There was a tiny, astonished sob from Ruth. Again Norhala brooded over her. Then with a little despairing shake of her head, she paced over and faced the great Disk. Tensely we waited. Communication there was between them, interchange of--thought; how carried out I would not hazard even to myself. But of a surety these two--the goddess woman, the wholly unhuman shape of metal, of jeweled fires and conscious force--understood each other. For she turned, stood aside--and the body of Ventnor quivered, arose from the floor, stood upright and with closed eyes, head dropping upon one shoulder, glided toward the Disk like a dead man carried by those messengers never seen by man who, the Arabs believe, bear the death drugged souls before Allah for their awakening. Ruth moaned and hid her eyes; Drake reached down, gathered her up in his arms, held her close. Ventnor's body stood before the Disk, then swam up along its face. The tendrils waved out, felt of it, thrust themselves down through the wide collar of the shirt. The floating form passed higher, over the edge of the Disk; lay high beside the right star point of the rayed shape to which Ruth had been passing when Ventnor's shot brought the tragedy upon us. I saw other tentacles whip forth, examine, caress. Then down the body swung, was borne through air, laid gently at our feet. “He is not--dead,” it was Norhala beside me; she lifted Ruth's face from Drake's breast. “He will not die. It may be he will walk again. They can not help,” there was a shadow of apology in her tones. “They did not know. They thought it was the”--she hesitated as though at loss for words--“the--the Fire Play.” “The Fire Play?” I gasped. “Yes,” she nodded. “You shall see it. And now I will take him to my house. You are safe--now, nor need you trouble. For he has given you to me.” “Who has given us to you--Norhala?” I asked, as calmly as I could. “He”--she nodded to the Disk, then spoke the phrase that was both ancient Assyria's and ancient Persia's title for their all-conquering rulers, and that meant--“the King of Kings. The Great King, Master of Life and Death.” She took Ruth from Drake's arms, pointing to Ventnor. “Bear him,” she commanded, and led the way back through the walls of light. As we lifted the body, I slipped my hand through the shirt, felt at the heart. Faint was the pulsation and slow, but regular. Close to the encircling vapors I cast one look behind me. The shapes stood immobile, flashing disks, gigantic radiant stars and the six great spheres beneath their geometric super-Euclidean god or shrine or machine of interwoven threads of luminous force and metal--still motionless, still watching.