ked by the sudden stillness.

To open his eyes wide meant impossible torture, yet he forced himself
to peer through slitted lids beneath the shelter of his arm.

The flame was gone. Where it had been was a wall of shimmering red
rock above a gaping throat in the floor, whose rim was quivering white
with heat. Here the blast from some volcanic depth had come.

Then he saw it, saw the great coppery figure leaping upon him--and saw
more plainly than all this the end that had been prepared for him.

Fire worshipers! Demons of an under world paying tribute to their god.
And he, Dean Rawson, was to be a living sacrifice, cast headlong to
that waiting, white-hot throat!

The coppery giant was upon him in the instant of his realization.
Somehow in that moment Dean Rawson's wracked body passed beyond all
pain. With the inhuman, maniacal strength of a man driven beyond all
reason and restraint he tore himself half free from those encircling
arms and drove blow after blow into the hideous face above him.

Only his left arm was free. That, too, was clamped tightly against his
body an instant later.

* * * * *

The giant had been between him and the glowing rocks. Now he felt
himself whirled in air, and again the blast of heat struck upon him.
He was being rushed backward; and there flashed through his mind, as
plainly as if he could actually see it, the scintillant whiteness of
that hungry throat.

He tried to lock his legs about the big body to prevent that final
heave and throw that would end a ghastly ceremony. The rocks were
close, their radiant heat wrapped about him like a living flame.
Abruptly his strength was gone--the fight was over--he had lost! His
heart sent the blood pounding and thundering to his brain; his lungs
seemed on fire.

* * * * *

The high priest of the red ones had his priestly duty to perform--the
sacrifice must be offered. But even the high priest, it would seem,
must have been not above personal resentment. Sacrilege had been
done--a fist had smashed again and again into the holy one's face.
This it must have been that made him pause, that brought one big hand
up in a grip of animal rage about Dean's throat.

Only a moment--a matter of seconds--while he vented his fury upon this
white-skinned man who had dared to oppose him. Dean felt the hand
close about his throat. So limp he was, so drained of strength, he
made no effort to