since Gunnar and Odin had returned to Opal.
Doctor Jack Odin stretched out on a huge bed and felt the strength of
the ultra-violet light upon the ceiling pour into his shoulders. In
the next room, Gunnar was bathing and complaining about the sea water.
Drinking-water in Opal was now at a premium.

Odin had been in the dumps. Now he was feeling better, although memory of
the sodden ruins that he had seen in the last three days would never leave
him.

"And are you howling, my strong little man?" he called out cheerfully. "In
Korea I once bathed in a mud puddle and enjoyed the bath."

Gunnar's first few words were unprintable. "There was a river close to my
house where the water ran silver over the stones of the ford. And there
Gunnar used to bathe. This is slop, Nors-King. Nothing but slop."

Odin laughed again. "You are getting old, Gunnar. Did anyone ever guarantee
that ford to you for always?"

Gunnar, dripping water, and with a towel wrapped around his middle, came
dashing into the room. He stood there, his arms and shoulders flexed. "And
does Gunnar look too old to fight?" he asked.

Odin blinked. Gunnar's muscular development had always amazed him. The
short man stood an inch less than five feet. His chest and shoulders must
have measured more than that, his muscles writhed like iron snakes as he
moved. His biceps and forearms were those of a smith--which indeed Gunnar
had been, for Gunnar had been many things. The huge torso slanted down to
narrow waist and hips. Then his short legs propped him up like carved
things of oak. Gunnar had once killed a bull with one blow of his fist.
He had once snapped a man's back across those bulging, stubby thighs.

* * * * *

Gunnar disappeared in search of fresh clothing. Odin lay there, thinking
of all the things he had seen since returning to Opal.

Although the water level was still high up on the Tower, the lower floors
had been made water-tight and had been pumped dry. On his first trip to the
Tower, Odin had little chance to survey the rooms. Now he knew something of
what Opal had lost. Curtains, paintings, rugs, statues, the finest
furniture. All these had been ruined or damaged by the flood. Each room of
the Tower had been a work of art. Both Brons and Neeblings had contributed
to it, back in the days when they were working shoulder to shoulder.

In spite of his thoughts for Maya, he could not help thinking that the
Brons had broug