters of planets and the far reaches of space had come back. He was one, and the _ardth_ were many. Individually, nothing could ever defeat him. But one against a race! He shook his head. "You could fight them, Tyr. You are a god. What can the Old Ones do to you? There is no way of killing you. Sometimes an assassin has tried, while you sat on the ruby throne. But no one has ever succeeded." That was true. Yet he did not tell her that his own uncanny speed saved him. There was no sense in testing fate, by letting a weapon strike him. He had a subtle knowledge that he might be immune to certain types of missiles, but he was not sure. "You could walk into Yawarta and slay them all, Tyr," the girl said softly, watching him carefully with her brown eyes. "Then we could go back to the old days. You could give me that emerald necklace I want." Tyr wondered at the greed in the brown eyes. It disturbed him. But it did not disturb him as much as the thoughts of the Old Ones. Thought of them brought a yearning for battle that rose red and mist-like inside his great chest. How to tell of that hotness within him, where his guts ought to be, but were not, that made his heart pump with fury? Yet, despite his rage, he was alert and careful as a stalking cat. He could not tell this to Fay; she wanted him to walk unarmed into Yawarta and blast the _ardth_ with some sort of supernatural power. He walked around on the white sand, brooding at his moving feet. He looked into his mind for the words, stumbling and halting. "Fay, the Trylla have made of me a god. Now I know I am no god. I am not such a god as the legends of the Tryllan cults tell of, at any rate. I am only a man. A human being, who is something of a freak." There was a patient smile on the girl's red mouth. She shook her head and the soft yellow hair tumbled around her bare shoulders. "We have spoken of this before, Tyr. Always you say that you are not a god, and then you turn around and do what only a god can do." * * * * * Tyr sighed. "Maybe I am a god. Maybe I expect a god to be too much. But that is not exactly the point. It is this: the Trylla call me god, no matter what I call myself. Therefore I must act like a god, for their sake." Fay nodded, brown eyes fastened on him. Tyr said slowly, "A god would not let oppressors molest his people, would he, Fay?" "That is just what I have said. You must go into Yawarta and slay and slay--"