ind their frail protection,
half blinded by the light from the seared grass, coughing from the
chemical-ridden fumes which curled about the cracks of the rock.

Then the beam faded out. Thin smoke plumed from the tips of the towers,
steam arose from the blackened ground. Dandtan drew a deep breath.

"It held!" he cried, betraying at last the fear which had ridden him.

Men of the Folk dragged engines of tubing before the screen, while
others brought forth the globes of green liquid. Dandtan stood aside, as
if this matter were the business of the Folk alone, and Garin recalled
that the Ancient Ones were opposed to the taking of life.

Trar was in command now. At his orders the globes were posed on
spoon-shaped holders. Loopholes in the screen clicked open. Trar brought
down his hand in signal. The globes arose lazily, sliding through the
loopholes and floating out toward the towers.

One, aimed short, struck the ground where the fire had burned it bare,
and broke. The liquid came forth, sluggishly, forming a gray-green gas
as the air struck it. Another spiral of gas arose almost at the foot of
one of the towers--and then another ... and another.

There quickly followed a tortured screaming, which soon dwindled to a
weak yammering. They could see shapes, no longer human or animal,
staggering about in the fog.

Dandtan turned away, his face white with horror. Garin's hands were over
his ears to shut out that crying.

At last it was quiet; there was no more movement by the towers. Urg
placed a sphere of rosy light upon the nearest machine and flipped it
out into the camp of the enemy. As if it were a magnet it drew the green
tendrils of gas, to leave the air clear. Here and there lay shrunken,
livid shapes, the towers brooding over them.

One of the Folk burst into their midst, a woman of Thrala's following.

"Haste!" She clawed at Garin. "Kepta takes Thrala!"

She ran wildly back the way she had come, with the American pounding at
her heels. They burst into the Hall of Thrones and saw a struggling
group before the dais.

Garin heard someone howl like an animal, became aware the sound came
from his own throat. For the second time his fist found its mark on
Kepta's face. With a shriek of rage the Black One threw Thrala from him
and sprang at Garin, his nails tearing gashes in the flyer's face. Twice
the American twisted free and sent bone-crushing blows into the other's
ribs. Then he got the grip he wanted, and