cloak strode up, struggling to control himself. His
resemblance to the two Heroes struck Nelson immediately.

"Harken ye," he cried, in that Elizabethan English which appeared to
be the hieratic language of the New Atlantis' rulers. "Have ye heard?
The dog-conceived sons of Semites have broken the truce! But three
measures gone by, a brigade of their mounted podokesons swooped down
on this very suburb of Tricca, yea, to the very gates of Heliopolis!
The foul man-eating dogs slaughtered royal serfs and burnt two
quarters of the suburb to the ground! Moreover, they seized that
prisoner"--Nelson's heart gave a great leap at the word--"whom thou
sentest from the mountain passes."

"What!" In two swift strides Nelson was before the gray beard, his
blood-shot eyes blazing with a strange light. "What did you say about
that prisoner?"

* * * * *

The old man, who had obviously not noticed Nelson's presence, was
thunderstruck to hear him speak in English until Hero Giles briefly
explained his presence.

"Yea!" continued the elder, flinging lamentations furiously over his
shoulder, "these swine of the Lost Tribes captured him and slew his
escort. They have retreated towards the Apidanus, slaying, burning and
pillaging as they go."

A sickening, deadly fear gripped the weary aviator. This was too much!
Bad as it was to have Richard Alden captured by these weird
descendants of a long vanished race, it was far worse to have him
fall into the hands of their deadly enemies, the Jarmuthians, decadent
survivors of Israel's Five Lost Tribes. The possibility of a rescue
now seemed hopelessly and crushingly vague and distant. What could he
do now?

In dread despair he glanced about, amazed at the prodigious numbers of
scowling men who hurried by, obviously intent upon the commencement of
a campaign for revenge.

Then Hero Giles turned his scarred, warlike face, now set in granite
lines. "Come, Friend Nelson, my uncle Anthony bids me take thee direct
to the presence of His Serene Splendor, where he lies encamped at
Cierum, by the shores of Lake Copias. There he marshals the army of
Atlans for a march through the hot country on Jezreel. I tell thee,
thou hast come in stirring times. From Heraclea, Thebes, Ys and Mayda
will come the Phalanxes. Once and forever we will deal the dogs of
Jarmuth a final blow."

* * * * *

Victor Nelson never forgot the hours that follow