* * * * * When the ceremony began, Vanning could not tell. He sensed that the assembly had grown tenser, and noticed that the eye of every Swamja was focused on the black pool. But there was nothing else. Silence, and the deformed figures staring at the jet square in the center. Was this all? It seemed so, after half an hour had passed. Not once had the Swamja he tended demanded attention. What the devil were the creatures seeing in that pool? For they saw something, Vanning was certain of that. Once a shiver of pure ecstasy rippled through the Swamja's gross body. And once Vanning thought he heard a musical note, almost above the pitch of audibility. It was gone instantly. Zeeth had said that the Swamja possessed other senses than those of humans. Perhaps those strange senses were being used now. He did not know then, nor was he ever to know, the non-human psychology of the Swamja, or the purpose of the black pool. Yet Vanning unmistakably sensed that here was something above and beyond the limitations of his own humanity. He grew tired, shifting from foot to foot, but it seemed the ceremony would never end. He watched Lysla. Thus he saw her bend forward with a filled goblet--and, losing her balance, spill the liquid contents into the lap of the Swamja she tended. Instantly she shrank back, her tray clattering to the floor. Stark panic fear was in her posture as she cowered there. There was reason. The Swamja was rising, turning, and in his huge hand was a gun.... He was going to kill Lysla. Vanning knew that. Already he was familiar with the Swamja code that did not forgive errors. And as he saw the stubby finger tightening on the trigger-button, Vanning acted with swift, unthinking accuracy. His hand closed over the flask on his tray, and he threw it unerringly. The fragile substance crashed into the face of the Swamja menacing Lysla, shattering into glittering shards. The being blinked and pawed at its eyes. In a moment-- Vanning jumped clear over his own Swamja and hurtled down the steps. His shoulder drove into the blinking monster beneath Lysla, and sent the creature head-over-heels into the lap of another of its race below. Vanning caught up the gun the Swamja had dropped. He turned to look into Lysla's frightened eyes. "Jerry--" Her voice was choked. "Oh, no!" Abruptly a crash sounded from above. Vanning looked up to see Sanderson swinging his metal tray like a maniac. The man's red hair was like a beacon in the strange light. He drove his weapon into the snarling face of a Swamja and yelled down at Vanning: "Amscray! There's an oorday on your eftlay!" Pig-Latin! A door on the left? Vanning saw it. With one hand he caught Lysla's arm, and with the other smashed the gun-butt viciously into the mask of a Swamja that rose up before him.