he
water-world of the starred cavern. He realized that he had not eaten,
nor drank, nor desired to do so either--nor did he now. Yet he was not
weak; in fact, he had never felt such tireless energy as possessed his
spare body.

Was this _all_ a dream? His threatened drowning in the underground
stream a nightmare? Yet there was a pattern in this, just as there had
been a pattern in the needles he had spilled across the table. One even
led to another with discernible logic; because he had tossed that
particular pattern he had come here.

According to the ambiguous instructions or warnings of the Warlockian
witch, his safety in this place would depend upon his ability to tell
true dreams from false. But how ... why? So far he had done nothing
except walk through a green fog, and for all he knew, he might well be
traveling in circles.

Because there was nothing else to do, Shann walked on, his boots
pressing sand, rising from each step with a small sucking sound. Then,
as he stooped to search for some indication of a path or road which
might guide him, his ears caught the slightest of noises--other small
sucking whispers. He was not the only wayfarer in this place!

13. HE WHO DREAMS....

The mist was not a quiet thing; it billowed and curled until it appeared
to half-conceal darker shadows, any one of which could be an enemy.
Shann remained hunkered on the sand, every sense abnormally alert,
watching the fog. He was still sure he could hear sounds which marked
the progress of another. What other? One of the Warlockians tracking him
to spy? Or was there some prisoner like himself lost out there in the
murk? Could it be Thorvald?

Now the sound had ceased. He was not even sure from what direction it
had first come. Perhaps that other was listening now, as intent upon
locating him. Shann ran his tongue over dry lips. The impulse to call
out, to try and contact any fellow traveler here, was strong. Only
hard-learned caution kept him silent. He got to his hands and knees,
uncertain as to his previous direction.

Shann crept. Someone expecting a man walking erect might be suitably
distracted by the arrival of a half-seen figure on all fours. He halted
again to listen.

He had been right! The sound of a very muffled footfall or footfalls,
carried to his ears. He was sure that the sound was louder, that the
unknown was approaching. Shann stood, his hand close to his stunner. He
was almost tempted to spray that b