The Shadow trembled--shuddered into nothingness; the obelisked outposts that had held it framed a ribbon of roadway, high banked with verdure, vanishing in green distances. And then from the portal sped a shriek, a death cry! It cut through the silence of the ebon pit like a whimpering arrow. Before it had died, down the stairways came pouring the guards. Those at the threshold raised their swords and peered within. Abruptly Rador was between them. One dropped his hilt and gripped him--the green dwarf's poniard flashed and was buried in his throat. Down upon Rador's head swept the second blade. A flame leaped from O'Keefe's hand and the sword seemed to fling itself from its wielder's grasp--another flash and the soldier crumpled. Rador threw himself into the shell, darted to the high seat--and straight between the pillars of the Shadow we flew! There came a crackling, a darkness of vast wings flinging down upon us. The _corial's_ flight was checked as by a giant's hand. The shell swerved sickeningly; there was an oddly metallic splintering; it quivered; shot ahead. Dizzily I picked myself up and looked behind. The Shadow had fallen--but too late, a bare instant too late. And shrinking as we fled from it, still it seemed to strain like some fettered Afrit from Eblis, throbbing with wrath, seeking with every malign power it possessed to break its bonds and pursue. Not until long after were we to know that it had been the dying hand of Serku, groping out of oblivion, that had cast it after us as a fowler upon an escaping bird. "Snappy work, Rador!" It was Larry speaking. "But they cut the end off your bus all right!" A full quarter of the hindward whorl was gone, sliced off cleanly. Rador noted it with anxious eyes. "That is bad," he said, "but not too bad perhaps. All depends upon how closely Lugur and his men can follow us." He raised a hand to O'Keefe in salute. "But to you, _Larree_, I owe my life--not even the _Keth_ could have been as swift to save me as that death flame of yours--friend!" The Irishman waved an airy hand. "Serku"--the green dwarf drew from his girdle the bloodstained poniard--"Serku I was forced to slay. Even as he raised the Shadow the globe gave the alarm. Lugur follows with twice ten times ten of his best--" He hesitated. "Though we have escaped the Shadow it has taken toll of our swiftness. May we reach the Portal before it closes upon Lakla--but if we do not--" He paused again. "Well--I know a way--but it is not one I am gay to follow--no!" He snapped open the aperture that held the ball flaming within the dark crystal; peered at it anxiously. I crept to the torn end of the _corial_. The edges were crumbling, disintegrated. They powdered in my fingers like dust. Mystified still, I crept back where Larry, sheer happiness pouring from him, was whistling softly and polishing up his automatic. His gaze fell upon Olaf's grim, sad face and softened.