from the silence, the drums resumed the merest
whisper of their former thunderous booming. Beside him. Jerry heard
the soft sobs of a girl. One of the figures swayed and threatened to
fall as the platform was lowered to rest upon the floor. The other
pressed close to support the drooping figure.

* * * * *

Now the entire directed ray of light from the round, glowing hole
struck full upon them. It blinded and dazzled, yet, plain and
distinct, Jerry saw at its heart the circle of blackness, the eye of
the mysterious, hypnotic parabola--the entrance to what lay beyond.

The beat of the drums was hypnotic. As if in a trance he saw, at the
side of the way they must go, the form of the head priest beckon them
on. The two victims at his side took one step on the path to their
death. And the same stiff rigidity held Jerry as he, too, moved onward
and up the golden ramp.

The drums were bearing them on. Louder they throbbed in a steady
crescendo, to carry the three rigid figures a step at a time up the
pathway of light.

The priest, Jerry felt more than saw, was beside them. Close ahead was
the blackness that held the set stare of his eyes. One of the golden
figures was before him. He saw the priest reach out to take the helmet
from her head.

The movement aroused him from his numb horror. An impulse to escape
surged through him; every nerve was tense and ready for a spring. He
looked quickly about. The warriors were behind, the priests ready on
their platform to direct them. And in the doorway, from where he first
had seen this chamber, on the only way he knew that led to freedom,
another figure, tall in its priestly robes, blocked the passage.

* * * * *

Hopeless, he knew. And then there swept through him a wave of hate. Gone
was his horror, and gone the dull deadness of brain and body. There, facing
him, was the mouth of the pit, where waited a something--horrible,
rapacious--demanding the lives of these people ... of Marahna ... of
others--more and yet more.

No thought now of life or escape. For the moment, Jerry Foster's whole
being held nothing but hot hate, and the wish for revenge.

Before him the priest was stripping the robe from the girl at his
feet. She stood like a statue, a carving of purest alabaster, slim and
erect in her white, slender nakedness. And the face that he saw
through incredulous eyes was that of Marahna.

Marahna! The real