o longer a Holy Thern upon the balcony in the Golden
Cliffs above the Iss to summon them with weird cry to the victims
floating down to their maws upon the cold, broad bosom of ancient
Iss.

The navies of Helium and the First Born had cleared the fortresses
and the temples of the therns when they had refused to surrender and
accept the new order of things that had swept their false religion
from long-suffering Mars.

In a few isolated countries they still retained their age-old power;
but Matai Shang, their hekkador, Father of Therns, had been driven
from his temple. Strenuous had been our endeavors to capture
him; but with a few of the faithful he had escaped, and was in
hiding--where we knew not.

As I came cautiously to the edge of the low cliff overlooking the
Lost Sea of Korus I saw Thurid pushing out upon the bosom of the
shimmering water in a small skiff--one of those strangely wrought craft
of unthinkable age which the Holy Therns, with their organization
of priests and lesser therns, were wont to distribute along the
banks of the Iss, that the long journey of their victims might be
facilitated.

Drawn up on the beach below me were a score of similar boats, each
with its long pole, at one end of which was a pike, at the other
a paddle. Thurid was hugging the shore, and as he passed out of
sight round a near-by promontory I shoved one of the boats into
the water and, calling Woola into it, pushed out from shore.

The pursuit of Thurid carried me along the edge of the sea toward
the mouth of the Iss. The farther moon lay close to the horizon,
casting a dense shadow beneath the cliffs that fringed the water.
Thuria, the nearer moon, had set, nor would it rise again for near
four hours, so that I was ensured concealing darkness for that
length of time at least.

On and on went the black warrior. Now he was opposite the mouth
of the Iss. Without an instant's hesitation he turned up the grim
river, paddling hard against the strong current.

After him came Woola and I, closer now, for the man was too intent
upon forcing his craft up the river to have any eyes for what might
be transpiring behind him. He hugged the shore where the current
was less strong.

Presently he came to the dark cavernous portal in the face of the
Golden Cliffs, through which the river poured. On into the Stygian
darkness beyond he urged his craft.

It seemed hopeless to attempt to follow him here where I could not
see my han