at the death. The shouts of the priests were
ringing encouragement in their ears.

* * * * *

But the leaders from the rear were nearer. One deep breath Jerry drew
as he turned to meet them. Then stared, astonished, as the figures
swept past. They streamed by in confusion. They were armed with rocks,
with clubs or copper metal--some even carried bars of gold above their
heads. They came in a great swarm that swept past and beyond them. And
they met, like an engulfing wave, the bounding figures of the men in
copper. Smothered and lost were the warriors in the horde that poured
increasingly on.

The wave, before Jerry's eyes, swept on over the crest, while he still
stood in amazed unbelief at the battle that raged.

It was Marahna who brought understanding. He turned to see her kneel
in sobbing, thankful abasement at his feet.

Marahna! Her people! She had saved them! There was time needed for the
full force of the truth to banish the hopeless despair from his heart.
Then he stooped to raise the crouching figure with arms that were
suddenly strong.

* * * * *

The pale rose light of the departed sun above shone softly within a
rocky valley of the moon. It tipped the tall crags with lavender hues,
and it touched with soft gleaming reflections a blunted cylinder of
aluminum alloy.

The valley was silent, save for the hushed whispers of wondering
thousands who peopled the enclosing hills, and the rushing roar from
the cylinder itself where the inventor was testing his machine.

There were figures in priestly robes--scores of them--and they were
surrounded by a white throng that, silent and watchful, held them
captive.

Beyond, in the open, where bare rock made a black rolling floor, there
were two who stood alone. The golden figure of a girl, and beside her,
Jerry Foster, in wordless indecision.

Behind him was the ship. Its muffled thunder came softly to his
unheeding ears. He looked at the girl steadily, thoughtfully.

Gone was all trace of her imperious dignity. The Princess Marahna was
now all woman. And Jerry, looking into her dark eyes, read plainly the
yearning and adoration in their depths. The Princess Marahna had
forgotten her deference to the god in her love for the man. The tale
was told in her flushed face, openly, unashamed.

And his gray eyes were thoughtful and tender as he gazed into hers. He
was thinking, was Jerry Foster, of ma