Cabot’s cogitations were again cut short by his arrival over the city. The dragons made straight for an imposing centrally-located domed edifice, which they entered by one of the upper windows. The plane promptly dropped into a near-by plaza. Making a sign to the ant-man to guard the ship, Myles seized a rifle and cartridges, and rushed down a street which led toward the building which the green beasts had entered. On the way he met several pterosaurs, four or five four-legged slate-colored reptiles ranging in size from that of a small dog to that of a horse, one large snake about thirty feet in length, various sorts of insects, and a few cat-like furry creatures; but not a single Cupian. If these were the pets of the city, where were their masters? The strange creatures did not offer to molest him. In fact, they gave way to him with every indication of respect and not a little fear. This seemed to indicate that they were all thoroughly domesticated, so he made no effort to hurt them. At last he arrived at the building which he sought. A wide incline led from the street up to its arched doorway. This smacked of Formia, for the ant-men before they were driven off the continent had used ramps everywhere instead of the flight of stairs employed by the Cupians. Over the door was an inscription in unmistakable Porovian characters: “The Palace of the City of Yat.” This must be Cupia, or old Formia—now occupied by the Cupians—for this was the language of those two races. But then, he reflected, it had also been the _written_ language of the Vairkings, far across the boiling seas. Putting an end to his speculations, he rushed up the ramp and entered the building. The splendidly arched and vaulted interior was crowded with the strangest assortment of animals the earth-man had ever set eyes upon. Picture to yourself Frank Buck’s circus, the New York zoo, and the gr-ool of Kuana, all turned loose in one hall, and then you wouldn’t imagine one-half of it; for very few of these assembled beasts bore the slightest resemblance to anything which you, or even Myles Cabot, had ever seen. He paused aghast and surveyed the assemblage. There was not a human or Cupian present, not even an ant-man! At the farther side of the chamber, on a raised platform, there sat—or, rather, squatted—a gigantic pterosaur, whose wingspread must have been at least twenty feet from tip to tip. This beast, unlike those which had kidnapped Quivven, was pale slate-blue rather than green. His head was square, with a sharp crested beak, large circular lidless eyes, and earholes, but no ears. Four legs he had, very much like those of a toad, except that the fifth finger of each hand, the finger which should have been the “little” finger, extended backward over his hips to a distance of about six feet, and served as the other supporting edge of his leathery wings, which now lay furled at his side.