“Masters!” Upon his knees the eunuch writhed toward us. “Masters--I meant no wrong. What I did was for love of the Goddess. Years upon years I have served her. And her mother before her. “I thought if the maid and the blasted one were gone, that you would follow. Then I would be alone with the Goddess once more. Cherkis will not slay them--and Cherkis will welcome you and give the maid and the blasted one back to you for the arts that you can teach him. “Mercy, Masters, I meant no harm--bid the Goddess be merciful!” The ebon pools of eyes were clarified of their ancient shadows by his terror; age was wiped from them by fear, even as it was wiped from his face. The wrinkles were gone. Appallingly youthful, the face of Yuruk prayed to us. “Why do you wait?” she asked us. “Time presses, and even now we should be on the way. When so many are so soon to die, why tarry over one? Slay him!” “Norhala,” I answered, “we cannot slay him so. When we kill, we kill in fair fight--hand to hand. The maid we both love has gone, taken with her brother. It will not bring her back if we kill him through whom she was taken. We would punish him--yes, but slay him we cannot. And we would be after the maid and her brother quickly.” A moment she looked at us, perplexity shading the high and steady anger. “As you will,” she said at last; then added, half sarcastically, “Perhaps it is because I who am now awake have slept so long that I cannot understand you. But Yuruk has disobeyed ME. That of MINE which I committed to his care he has given to the enemies of me and those who were mine. It matters nothing to me what YOU would do. Matters to me only what I will to do.” She pointed to the dead. “Yuruk”--the golden voice was cold--“gather up these carrion and pile them together.” The eunuch arose, stole out fearfully from between the two stars. He slithered to body after body, dragging them one after the other to the center of the chamber, lifting them and forming of them a heap. One there was who was not dead. His eyes opened as the eunuch seized him, the blackened mouth opened. “Water!” he begged. “Give me drink. I burn!” I felt a thrill of pity; lifted my canteen and walked toward him. “You of the beard,” the merciless chime rang out, “he shall have no water. But drink he shall have, and soon--drink of fire!” The soldier's fevered eyes rolled toward her, saw and read aright the ruthlessness in the beautiful face. “Sorceress!” he groaned. “Cursed spawn of Ahriman!” He spat at her. The black talons of Yuruk stretched around his throat “Son of unclean dogs!” he whined. “You dare blaspheme the Goddess!” He snapped the soldier's neck as though it had been a rotten twig. At the callous cruelty I stood for an instant petrified; I heard Drake swear wildly, saw his pistol flash up. Norhala struck down his arm. “Your chance has passed,” she said, “and not for THAT shall you slay him.” And now Yuruk had cast that body upon the others; the pile was complete.