WHAT HATH ME? By HENRY KUTTNER The thousand tiny eyes raced past him, glittering with alien ecstasy, shining brighter, ever brighter as they fed. He felt the lifeblood being sucked out of him--deeper stabbed the gelid cold--louder roared the throbbing in his ears ... then the voice came, "_The heart of the Watcher. Crush the heart._" [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1946. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The man running through the forest gloom breathed in hot, panting gusts, pain tearing at his chest. Underfoot the crawling, pale network of tree-trunks lay flat upon the ground, and more than once he tripped over a slippery bole and crashed down, but he was up again instantly. He had no breath to scream. He sobbed as he ran, his burning eyes trying to pierce the shadows. Whispers rustled down from above. When the leaf-ceiling parted, a blaze of terribly bright stars flamed in the jet sky. It was cold and dark, and the man knew that he was not on Earth. _They_ were following him, even here. A squat yellow figure, huge-eyed, inhuman, loomed in his path--one of the swamp people of Southern Venus. The man swung a wild blow at the thing, and his fist found nothing. It had vanished. But beyond it rose a single-legged giant, a Martian, bellowing the great, gusty laughter of the Redland Tribes. The man dodged, stumbled, and smashed down heavily. He heard paddling footsteps and tried, with horrible intensity of purpose, to rise. He could not. The Martian crept toward him--but it was no longer a Martian. An Earthman, with the face of some obscene devil, came forward with a sidling, slow motion. Horns sprouted from the low forehead. The teeth were fangs. As the creature came nearer, it raised its hands--twisted, gnarled talons--and slid them about the man's throat. Through the forest thundered the deep, booming clangor of a brass gong. The sound shattered the phantom as a hammer shatters glass. Instantly the man was alone. Making hoarse, animal sounds in his throat, he staggered upright and lurched in the direction from which the sound came. But he was too weak. Presently he fell, and this time he did not rise. His arms moved a little and then were still. He slept, lines of tortured weariness twisting the haggard face. Very faintly, from infinite distances, he heard a voice ... two voices. Inhuman. Alien--and yet with a warmth of vital urgency that stirred something deep within him. "_He has passed our testing._" Then a stronger, more powerful voice--answering. "_Others have passed our testing--but the Aesir slew them._" "_There is no other way. In this man I sensed something--a little different. He can hate--he has hated._"