When they emerged on a landing at the ceiling of the Temple level and looked down twenty feet, it was to a boiling pool of humankind, gray workers, naked slaves, velvet merchants, leather artisans, women and children, howling and trampling until the din shook the walls and rattled the teeth in a man's skull. The surge of white, hating faces reached beyond vision, mouths agape, eyes red and running, animal voices barking and clamoring. Rikard had never seen a true mob before, and the elemental violence of it shook even his calloused soul. It did not occur to him to regret the fact that many of these people must die. Rayth stood for an instant stroking his beard, thinking, and then he lifted his sword and sprang over the rail. The lines followed him, jumping one by one, a dozen men simultaneously floating down with pikes reaching beneath them. They landed among the mob, hewing a clear way even as they fell, and struck out. The crowd surged back, leaving red remnants underfoot, and the troopers continued to leap--forward ranks pressing toward the Temple, while the rearward lines were still jumping. Rayth's blade whistled and butchered; his face was alight with a dark glee. Rikard and Leda, sandwiched between others, could do nothing but add the weight of their bodies to the mass of the troop. The pack howled and bayed and cursed around them. Missiles began to fly, hammers, ore-lumps, crowbars, wrenches, anvils hurled by brawny arms. A guardsman staggered and fell, his face cracked open. Another was seized by the cloak, dragged into a group of women, and carved with butcher knives. A third had his pike snatched from him, and a big smith jabbed it into the throat of a fourth before he was killed. The crowd gave way before the ruthlessly advancing soldiers, but it closed behind them and filled the air with noise and flying death. "_They killed the Chief!_" Leda's eyes were wide and her breast rose and fell behind the binding corselet. Her voice came dimly to Rikard under the boom and howl of raw voices. "They hate us!" "So they do." He smiled bleakly. Now the Temple was before them, its high wall looming over the trample and clamor, a thin line of its own guards holding back the rioters. Rayth's red blade lifted anew, and his bugler wound a single harsh note. The troop moved forward on the double. Vaguely, Rikard heard the prince calling to the guards, "Let us through--Mayor's order--protect you--" "No one goes in--you bloody swine!" The bugle screamed again and the soldiers locked ranks and charged. Swords and pikes clanged at the gate; the sudden recoil hurled the rear lines backward. Rikard grabbed Leda's flowing hair and pulled her ear close to his lips and muttered swiftly, "Listen, we're with the Temple. First chance you get, break free and go over to them--once we're inside!" She clasped his hand, briefly, and then the sentries were down and the troop rushed inside.