gulfs whither she was drifting.

"Do not look at the skull! Do not look at the skull!" It was a far cry
from across unreckoned voids.

Valeria shook herself like a lion shaking his mane. Her vision cleared.
Techotl was chattering: "In life it housed the awful brain of a king of
magicians! It holds still the life and fire of magic drawn from outer
spaces!"

* * * * *

With a curse Valeria leaped, lithe as a panther, and the skull crashed
to flaming bits under her swinging sword. Somewhere in the room, or in
the void, or in the dim reaches of her consciousness, an inhuman voice
cried out in pain and rage.

Techotl's hand was plucking at her arm and he was gibbering: "You have
broken it! You have destroyed it! Not all the black arts of Xotalanc can
rebuild it! Come away! Come away quickly, now!"

"But I can't go," she protested. "I have a friend somewhere near by----"

The flare of his eyes cut her short as he stared past her with an
expression grown ghastly. She wheeled just as four men rushed through as
many doors, converging on the pair in the center of the chamber.

They were like the others she had seen, the same knotted muscles bulging
on otherwise gaunt limbs, the same lank blue-black hair, the same mad
glare in their wide eyes. They were armed and clad like Techotl, but on
the breast of each was painted a white skull.

There were no challenges or war-cries. Like blood-mad tigers the men of
Xotalanc sprang at the throats of their enemies. Techotl met them with
the fury of desperation, ducked the swipe of a wide-headed blade, and
grappled with the wielder, and bore him to the floor where they rolled
and wrestled in murderous silence.

The other three swarmed on Valeria, their weird eyes red as the eyes of
mad dogs.

[Illustration: "You can never reach the coast. There is no escape from
Xuchotl."]

* * * * *

She killed the first who came within reach before he could strike a
blow, her long straight blade splitting his skull even as his own sword
lifted for a stroke. She side-stepped a thrust, even as she parried a
slash. Her eyes danced and her lips smiled without mercy. Again she was
Valeria of the Red Brotherhood, and the hum of her steel was like a
bridal song in her ears.

Her sword darted past a blade that sought to parry, and sheathed six
inches of its point in a leather-guarded midriff. The man gasped
agonizedly and went to his kn