Thousands of helpless victims, through the ages, drawn into this horrible net, dragged northward to be the slaves of an inhuman race.... Vanning licked dry lips. "Many die," the girl said. "The Swamja want only the strongest. And only the strongest survive the trip north." "You--" Vanning looked at Lysla questioningly. She smiled sadly. "I'm stronger than I look, Jerry. But I almost died.... I still haven't completely recovered. I--was much prettier than I am now." Vanning found that difficult to believe. He couldn't help grinning at the girl's very feminine admission. She flushed a little. "Well," he said at last, "you're not Venusian, I can see that. How did you come to get sucked into this?" "Just bad luck," Lysla told him. "A few months ago I was on top of the world, in New York. I've no parents. My father left me a trust fund, but it ran out unexpectedly. Bad investments, I suppose. So I found myself broke and needed a job. There weren't any jobs for unskilled labor, except a secretarial position in Venus Landing. I was lucky to get that." "You've got nerve," Vanning said. "It didn't help. The North-Fever hit me, and the next thing I knew, I was ... here. A slave." "How many Earthmen are there here?" "About a hundred. Not many are strong enough to reach the pass. And about the same number of Venusian natives." "How many Swamja?" "A thousand, more or less," Lysla explained. "Only the highest classes have slaves. Most of the Swamja are trained for the military." "So? Who the devil do they fight?" "Nobody. It's a tradition with them--part of their religion. They believe they're gods, and the soldiers serve as the Valkyries did in the Norse Valhalla." "Two hundred slaves.... What weapons do the Swamja have?" Lysla shook her head. "Not many. A paralysis hand-projector, a few others. But they're invulnerable, or nearly so. Their muscles are much tougher than ours. A different cellular construction." Vanning pondered. He could understand that. The human heart-muscle is much stronger and tougher than--say--the biceps. The girl broke into his thoughts. "Rebellion is quite useless. You won't believe that now, but you'll understand soon." "Maybe," Vanning said tonelessly. "Anyhow--what's next on the program?" "Slavery." Her voice was bitter. "Here are your clothes. When you're dressed, you'll find a ramp leading down outside the door. I'll be waiting." She detached a metal plaque from the wall and went out. Vanning, after a scowling pause, dressed and followed. * * * * *