se. It would tend to hug against one wall." And by that he knew
something of their speed. The necessity for it was apparent a moment
later.

Above his head the bull's-eyes pointing forward in the direction of
their flight were faintly red. Swiftly they changed to crimson. Rawson
was standing beside a window in the wall of their craft. That, too,
grew quickly to an area of dazzling brightness. Slowly the heat struck
in. The air in the little room was stifling. He saw the girl turn her
head and give a sharp order.

The man by the central post responded with another slight movement of
the lever. Beneath Rawson's feet the floor pressed upward in a surge
of speed that bent his knees and bore him downward. Under his hands
the rod to which he clung was hot. The shining walls were dimly
glowing. They were being hurled through the very heart of hell....

* * * * *

And then it was past. The crimson horror beyond those windows grew
dull and then black. In the blunt nose of their craft a tiny crevice
must have opened. The one who drove that projectile in its shrieking
flight had touched another control that Rawson had not before seen.
And with a piercing shriek a thin jet of cold air drove down into the
hot room.

No wine could have been one-half so potent. That thin jet filled the
room with buffeting whirlwinds that grew quickly cold.

Then their speed was checked. Abruptly Rawson was weightless, his body
hanging in air, moved only as he moved his hand upon the bar. Only a
few feet away was the body of the girl floating weightless like
himself. The others were shouting loud words of satisfaction, but her
face was turned toward Rawson, her eyes were smiling into his; while,
outside the little shell that fell in meteor flight, were only
shrieking winds and the blackness into which they plunged.

CHAPTER XVII

_Gor_

Through an ordinary experience, Dean Rawson, like any other man, would
have kept unconscious measurement of the passing time. An hour, no
matter how crowded, would still have been an hour that his mind could
measure and grasp. But now he had no least idea of the hours or
minutes that had marked their flight. Each lagging second was an age
in passing. Even the flashing thoughts that drove swiftly through his
mind seemed slow and laborious. Painstakingly he marshaled his few
facts.

"They know what they're about, that's one thing dead sure. They're
onto their job, and t