is another slave in the pens
that can push in the same place. But kill me and what do you get?
Brains on your club--and they do you no good at all there."

"Say, Dad, does he mean I can't kill him?" Narsisi looked puzzled as
well as sleepy.

"No, he doesn't mean that. He means if we kill him there is no one else
that can do the work he is to do for us. I can understand him and I do not
like it. There are only slaves and slavers, anything else is against the
natural order. But he has us trapped between _satano_ and the sand-storm
so we must allow him some freedoms. Bring the slave now ... I mean the
employee ... and we will see if he can do the things he has promised. If
he does not, _I_ will have the pleasure of killing him because I do not
like his revolutionary ideas."

* * * * *

They marched single file to a locked and guarded building with immense
doors, which were pulled open to reveal the massive forms of seven
_caroj_.

"Look at them," Edipon hissed and tugged at his nose. "The finest and
most beautiful of constructions, striking fear into our enemies'
hearts, carrying us fleetly across the sands, bearing on their backs
immense loads and only three of the things are able to move."

"Engine trouble?" Jason asked lightly.

[Illustration]

Edipon grumbled, cursed and fumed under his breath and led the way to
an inner courtyard where stood four immense black boxes painted with
death-heads, splintered bones, fountains of blood and cabalistic
symbols all of a sinister appearance.

"Those swine in Appsala take our water-of-power and give nothing in
return. Oh yes, they let us use their engines, but after running for a
few months the cursed things stop and will not go again, then we must
bring them back to the city to exchange for a new one, and pay again
and again."

"A nice racket," Jason said, looking at the sealed covering on the
engines. "Why don't you just crack into them and fix them yourself,
they can't be very complex."

"That is death!" Edipon gasped, and both D'zertanoj recoiled from the
boxes at the thought. "We have tried that, in my father's father's
day, since we are not superstitious like the slaves and know that
these are man-made not god-made. However the tricky serpents of
Appsala hide their secrets with immense cunning. If any attempt is
made to break the covering horrible death leaks out and fills the air.
Men who breathe the air die, and even those who