rcade; down steps and an incline--to burst at last through
a tunnel-like passage into a room.

"So? What is this, Cretar?"

A room littered with apparatus. A dozen men were about. Men scantily
dressed in this interior heat. Short, squat men of the Cold Country;
flat-nosed, heavy faces; hair long to the base of the neck. In a corner
stood the Brende instrument, fully erected. A light from it seemed
penetrating the bared chest of a man who was at that moment standing in
its curative rays.

He whom Tarrano called Cretar, took a step forward.

"Master, we----"

"Making yourselves immortal?" The anger had left Tarrano's voice; irony
was there instead.

"Master----"

"Have you done that?"

"Master--yes! Yes! We did! Forgive us, Master."

The man before the instrument had retreated from it. Elza saw now that
all the men were shrinking back in terror. All save Cretar, who had
fallen tremblingly to his knees. Yet Tarrano showed no anger. He
laughed.

"I would not hurt you, Cretar! Get up, man! I am not angry--not even
annoyed. Why, your skin is turning orange. See the mottles!"

On the flesh of all the men--save the one who had been checked in the
act of using the instrument--a bright orange mottling was apparent.
Cretar exclaimed:

"The immunity to all diseases, master. It is itself a
disease--harmless--and it combats every other." He laughed a little
wildly. "We cannot get sick now. We cannot die--we are immortal. Come,
Master--let us make you so!"

Tarrano whispered: "You see, Lady Elza? The orange spots! These men of
medicine here have used the Brende secret to its full. Immune from
disease!"

"Let us treat _you_, Master. This immortality----"

On Cretar's face was a triumphant smile, but in his eyes lay a terror.
The man who had not been treated stood against the wall watching with
interest and curiosity. But the others! They crouched; wary; alert eyes
like animals at bay.

Tarrano laughed. "Treat me! Cretar, you know not with what you have been
trifling. Immortal? You are indeed. Disease cannot touch you! You cannot
die--save by violence!"

He swung to Elza. "These men, Lady Elza--they are strong-muscled. In
health now more perfect than any other humans. _You_ are frail--a frail
little woman. And unarmed. I bid you--strike one of them!"

She stared; but as she suddenly faced about, she caught in part his
meaning. Before her Cretar shrank back, his face gone white, his teeth
chattering.

"What's