Strangely intense, these huge orbs wavered not at all, filling him

with an unnameable dread, while the strong odor of musk assailed his

nostrils. The flashlight slipped from between Nelson's fingers and, no

longer having his thumb on the button, flickered out.

Helpless, Nelson stood transfixed against a boulder, aware that the

strange, musky scent was becoming stronger. Then to his ears came a

dry scrabbling as of some large body stealthily advancing. Those

horrible, unearthly eyes were coming nearer! Fierce, terrible shocks

of fear gripped the exhausted aviator. Then the impulse of

self-preservation, that most elementary of all instincts, forced him

to snatch up the rifle, to sight hastily, blindly, between those two,

great greenish eyes. Choking out a strangled sob of desperation,

Nelson made his trembling finger close over the cold strip of steel

that must be the trigger.

* * * * *

Like a stage trick, the cavern was momentarily lit by a strong, orange

yellow glare. Then the Winchester's report thundered and roared

deafeningly; coincidentally arose a nerve-shattering scream. An

exhalation, foul as a corpse long unburied, fanned his face.

Terrified, he flattened to the rock wall as a huge, though dangerously

agile body hurtled by with the speed of a runaway horse. Presently

followed the sound of a ponderous fall, then a series of shrill,

ear-piercing gibberings and squeakings, like those of a titanic

rat--squeaks that rang like the chorus of Hell itself. Gradually they

grew fainter, while in the darkness the heavy air of the tunnel became

rank with the odor of clotting blood.

Nelson remained where he was, shaking like a frightened horse and

bathed with a cold sweat.

"Wonder what it was?" he muttered numbly.

He broke off, for in the terrible darkness sounded a low but perfectly

audible _thud! thud! thud! thud!_--and also the subtle noise of some

rough surface rasping gently over the stone. His nerves crisped and

shrieked for relief.

"It's coming again!" he told himself, and ejected the spent cartridge

from the Winchester. "No use--it'll get me, but I may as well fight as

long as I can."

Even stronger grew the musty smell of blood while that uncanny _thud!

thud!_ sound continued at regular intervals. Nelson waited, breath

halted and finger on trigger, but still the darkness yielded no

glimpse of those awful saucer-like eyes.

* * * * *

Emboldened, he stooped and, jerking off his left glove, commenced to

grope among the boulders. Somewhere near at his feet the flashlight

must be lying. Hoping against hope that its fall had not shattered the

bulb, he ran his fingers over the cold, damp stones, every instant

expecting to feel the clutch of the unseen monster. How tiny, how puny

he was! All at once his fingers encountered the smooth familiar shape

of the flash and he raised it cautiously through the darkness.

Patiently he shifted the Winchester to his left hand in order to set

the flashlight on the top of a flat rock, pointing it as nearly as he

could determine in the direction from whence came those ominous,

stealthy sounds.

"Guess I'll switch on the light," he decided, "and trust to drop

whatever it is before it reaches me."

Taking a fresh grip on his quivering nerves, Nelson cautiously cocked

the .38-55, cuddled the familiar stock to his shoulder. He sighted,

then with his right hand pushed down the catch lever of the

flashlight.

Instantly a dazzling white beam shot forth to shatter the gloom. The

hair on the back of Nelson's hands itched unbearably, while the cold

fingers of madness clutched at his brain, for the sight which met his

eyes all but bereft him of his wavering sanity. There, belly up,

across a low ridge of basalt, lay a hideous reptile, which in form

faintly resembled an enormous and fantastic kangaroo. Its scabby belly

was of the unhealthy yellow of a grub, a hue which gave way to a

leaden gray as the wart-covered skin reached the back. Two enormous

hind legs, each thick as a man's torso and each equipped with three

dagger-like talons, struck out in helpless fury at the air, while a

long, lizard-like tail threshed powerfully back and forth, scattering

ponderous boulders right and left as though they had been marbles. The

flashlight being trained as it was, the monster's head and

forequarters were invisible, all save two very much smaller and

shorter front legs which, like the hinder ones, clawed spasmodically.

"The D. T's!" gasped Nelson, conscious that he was trembling like an

aspen. He suppressed a wild desire to laugh. "Yes, I've gone crazy!"

* * * * *

He glanced downwards and leaped swiftly back, for, creeping over the

stones towards his fur outer boots, meandered a wide rivulet of bright

scarlet blood. From its surface rose small curling feathers of steam

which, drifting towards the tunnel's roof, merged with that gray,

vaporous current flowing steadily towards the sunless Arctic expanse

outside.

It took Nelson a long five minutes to sufficiently recover his

equilibrium for action. All he could do was to stare at that

grotesque, gargoyle-like creature as it writhed in leisurely and

persistent death throes.

"Guess I winged it all right! My God, what a nasty beast! Looks like

one of those allosaurs I read about in college. It couldn't be,

though--that tribe of dinosaurs died out five million years ago."

Cautiously he scrambled around among the high black stones, casting

the search light beams before him and holding the Winchester always

ready in his hand while trying to recall snatches of palaeontology

studied at college long years ago.

"Yes, it must be a survival of one of the carnivorous dinosaurs," he

decided, then paused, increasingly conscious of that steady thudding

noise. What caused it?

* * * * *

At last he found himself before the creature's gigantic and repulsive

head which lay limp over a blood bathed stone, huge jaws partially

open, and serrated rows of wicked, stiletto-sharp teeth gleaming

yellowly in the flashlight's rays. The head in shape was bullet-like,

ending in a blunt nose as big as a bushel basket and in two prominent

nostrils. The green, lidless eyes were still open, shining faintly,

and seemed to follow his movements, but the steaming blood poured with

the force of a small hose from between triple row of bayonetlike teeth

that curved inward like those of a shark, to splash and bubble freely

to the rock floor and to dribble horribly over the warty, gray hide.

Then Nelson discovered an amazing fact. About the great scaly neck,

thick as a boy's waist, was fastened a ponderous collar, set with

short, sharp spikes.

Nelson gasped. "What in hell!" he cried. "This damn thing's somebody's

property!" His mind, staggered at the thought of dealing with a race

that could and would domesticate such a hideous monster. "Well, it's

no use standing here," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

"This isn't getting poor Alden away from those devils."

_Thud! thud!_ In the act of turning he paused, listened once more.

Then he discovered to his amazement that the heart of the apparently

dead reptile was still beating strongly. He could even see the yellow

skin of its belly rise and fall. The effect was grotesque, uncanny.

"Of course," muttered the shaken aviator, "I'd forgotten a reptile's

ganglions will keep on beating for hours, like that shark we killed

off Paumotu. Its heart didn't stop for five hours."

* * * * *

Leaving the slain allosaurus behind, the aviator limped onwards,

doggedly following a trail which wound down, ever onwards, into the

depths of the earth. Gradually the air became so filled with steam

that he stripped off his fur jumper and trousers. Clad in a khaki

flannel shirt, serge trousers and shoepacks, he paused long enough to

count his cartridges, and found there were just fourteen. Hell! Not

very many with which to venture into an unknown abyss. He distributed

them in his pockets, and, somewhat relieved of the weight of the fur

suit, took up his advance, playing the flashlight ahead of him as he

went.

"Poor Alden," he thought. "I wonder if he's still alive?"

Every moment expecting to stumble over the mangled corpse of his

friend he hurried on, making better time over the cavern floor, but

soon even the lighter clothing commenced to feel oppressive.

"Must be the earth's heat," he muttered, while the steam clouds rolled

by him like ghostly serpents. "Guess the crust is very thin

here--something like Yellowstone. Probably I'll find some thermal

springs ahead."

Just as he spoke the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right. He

scrambled around the bend to stand petrified, for with the suddenness

of lightning a flood of dazzling orange-red light sprang into being.

Momentarily it blinded him, then revealed strange, incomprehensible

scenes. It appeared that two short shafts of incandescent flame

roared through transparent columns of glass on either side of the

passage some fifty yards distant. Subconsciously Nelson realized that

these columns began and ended in stonework that was smooth and well

joined.

* * * * *

As his eyes became accustomed to the glare he distinguished beside

each light pillar two bronze doors, some eight feet high and

semicircular in shape. These had been evidently pulled back to expose

the lights. Then his breath stopped in his throat, for there, standing

beside them, was a gleaming group of six or eight of the strangest

creatures Nelson could ever have imagined. They were men--there was no

mistaking that--men of normal size, but they were so helmeted and

incased in a curious type of armor that for a moment he believed them

gargoyles.

Quite motionless he stood, clutching the cold barrel of the Winchester

in a spasmodic grip and staring up at those two watch-towers, built

like gigantic swallows' nests into sheer rock wall. He could see the

warriors stationed there, peering curiously down at him from the

depths of heavy, bronze helmets--helmets which in shape much resembled

those of an ancient Grecian hoplite, for the nose guards and cheek

pieces descended so low as to completely mask the features of those

strange guards. For crests these helmets bore exquisitely wrought

bronze dolphins, with brilliant blue eyes of sapphire. But what

fascinated Nelson most was the curious armor they wore. Beneath breast

plates of polished bronze, these strange warriors wore what seemed to

be a kind of chain mail--yet it was not that, for the texture had more

the appearance of some heavy but pliant leather, finished with a

metallic surfacing.

Suddenly the spell of mutual amazement was broken, for a tall warrior

in a breast plate that glittered with diamonds and seemed altogether

more ornate than the rest, clapped a short brass horn to his lips and

blew a single piercing note. At once there appeared on the tunnel's

floor, not a hundred yards from the startled aviator, a rank of

perhaps twenty soldiers, accoutred exactly like those he beheld by the

light boxes. They came scrambling over the boulders, their shadows

grotesquely preceding them. In their hands were long shafted spears,

and on their left arms rectangular shields, charged with a lively

dolphin in the act of swimming. Some of them, however, held short

hoses in their hands, hoses that sprouted from tight brass coils

strapped to their broad shoulders.

* * * * *

Again the commanding figure aloft raised the horn. From the tail of

his eye Nelson caught the gleam of metal in the orange glare. While a

blast, harsh as the scream of a fire siren, echoed and re-echoed

eerily through the passage, there appeared a fresh detachment. Nelson

shrank back in horror, for these bronze-armored warriors led, at the

end of a powerful chain, two more of those huge, ferocious allosaurs,

exactly like the one he had slain but a short while back.

Like well regulated automatons the hoplite rank opened to permit the

passage of those repulsive, eager monsters, then closed up again and

halted, spears levelled before them in the precise manner of an

ancient Grecian phalanx, while the men with those curious hose-like

contrivances ran out to guard the flanks.

"I'm done for now," thought Nelson as he threw off the Winchester's

safety catch. "I suppose they'll turn those nightmares loose on me."

He was right. For all the world as though they led war dogs, the

keepers in brazen armor advanced, the dull metallic clank of their

accoutrement clearly discernible above the sibilant hiss of their

hideous charges, which hopped along grotesquely like kangaroos, using

their long and powerful tails as a counterpoise.

Then the officer watching from the left hand swallow's nest shouted a

hoarse, unintelligible command, whereupon one of the keepers raised

his right hand in a sharp gesture that instantly flattened the

incredible monster to earth, exactly like an obedient bird dog.

As in a fantastic dream Nelson watched one of the armored guardians

unsnap the hook of the powerful chain by which his allosaurus was

secured. Then, whistling sharply, he clapped his hands and pointed

straight at the motionless aviator. The creature's green white eyes

flickered back and forth, and a chill, colder than the outer Arctic,

invaded Nelson's breast as those unearthly eyes came to rest upon him.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the other allosaurus remained crouched, whining impatiently

for its keepers to cast it loose.

Fixing burning eyes upon the American, the foremost keeper threw back

his head. "Ahre-e-e!" he shouted. Instantly the freed allosaurus

arose, balanced its enormous bulk, then commenced to leap forward at

tremendous speed, clearing fifteen or twenty feet with each jump and

uttering a curious, whistling scream as it bore down, a terrifying

vision of gleaming teeth and talons.

Shaking off the paralysis of despair, Nelson whipped up the Winchester

and, as before, sighted squarely between those blazing, gemlike eyes.

When the huge monster was but twenty feet away he fired, and the

report thundered and banged in the cavern like the crash of a summer

storm. In mid-air the ghastly carnivore teemed to stagger. Its tail

twitched sharply as in an effort to recover its balance. Then, quite

like any normal creature that is shot through the head, it lost all

sense of direction and made great convulsive leaps, around and around,

clawing madly at the air, bumping into the rock walls and uttering

soul-shaking shrieks of agony. Like a gargoyle gone mad it reeled back

towards the startled rank of spearmen. As it came, Nelson saw the

second allosaurus rear itself backwards and, balanced on its tail,

strike out with powerful hind legs as its maddened fellow drew near.

Like razors the great talons ripped through the dying allosaurus'

belly, exposing the gray-red intestines as the stricken creature raced

by, snapping crazily at the empty air.

A single mighty sweep of the monster's tail crushed five or six of the

panic-stricken keepers and guards, strewing them like broken and

abandoned marionettes among the stones. Hissing and obviously

terrified, the second dinosaur watched the dying struggles of its

mate; then, obedient to a terrified shout from its keepers, wheeled

about to join in a frantic rout of the spearmen, who, casting aside

shield, spear and brass coil, fled for dear life in the direction of

those invisible passages through which they had appeared.

CHAPTER II

No less amazed and alarmed than those vanished soldiers, Nelson

remained rooted to the ground, conscious that in the swallow's nest

overhead there remained only the officer--a tall, broad shouldered man

with golden beard showing from under the cheek pieces of his helmet.

Across the body of the still writhing monster their glances met.

Nelson could see by the light of those strange pillars of fire that

the other's eyes were blue as any Norseman's. Leaning far out over the

stone parapet the other stared down upon the aviator from the depths

of his jewelled helmet in a strange mixture of curiosity and awe.

Suddenly Nelson's nerves snapped and he shook a trembling fist at the

martial figure above.

"Go away!" he shrieked, and reeled back on the edge of collapse. "Go

away, you damn phantom! You're driving me crazy--crazy, I tell you!"

The other stiffened, then turned and, uttering a hoarse shout,

vanished, leaving the noiseless and apparently heatless pillar of fire

flaring steadily.

Recovering somewhat, Nelson set his teeth, advanced to the nearest

corpse, stooped and regarded him who lay there, with bronze helmet

fallen off.

"It's a man and not a ghost," he murmured as his finger encountered

flesh that was still warm. "Red headed too, or I'm a liar. Now what in

hell is all this?"

For all his bewilderment he began to feel better and his swaying

reason became steadier. "Bronze, bronze--nothing but bronze," the

aviator told himself as he further examined the scattered equipment.

"Evidently these fellows don't know the use of iron or steel."

* * * * *

With increased curiosity he bent over another splendidly built dead

man who lay with back broken and sightless eyes staring fixedly onto

the steam current meandering silently along the cavern's roof. From

the fallen man's belt were slung half a dozen curious weapons that

looked not unlike potato mashers, except that they were bronze headed

and had wooden handles.

"Hum," he commented, "kind of like the grenades the Boche used in the

late lamented. Wonder what the devil these are?"

Suddenly his ear detected the sound of a footstep and, on looking

swiftly up, he beheld that same yellow bearded officer who had

directed the attack. This strange being had taken off his ponderous

helmet to carry it in his left hand, while his right was held

vertically in the immemorial sign of peace. On he came with powerful

martial strides, a brilliant green cloak flapping gently behind him

and the jewels in his brazen armor glinting like so many tiny colored

eyes. The stranger was indeed handsome, Nelson noticed--and then he

received perhaps the greatest shock of the whole chimerical adventure.

The gold bearded man halted some twenty feet away, smiled and spoke in

a curiously inflected but perfectly recognizable voice.

"Welcome to the Empire of the Atlans. Prithee, Wanderer, what be thy

name?"

For a long moment Nelson was entirely too taken back to make a reply.

Desperately his already perplexed brain tried to comprehend. Here was

a handsome six-footer, dressed in the arms of an ancient race,

speaking English of the seventeenth century!

* * * * *

As at a phantom, he regarded the stalwart, faintly ominous figure,

from heavy leather sandals to bronze greaves, thence to wide belt from

which dangled more of those curious grenadelike objects. His glance

paused on the officer's beautifully wrought bronze cuirasse or breast

plate which showed in relief an emerald scaled dolphin and trident.

These, Nelson decided, must be the national emblems of this

incomprehensible nation.

Then their eyes met, held each other a long moment until the tall

officer's features, disfigured by a long red scar across the jaw,

broke into a hard smile.

"Hero Giles Hudson begs thy pardon," he said, "but methought thou

spoke in the language of Sir Henry Hudson, my ancestor?"

"Sir Henry Hudson!" stammered Nelson incredulously. "The old explorer

whose men turned him adrift? So that's why you're talking embalmed

English!" In desperation his weary brain strove to understand.

"I know naught," replied the other with a grave smile, "save that the

founder of our royal line spoke what he called English. He came from

the Ice World to rule wisely over Atlans. He was the greatest

Atlantean of history."

"Atlantean?" echoed Nelson, while his mind groped frantically in the

recess of his memory. "Atlans, Atlantis!" A great light broke upon

him. "The lost Atlantis! Great God!" Had he stumbled upon a remnant of

that powerful people whose fabled empire had been drowned ten

centuries ago in the cold waves of the Atlantic?

* * * * *

"Aye," the yellow haired warrior continued as though reading his

thoughts, "long centuries ago this valley was peopled by those who

escaped the great cataclysm which ended the mother country. Later came

another race, barbarian wanderers like thyself." He bowed for all the

world like a courtly English gentleman. "But methinks thou art in need

of food and sustenance?"

"You bet I'm hungry," was Nelson's emphatic reply. "I'm one short jump

of starvation and the D. T.'s. But hold on a minute," he cried. "I'm

looking for a friend of mine. He went by here, didn't he?"

"Aye." A crafty expression Nelson did not like crept into Hero Giles

Hudson's face as he solemnly inclined his head.

"For the nonce, fair sir, thy companion is hale and sound. I beg your

patience."

With a quick gesture the Atlantean raised his dolphin-shaped horn and

blew three short blasts while Nelson, in sudden alarm, cocked his

rifle and brought it in line with the other's chest. The glittering

officer saw the motion, but made no effort to move from the line of

sights.

"Thy gesture avails naught," said he with stiff courtesy. "When Hero

Giles gives his word, it stands good though Heliopolis and the Empire

of the Atlans fall."

One by one half a dozen spearmen appeared, all obviously very

frightened and only moved by an apparently Spartan discipline.

Promptly they saluted, whereupon the Hero--as his title appeared to

be--uttered a number of brief commands in some guttural language

entirely unintelligible to the dazed aviator.

* * * * *

Presently a strange column appeared, composed of some fifteen or

twenty disarmed men marching between a double rank of heavily equipped

hoplites. As they drew near, they clasped imploring hands and

evidently begged for mercy from the stern, tight jawed figure at

Nelson's side. Contemptuous and unhearing the prisoners' piteous

pleadings and lamentations, Hero Giles scowled upon them and

deliberately turned his back.

"What are they?" inquired Nelson, vaguely alarmed. "Enemies?"

"Yes." There was a certain bitter savagery in the speaker's voice.

"These are the dauntless defenders of Atlans who ran at the report of

thy weapon. Presently they die."

It was useless to interfere. The horrified aviator knew it and watched

with compassionate eyes while the condemned soldiers were ranged in a

single, white faced line. They remained silent now, seeming to have

found courage now that hope was dead.

Upon brief command from a subaltern, the guards wheeled about and

retreated perhaps twenty yards down the passage. There they halted,

glittering eyes peering through the slots in their helmets to fix

themselves upon the rigid prisoners who stood numbly resigned to

death.

With surprising speed each member of that weird firing squad detached

a brazen grenade from his belt, then threw back his arm in exactly the

same attitude as a bomb-throwing doughboy. Then there came a short,

sharp command and some fifteen or twenty grenades bobbed through the

air to crash on the stones at the feet of the victims.

* * * * *

His head swimming with repulsion at the slaughter, Nelson beheld a

curious sight. It seemed that from the broken grenades appeared a

yellowish green vapor which sprung _of its own accord_ upon the silent

upright rank! In an instant it settled like falling snow upon the

doomed soldiers. For a breathless fraction of a second they stood,

eyes wide with horror, then collapsed, kicking and struggling as men

do under the influence of gas.

"Horrible!" gasped Nelson. "What was in the bombs?"

"A vapor," explained Hero Giles shortly. "A fungus vapor which,

falling upon exposed flesh, instantly invades the blood and multiplies

by millions. See--" He pointed to the nearest dead man and Nelson,

with starting eyes, watched a yellowish growth commencing to sprout

from the dead man's nostrils. Swiftly the poisonous mould threw out

tiny branches, spreading with astounding rapidity over the skin until,

in less than a minute after the grenades had exploded, the whole

tumbled heap of dead were covered with a horrible yellow green fungus

growth.

"Thou seest?" Hero Giles demanded. "Powerful, is it not? It is against

the fungus vapor we wear this body armor made from the skin of a small

lizard which inhabits our mountains."

Shocked and appalled, Nelson watched the retreat of the solemn, silent

execution party.

Other soldiers fell to unconcernedly stripping their fallen comrades

of equipment; then, to Nelson's horrified surprise, two hideous

allosauri reappeared, shepherded by some six or eight keepers. Once

the horrible creatures were released, they pounced upon the dead and,

snarling horribly, commenced to rend and devour the corpses.

* * * * *

Too shaken to comment or to make the protest he knew to be futile,

Nelson followed the stalwart English-speaking officer into a bronze

door set in the cavern wall and up a short flight of stairs into what

appeared to be a guard room, where food and wine were immediately set

before the famished aviator.

"Yea," Hero Giles was saying as he set down a beautiful goblet and

wiped the last traces of wine from his beard, "we will soon o'ertake

thy friend. He was but little hurt, and thou wilt assuredly join him

in judgment before our great Emperor, Altorius XXII, at Heliopolis,

our capital."

"Heliopolis?" mumbled Nelson, his mouth full of delicious stew that

seemed to be made of veal. "Heliopolis? How far away is it?"

"A hundred leagues more or less," the other smiled. "Almost a third of

the distance up this great valley."

"One hundred leagues! Three hundred miles! Then we won't be there for

several days."

The Hero's deep, rather ominous laughter rang out in the little rock

hewn chamber. "Days?" he jeered. "Days? Art thou mad? In two hours

from the time we board the tube-road thou shalt learn thy fate from

his Serene Highness."

"What!" Nelson's sunken and blood-shot gray eyes widened, while his

jaw dropped incredulously. "One hundred leagues in two hours? As I

remember there are about three miles to a league, so a hundred leagues

in two hours means one hundred and fifty miles an hour! Why, that's

utterly impossible! The Twentieth Century Limited doesn't go half so

fast."

Several enormous emeralds set into the other's bronze cuirasse

glittered softly and the Hero's cold blue eyes hardened as his hand

sought the grenade belt.

"Impossible? Dost doubt my words, sirrah?" With an effort he

controlled himself. "Nay, thou shalt see for thyself ere long. The

tube-road runs from Heracles to Heliopolis. Thou canst trace its

course on this map here on the wall."

"The dog-born devils of Jarmuth have no such means of travel,"

continued the Atlantean, with a touch of smug pride that reminded

Nelson of a small town Middle Westerner speaking of the "rightest,

tightest little town west of the Mississippi."

Nelson found it extremely weird to be sitting there in a heavy arm

chair, drinking good red wine with a fierce armor-clad warrior who

wore sandals, sword and a war cloak such as might have graced the

limbs of Alexander of Macedon. But with the food and rich warm wine,

he felt blood, strength and self-confidence pouring back into his

weary body. "Jarmuth?" he inquired. "What is Jarmuth?"

At his question the domineering, predatory face across the table

darkened and the scar on his cheek flamed red as a scowl of hatred

gripped Hero Giles' visage.

"Jarmuth!" snarled the Hero, and his great hand closed like a vise.

"Jarmuth! A nation of treacherous, gold-adoring cannibals, whose

countless hordes, spawned in the hot lowlands, ever threaten our

frontiers. I tell thee, Friend Nelson, the dog-sired Jereboam will not

rest until mighty Heliopolis lies in a heap of smoking ashes."

"Evidently," thought Nelson, taken aback at the other's vehemence,

"this lad's English only in speech. I guess he's all Atlantean outside

of that."

* * * * *

Warming to a fiercer pitch, the other fixed his guest with a

smoldering gaze. "Jarmuth lies beyond Apidanus, the boiling river, and

is the home of a savage horde whose horrid rites in Jezreel, the

capital, stink as an offense to Saturn and the High Gods! Why, mark

you," the warrior prince continued, interrupting his tirade to gulp a

goblet of wine, "five years ago, by treachery, they seized the

beauteous Altara, sister of our gracious Emperor, and upon the annual

feast of Beelzebub, that vile demon they worship, the dark dogs would

have sacrificed and devoured her, according to their rites, had not

our Emperor dispatched a ransom of six fair maidens to take her place.

"Every year since then Jereboam has exacted that same tribute. Every

year their princes and priests gorge themselves on the tender white

flesh of our fairest and noblest maidens. But this tribute must end!

The augurs have told us so. Help will come from the Ice World." Hero

Giles brought crashing down on the table a brawny fist, on whose

wrist was fixed a bright, gem-studded bracelet.

Horror-stricken, Nelson nodded.

"It is for this alone," continued the Hero somberly, "that thy life

and that of thy friend have been spared."

"So? I didn't notice," broke in Nelson, "that you particularly went

out of your way to preserve my health a while back."

The heavy golden head shook slowly and a grim smile played about those

thin cruel lips. "Nay, but I could have had thee slain. Come, as we go

to the tube-road I'll show thee how much thou liest in the hollow of

this, my hand." He thrust out a broad, powerful palm. "Forget not,

fair sir. At any moment I or my Imperial Master may choose to close

that hand."

"Perhaps!" stated Nelson, feeling it imperative to keep up his pose of

independence. "But it might just happen that your hand would close on

a porcupine, and so far from hurting the porcupine it would be your

hand that would be hurt."

"Sirrah!" The Atlantean sprang to his feet and one hand shot to the

grip of his ponderous, bronze sword; but even more quickly Nelson

snatched up his rifle, a thin smile playing on his lips.

"Drop it," he snapped. "Control yourself, or I'll plug you like that

allosaur. Be reasonable, can't you? We both want something, and

perhaps can help each other gain it."

* * * * *

The taut, menacing figure in armor relaxed and, with a gentle clank of

accoutrement, Hero Giles resumed his seat.

"Prithee pardon me," he apologized ungraciously. "I was ever a

hot-head and there is much in what thou sayest. We wish to force an

end to this annual tribute--if not to regain our beloved Altara. And

thou"--his heavy, golden eyebrows shot up--"and thou, what dost thou

wish?"

Nelson lowered the menacing barrel. "I want the return of Richard

Alden, free passage back to that spot where he was captured and plenty

of food and help should we need it. If I aid you in one, you must

promise me in the other."

"Aye," returned the other doubtfully. "But I myself can pledge naught

save thy immediate safety. 'Tis for our Imperial Majesty to say

whether both thou and thy friend shall live, or whether ye shall feed

our war dogs. Come now, we must go to Heliopolis."

[Illustration: _Map of Jarmuth and Atlans_]

Picking up his heavy, bronze helmet the Atlantean prince set it on his

yellow head and waited impatiently for Nelson to drain the last of his

wine. Then, with a swirl of his green cloak, he vanished through the

rock wall, closely followed by a singularly distracted and alarmed

aviator.

CHAPTER III

A bright yellow glare steadily increased to mark the end of the tunnel

down which the two had progressed; then, with the sharp abruptness of

a hand-clap, there resounded a loud challenge in that unintelligible

Atlantean language, above which the hiss of steam could be loudly

heard.

Instantly the Atlantean prince strode forward, a commanding figure.

Momentarily his helmet and the dangling grenadelike bombs were sharply

outlined against that unearthly yellow light. He raised his hand and

dropped it, palm outward, to his chin in what must have been a salute.

The hissing sound of steam then faded into silence.

Followed at a respectful distance by a pair of silent, bronze-helmeted

hoplites, Nelson and his guide descended a narrow stair, which

broadened at the base. It was a very long staircase composed of

perhaps two or three hundred steps which were occasionally interrupted

by wide stone terraces. On these level spaces were fixed what appeared

to be enormous field guns of glittering brass. They were similar, yet

somehow oddly dissimilar, to the great guns Nelson had seen in

France.

"Behold, oh Wanderer," Hero Giles declaimed impressively, "the lands

of Atlans and Jarmuth!"

It was a weird landscape that met Nelson's half-unbelieving gaze, a

landscape green with that brilliance peculiar to spring meadows, lying

beneath the same deep blue sky that overarched the surrounding barren

ice fields which hemmed in this astounding valley.

* * * * *

A slight smile played over Hero Giles' thin lips as he watched the

amazed aviator.

"The splendor of our country must indeed astound thee," he observed,

"having come from the dreary fastness of the outer Ice World. But

come; we are now to pass the great retortii guarding the entrance into

the valley."

Nelson's eyes turned again to the weapons that so oddly resembled

field guns. He examined them closely, inspecting them narrowly for the

differences he knew must exist between them and the artillery that had

thundered during the War of the Nations.

The chief difference lay in the mounting of these starkly beautiful

weapons. They seemed to be fixed on a movable pivot set into the coal

black rock itself. Like modern artillery, these curious pieces of

ordnance bore a bronze shield to protect their crews, through which

projected the long and very narrow barrels of the guns. Grouped like

cannoneers about their piece stood various red-crested Atlantean

artillerymen. At a glance Nelson recognized the difference in their

equipment from that of the spearmen behind them. These former bore no

shields, no swords or bombs, but wore that same kind of leather

body-armor which graced the powerful limbs of Hero Giles. Their

helmets, too, were different: only the dolphin crest with a tuft of

red feathers spouting from it bore any resemblance to those of the

infantry, and, moreover, the artillerymen's eyes were shielded by

goggles with thick blue lenses.

* * * * *

As the Hero approached, officers among them saluted, then sank on one

knee with head humbly bent.

"Rather odd looking guns," commented Nelson. "I'm not much of an

artilleryman, but I'm wondering how you take up the recoil?"

The Atlantean's laugh, which always reminded his guest of the purr of

a tiger, rang out. "Why, marry, good sir, there is no recoil! These

guns do not use that powder which Sir Henry, founder of our line, did

speak of. Thou wouldst see one fired?"

His curiosity immeasurably piqued, Nelson nodded, whereupon the

Atlantean wheeled about and barked a brief command. With truly

Prussian precision, the artillerymen sprang to their posts, some to a

series of levers which sprouted from the rock platform without any

apparent connection, and some to wheels and gauges of varying size

that clustered in bewildering intricacy about the breech of the great

brass gun.

"Markest thou that tree yonder, on the ledge of the valley?" The

Atlantean's blunt outstretched finger indicated a towering pine

sprouting from among a mass of reddish volcanic rock at the rim of

that new world.

"Yes, I see it, but--" Nelson was astounded. A pine tree in the upper

Arctic! That alone was sufficient cause for amazement. From a stiff

red-plumed gun captain issued a brief series of commands which set the

wonderfully drilled crew to silently adjusting their training and

elevating mechanism. Click! Clack! Sis-s-s-s!

* * * * *

All up and down the vast staircase other gun crews stood watching.

Nelson saw their weird, bluish goggles raised to that platform where,

for all the world like a coast defense howitzer, the great cannon

swung majestically about on the ponderous, brazen column which seemed

to support it. Gradually the muzzle was elevated, then traversed a few

feet, to finally come to a halt.

"Jakul, a Hero!" shouted the gun captain, his hand raised to Hero

Giles.

"Thou art ready, Friend Nelson?" he inquired in tolerant amusement.

"Mark well yon pine tree!

"Storr!"

Nelson saw one of the armored cannoneers bend forward, firmly grasp a

short lever with both hands. In anticipation of a terrific report, the

aviator pressed finger tips to his ears. There followed not a

thundering crash, but a curious, eery, high-pitched scream, rather

like that of a fire siren. There was no smoke! Nelson's incredulous

eyes sought the muzzle of the gun and detected issuing from it what

appeared to be a thin, white rod. This shimmering stream of silver

shot straight towards the pine tree, gradually widening and giving off

feathery billows of steam. In a fraction of a moment the target was

completely veiled from sight in a furious pall of clouds which, to

Nelson's great astonishment, did not dissipate nor condense with the

speed of ordinary steam.

"Nava!"

With impressive suddenness the screaming sound faded, leaving a sort

of stunned silence on the gun platform. The gunners stalked back to

their original stations.

* * * * *

Slowly, reluctantly, the mist enveloping the pine tree cleared away

and Nelson felt a chill creeping up his spine. The pine was a good

three hundred yards away, yet now it sagged limp to earth, stripped of

bark, twigs and needles, only the bright yellow trunk and major

branches remaining.

"That tree was a good two feet thick," mused the astounded aviator,

"yet the steam gun bent it like a sapling. My God! What would it do to

a man?"

"What thinkest thou of our retortii?" The Atlantean's beard glinted

like metal as he shook with a grim, silent laughter. "These great

retortii can shoot half a league and will blast any living thing in

their path. I tell thee, friend Nelson, the discharge of even a small

retortii will strip the flesh from a man's bones as a peasant strips

the husk from an ear of corn!"

"Fearful, terrible!" was Nelson's awed comment. "Is there no defence

against them?"

"Of course." The Hero's green feather-crested helmet gleamed with a

nod. "Was there ever an instrument of war that had not its defence?

Yea, we have the blue vapor to shatter steam particles--it is called

the blue maxima. Thou wilt presently see some of our troops armed with

it."

"But where does this steam come from? How is it generated?" These two

were the first of a host of questions which trembled on Nelson's lips.

"The steam," replied the Atlantean, "comes from the earth. We compress

it many times, then feed it into our retortii. Without the heat of

Mother Earth and our flame suns we would all perish. Steam is our

motive power, our defence and our enemy!"

He flung his hand towards the vast valley stretched before them. It

was hemmed in on either side by colossal breath-taking mountain

ranges, whose caps shone and glittered with an eternal snow.

"Some foothills! They must rise all of 25,000 feet from the valley

floor," decided the aviator, "and I should imagine this valley is a

good mile below sea level. Yes! That must be it: this nightmare

country lies in a huge geographical fault--something like the Dead

Sea."

* * * * *

Mile after mile he could see fertile green land stretching away toward

some low undulating hills on the horizon. Atlans was very thickly

settled--that he recognized at once--for the terrain was divided and

sub-divided into a vast checker-board, such as he had seen in France

and Germany, while terraces, green with produce, had been laboriously

gouged out of the frowning mountain sides.

Then his eye encountered the source of that curious amber light which

pervaded the whole valley. A titanic flaming gas vent spouted like a

cyclopean torch from the peak of a nearby mountain. Its steady,

subdued roar struck Nelson's ear as he turned away his eyes, for the

glare was too intense to be long endured. Further down the valley were

two more such incandescent vents, shooting their flaming tongues

boldly into the sky, warming the air and casting that rich, amber

radiance over all.

"That is Mount Ossa nearest us," the Atlantean's voice came as though

from a long distance. Victor Nelson was too staggered, too unspeakably

amazed to register the fact of the Hero's proximity. "Below are Pelion

and Jilboa, which, with Jabor, the greatest of all the flames,

illuminate and warm the valley."

Nelson's eye, trained to be all observant, ranged far and wide, noting

the presence of many lacy, frothing geysers which spouted at varying

intervals. There were, also, many steaming ponds and waterfalls which

sprang in smoky confusion from the rock palisades to either side.

* * * * *

Nearer at hand he could distinguish a number of huge stone structures,

evidently forts and public buildings. Strategically placed all about

were more of those terrible brass retortii, gleaming dully under the

incandescent glare of the flame sun.

"Come," cried Hero Giles with an impatient gesture of his hand, "we

must e'en hasten to the tube-road terminal. Word has long since been

sent to Heliopolis of thy arrival."

Downwards into the valley, which grew ever warmer and more fertile,

the Atlantean led on, explaining a thousand and one details to the

astounded aviator. Presently they approached the nearest of the great

stone structures and Nelson received yet another shock. In a courtyard

was drilling what would correspond to a troop of cavalry in the outer

world. In orderly ranks the troopers wheeled, marched and

counter-marched, their brazen armor twinkling and clashing softly as

they carried out their evolutions with an amazing precision. But what

astonished Nelson was the fact that each of these strange troopers

bestrode a lithe, long-limbed variety of dinosaur, a good half smaller

than the allosauri he had encountered in the tunnel. These agile

creatures ran about on their hind legs with astonishing speed, using a

long reptilian tail as a balance.

On the back of each trooper was fastened a compact circular copper

tank, from which sprouted a flexible metal hose that ended in what

looked like a ponderous type of pistol.

In distinction to the red of the artillerymen and the blue of the

Hoplites, these curious cavalrymen wore brilliant crests of yellow

feathers, and from their lance tips fluttered tiny pennons of that

same color.

"They must travel at least as fast as a race horse," decided the

aviator after studying the swift evolutions of the scaly chargers. To

his ears came the curious dry scrape and rattle of their horny claws

on the stone pavement of the drill yard.

He would have lingered to see more, for those grotesque, lizard-like

chargers interested him immensely, but Hero Giles beckoned

imperiously. So, dropping the Winchester to the hollow of his arm,

Nelson followed him into the brilliantly gas-lit depths of the great

structure.

* * * * *

Everywhere were red bearded, white skinned soldiers, staring at him

with the frank curiosity of children. Powerful, magnificently built

fellows they were, all in uniforms of different designs.

The walls about him, Nelson noticed, were covered with really

beautiful friezes depicting various warlike scenes in that pure beauty

of proportion found only in ancient Grecian temples.

On and on through resounding tunnels, past busy markets and barracks,

hurried the two travelers. Then the Atlantean halted before a

gracefully arched doorway where stood two hoplites, who immediately

lowered spears to bar the passage. At a word from Hero Giles, however,

they saluted and fell back in position--immovable, grim guardians.

Inside was a short staircase, beautifully wrought of bronze. Up this

flashed the Atlantean's mail-clad body; then he came to a halt under

the direct rays of a blinding light.

Nelson, on arriving above, discovered that the chamber was lined with

jointless brass about ten feet high and circular in shape. "What's

this?" he demanded curiously.

"The terminal of the tube-road. In a moment thou shalt see the great

cylinder arrive."

The words were hardly by the Hero's lips when there appeared,

noiselessly and amid a great rush of air, a huge metal cylinder that

ran upon a sort of truck. It rumbled up to the edge of the platform

and from its end a small door was opened.

* * * * *

Hero Giles exchanged a few sentences with an elderly man who appeared

to act as control master, then he indicated the glowing doorway of the

cylinder.

Firmly clutching his Winchester, Nelson bowed his head and stepped

inside, there to discover a luxury he had never anticipated. The

interior of the cylinder was brilliantly lit and on both sides were

ranged wide divans, strewn with many silken cushions. In a rack nearby

were several graceful glass amphora, filled with red and tawny wine.

"The cylinder must be about thirty feet long," the marvelling American

told himself, "and about ten feet in diameter. Guess it works on the

same principle as the compressed air tubes the department stores use

to send change with."

Gingerly he tested the nearest divan and marvelled at the curious

softness of what appeared to be a gigantic tiger skin. Meanwhile Hero

Giles entered, his stern features even more serious, but with him was

a younger man who resembled him not a little.

"Fair brother," said the Atlantean to his companion, "this is he of

whom I spoke. Friend Nelson, this is Hero John, my next youngest

brother--he, too, speaks the language of the great Sir Henry Hudson."

The metallic clang of the door being shut brought a sharp qualm to

Nelson's heart. "What are they doing?" he demanded quickly.

"The menials bolt the door beyond," explained Hero Giles with amused

gravity. "In a moment our cylinder will be placed in the dispatching

chamber, where steam pressure will be exerted. We shall then be hurled

through this vacuum tube-road to Heliopolis, greatest city of Atlans.

In an hour we will be there."

Outside sounded the sudden insistent clangor of a gong, and

immediately the hiss of steam grew louder. The car shuddered as the

hissing rose to an eery scream, then all at once the cylinder leaped

forward, nearly hurling Nelson from his seat. He struggled as best he

might to gain his equilibrium, for the eyes of the others were on him.

Then, more smoothly, the great cylinder gathered speed and hurtled on

through the darkness of the tube-road towards Heliopolis, where Victor

Nelson would read the book of Fate.

CHAPTER IV

On the arrival platform at Heliopolis reigned a fierce excitement.

Nelson noted countless armed and unarmed warriors hurrying to and fro,

desperately intent on reaching their various posts, and snarling

ill-temperedly as they elbowed their fellows aside. As soon as they

appeared, Hero Giles and his brother became the center of an excited

press of gorgeously armored officers.

"Hum!" murmured the aviator under his breath. "Something's happened.

Must be a revolution, an earthquake or a Democratic convention in

town; these boys seem all steamed up."

Intently he studied the ring of fierce, red bearded faces surrounding

his late hosts and gathered that indeed some event of overwhelming

importance had taken place. Presently a splendid falcon-eyed old man

in a yellow cloak strode up, struggling to control himself. His

resemblance to the two Heroes struck Nelson immediately.

"Harken ye," he cried, in that Elizabethan English which appeared to

be the hieratic language of the New Atlantis' rulers. "Have ye heard?

The dog-conceived sons of Semites have broken the truce! But three

measures gone by, a brigade of their mounted podokesons swooped down

on this very suburb of Tricca, yea, to the very gates of Heliopolis!

The foul man-eating dogs slaughtered royal serfs and burnt two

quarters of the suburb to the ground! Moreover, they seized that

prisoner"--Nelson's heart gave a great leap at the word--"whom thou

sentest from the mountain passes."

"What!" In two swift strides Nelson was before the gray beard, his

blood-shot eyes blazing with a strange light. "What did you say about

that prisoner?"

* * * * *

The old man, who had obviously not noticed Nelson's presence, was

thunderstruck to hear him speak in English until Hero Giles briefly

explained his presence.

"Yea!" continued the elder, flinging lamentations furiously over his

shoulder, "these swine of the Lost Tribes captured him and slew his

escort. They have retreated towards the Apidanus, slaying, burning and

pillaging as they go."

A sickening, deadly fear gripped the weary aviator. This was too much!

Bad as it was to have Richard Alden captured by these weird

descendants of a long vanished race, it was far worse to have him

fall into the hands of their deadly enemies, the Jarmuthians, decadent

survivors of Israel's Five Lost Tribes. The possibility of a rescue

now seemed hopelessly and crushingly vague and distant. What could he

do now?

In dread despair he glanced about, amazed at the prodigious numbers of

scowling men who hurried by, obviously intent upon the commencement of

a campaign for revenge.

Then Hero Giles turned his scarred, warlike face, now set in granite

lines. "Come, Friend Nelson, my uncle Anthony bids me take thee direct

to the presence of His Serene Splendor, where he lies encamped at

Cierum, by the shores of Lake Copias. There he marshals the army of

Atlans for a march through the hot country on Jezreel. I tell thee,

thou hast come in stirring times. From Heraclea, Thebes, Ys and Mayda

will come the Phalanxes. Once and forever we will deal the dogs of

Jarmuth a final blow."

* * * * *

Victor Nelson never forgot the hours that followed. Issuing at a fast

trot from the tube-road terminal, the two Heroes led the way to a vast

structure, in which were stabled both the terrific allosauri and the

podokesauri, those swift dinosaurs which seemed to serve the

Atlanteans as horses. The dreadful hiss and snarl of these monsters

resounded in his ears long before the stables came in sight, and that

curious musky odor he had noted in the tunnel was sickeningly strong.

Everywhere he read signs of hurried preparations for war. Savage,

surly allosauri were led from their stables, one by one, long necks

writhing snakelike backwards and forwards. Then their keepers would,

after a moment's tussle, secure huge leather muzzles over their gaping

jaws, and the huge reptiles would be led waddling along on their hind

legs out into a vast courtyard, there to hiss and strike at their

nearest fellows.

"Thinkest thou couldst ride a podoko?" inquired Hero John, an anxious

look on his handsome, friendly features. "They are difficult to

manage--but swift in flight as the birds themselves!"

"I don't know," replied the aviator, "but I'm damn well going to try.

If your Emperor can help me rescue Alden, the sooner we get started,

the better."

For all his brave resolutions, his heart sank, as the green kilted

keeper led forth three podokesauri. Nelson stared curiously at them

as, hopping along, they drew near, to bare needle-sharp teeth at him

while, brazen stirrups on either side jangled softly against their

rough, scaly hides.

In evident high spirits the beasts snuffed the air and pawed with

their tiny front legs excitedly, making their sharp talons glisten

like polished steel. A bridle dangled from the mouth of each and a

ring set in the thick upper lip served as a further means of control.

* * * * *

At a sharp "_Oya_!" from an old and toothless keeper, the first podoko

sank flat to the stone floor like a kneeling camel.

"A sturdy beast," commented Hero Giles, tightening his belt and

securing the clasps to the emerald-green war cloak. "Here, Friend

Nelson, thou hadst best don a helmet; the podokos on occasion throw

back their heads and so might wound thee." So saying, he set foot in

stirrup and swung up into a saddle which was built up high in the

cantle to correct the sharp downward slope of the reptile's muscular

back.

At a signal, Hero Giles' ugly mount rose to its height and shuffled

awkwardly sidewise, as the old keeper, his eyes very wide and curious,

led forward Nelson's charger.

"Look," said Hero John with a reassuring smile. "The chin strap

buckles so--be sure it fits snug, else it will pound on thy head to

the podoko's stride. If thou wouldst turn to the left, pull the rein

so, to the right so, and if thou wouldst stop, pull strongly on the

nose ring; 'tis not so difficult." He laid a friendly hand on Nelson's

flannel clad shoulder. "How wilt thou manage thy curious weapon?" he

inquired doubtfully. "Perhaps thou hadst best leave it behind."

There was a grim smile on Nelson's weary and wind burned features.

"Not on your life, old son! This Winchester and I stick closer

together than the Siamese twins."

Nelson thrust his foot into a heavy stirrup, eased his weight into the

high peaked saddle and gripped the pommel, for though an excellent

horseman, he had no clue as to what motion would ensue. It was wise he

did so, for the podoko reared suddenly, almost flinging his rider from

the saddle.

* * * * *

Immediately Hero John mounted, raised his right hand and dealt his

podoko a stinging slap on the fore-shoulder. The great reptile hissed

in protest, but commenced to walk off with an awkward, hopping step.

Nelson's mount followed suit.

Faster and faster ran the podokos, their long and scale-covered necks

stretched far out ahead while their tails lifted correspondingly, much

like that of an airplane about to take off.

"Whew! He must be doing all of forty-five," gasped Nelson, while the

wind whistled about his ears and snapped madly at the yellow crest of

his brazen helmet.

The ride which ensued remained forever fixed in the aviator's memory.

Like so many shots from a gun the three podokos darted off out of the

stables, past a gate guarded by a battery of retortii, whose red

plumed cannoneers sprang to attention as the three strangely assorted

riders sped out into the amber, perpetual light of Atlans.

Nelson, on finding his balance, looked about him to receive

impressions of immensely tall structures, of pyramids which, like the

ziggurats of Sumaria, and Babylon, were surmounted with beautifully

proportioned temples.

"Must be at least a million people in this burg of Heliopolis,"

thought Nelson, easing his Winchester.

Hour after hour they sped along, frequently overtaking detachments of

troops. Twice they halted to change mounts, though the podokos seemed

quite tireless.

At the end of five hours' furious riding, Nelson beheld a dense white

cloud low on the horizon.

"What's that?" he demanded. "Fog?"

"No," Hero John informed him. "Yonder flows the Apidanus, the boiling

river. Not far away to the left lies the frontier fortress of Cierum,

where is encamped the Emperor, who will sit in judgment upon thee."

Nelson's heart sank. He had been so occupied with his fears for Alden

that he had not dwelt upon his own precarious position.

* * * * *

Scarcely half an hour elapsed, if Nelson's wrist watch were running

correctly, before he reached the tremendous, swarming camp of Altorius

XXII, Emperor of Atlans. Hero Giles proved to be a powerful talisman,

for everywhere officers and men alike saluted respectfully and sank on

one knee as he passed.

"Wait here," he snapped, as the podokos sank obediently to the dust.

"Brother John, do thou guard Friend Nelson while I seek permission of

His Serene Splendor to bring the Wanderer into the Presence."

Almost immediately the elder Atlantean returned, a frown on his

scarred, rather brutal visage. "Come," he muttered, "but I fear for

thee, Friend Nelson; His Splendor is in a savage mood--this raid hath

stirred his ire beyond all bounds."

"Nothing like cheering up a patient before he goes into the operating

room," thought Nelson, and quietly threw off the safety on his

Winchester. "Six shots," he reflected. "Well, if I go, I reckon I'll

take some damn good company along."

The aviator was led down a long passage, at every ten feet of which

was posted an enormous scowling guard, whose spears, retortii and

armor were painted a brilliant jade-green. Then a musical, deep-toned

gong boomed twice, and Hero Giles halted before an exquisitely wrought

door, which, without any apparent propulsion, silently slid back into

the massive stone walls, revealing a huge, brilliantly lit circular

chamber that was hung with emerald-green hangings. In the center,

surrounded by a royal guard of nobles in splendidly jeweled armor, was

reared a dais, upon which stood a throne that blazed with the most

varied collection of diamonds that Nelson could ever have imagined.

"Down on your face," rasped Hero Giles as, in common with his brother,

he knelt and then fell prostrate on the cool black marble floor.

"Damned if I will," murmured Nelson, and remained erect.

* * * * *

Bolt upright, he looked across the interval and found himself staring

into the furious eyes of one of the handsomest men he had ever beheld.

Gripping his Winchester in a kind of "port arms" position, he stood to

attention--by some curious kink of the brain reverting to his military

days. And so the two men, different as day and night, faced each

other. Altorius XXII clad in robes of scarlet, and a glittering

cuirasse that glowed like the evening sun. His yellow head was truly

splendid, reminiscent of that of a young Roman Emperor. The hair, like

that of the Hudsonian Heroes, was blond, curly and close cropped. Yes,

thought the awed but self-contained American, there was something

genuinely imperial about the Emperor's aquiline visage, for a high

intelligent forehead and piercing blue eyes dominated a strong mouth,

which was marred by a decidedly cruel twist at the corners. On him,

also, was set the stamp of Sir Henry Hudson's dauntless race.

"Put him is a business suit and a soft gray hat," mused Nelson, "and

you would find a dozen like him in any of London's best clubs."

"Down on thy face, sirrah!" Outraged, the Emperor's voice rang like

the peal of a brazen trumpet through the great pillared audience

chamber. The nearest guardsmen held themselves ready, hand on sword

hilt.

"No." Nelson's shaggy black head went back as he found his tongue at

last. "No, Your Majesty. In America we have our own way of showing

respect for authority. I'm an American and, with all respect, I'll

salute you as one."

So saying, his hand flicked up in a sharp military salute to the visor

of that Atlantean helmet which he still wore.

"All damn foolishness," he silently told himself. "I feel like the

lead in a ten, twenty, thirty melodrama. But I suppose it's got to be

done."

* * * * *

The Emperor's teeth gleamed in a half snarl as he sprang with Jovian

wrath to his feet.

"Dog! How darest thou bandy words with us?"

"Have mercy!" hoarsely pleaded Hero John as he lay on the floor. "Have

mercy, oh Splendor! He is but an ignorant wanderer from the Ice

World."

It appeared that the young Hero was something of a favorite, for the

masterful, thunder-browed Emperor checked himself and, still

glowering, settled back on the diamond throne.

"Ye have my permission to enter and approach."

Whereupon, Hero Giles arose and, with many black looks at his guest,

strode forward to briefly explain his presence.

Nelson felt Altorius' blazing blue eyes search his face.

"Then he whom the dog-born Jereboam captured was thy friend?"

"Yes," replied Nelson with dignity, "my best friend. Alden and I have

traveled and wandered all over the world together."

"Over the world? The Ice World?" Altorius seemed interested, for he

leaned forward, muscle corded arms very brown against the frosty

brilliance of the stones studding his throne. He flipped back a

scarlet cloak and bent a searching look on the straight, unafraid

figure below.

Impatient to reach a decision, Nelson forebore to amplify the

Emperor's assumption that the outside world was all ice and snow.

"Yes," he said, "from the land of America. I've spoken with Hero

Giles, Your Majesty's Captain-General."

"So, then, no doubt, he has told you of the law of our country?"

Altorius' white teeth shown again in the depths of his short, curling

beard.

"Perhaps." Nelson was vague, wishing no further amplification.

"The law of Atlans," pronounced the Emperor with a frown, "states that

a stranger must prove his worth to the State, else he must be put to

death. Thank thou thy gods that thou hast not fallen into the hands of

the Lost Tribes, for assuredly thou would perish miserably, as must

thy comrade."

* * * * *

"What is the law of Jarmuth?" inquired Nelson, his mind furiously at

work.

"Their law states that the stranger within their gates must perish on

the altar of Beelzebub, Jarmuth's blood-hungry demon god." A momentary

expression of sadness crept into the Emperor's blue eyes and he beat a

square, powerful hand on the arm of his throne. "Aye, blood-hungry!

Lack-a-day! But yesterday, six of our fairest maidens crossed the

boiling river, never to return."

Nelson was about to speak when from outside came the blast of a

trumpet. The assembled Atlanteans started, paused, and remained

silent, listening intently.

Hero Giles looked up, a light kindling in his deep-set eyes. "Yon was

an Israelite trumpet."

As the words left his lips there came a hurried rapping at the portal,

whereupon the guards sprang forward.

"Bid them enter." Altorius seemed strangely tense and uneasy.

Quietly the door rolled back as before, revealing an Atlantean whose

eyes rolled with alarm. He hurried forward and flung himself on the

floor at the Emperor's sandaled feet.

"Harken, oh Serene Splendor! Waiting without is an embassy from his

Majesty of Jarmuth. They bear words for thine Imperial Highness."

"Now, by Saturn! Here's insolence--at an hour such as this!" With a

furious swirl of his scarlet cloak Altorius leaped to his feet, hand

on the ivory handle of his sword, which, to Nelson's amusement was not

of bronze, but of good, blue-gray steel.

"I'll bet it's old Sir Henry's original pet sticker," he thought.

"Bring on these dogs of Israel," growled Altorius. "They shall die!"

"Gently, gently, oh Splendor," murmured Hero John. "Our full force is

not yet camped on the Plains of Poseidon."

"Nay! Have the rogues flayed alive!" was the advice of the hot-headed

elder brother. He, like the Emperor, was scowling and livid with fury.

* * * * *

Presently there appeared four men, stalwart warriors as totally

different in aspect from the Atlanteans as humans might be. The two

races were alike only in splendid physical proportions and human

figures. They, the Jarmuthians, were black haired and dark skinned,

whereas the Atlanteans, with the exception of Sir Henry's progeny,

were red headed. Truculently the half naked ambassadors strode over

the polished floor, which reflected their rude images. Their hairy

chests, arms and legs afforded a sharp contrast to the neat Atlantean

nobles, who drew back with expressions of disgust.

"Good God!" gasped Nelson in lively surprise. "A bunch of the boys

from Seventh Avenue!"

It was true: each Jarmuthian clearly betrayed his Hebraic origin in

huge, fleshy nose and pendulous lower lip, so characteristic of the

Semitic race. They were fierce, shaggy fellows, naked from the waist

up save for a kind of jointed body armor, reminiscent of a Roman

legionnaire's. Their long abundant blue-black hair was either plaited

or flowed uncut over splendidly muscled shoulders. Their beards on the

other hand were short and frizzed into tight curls, in the Assyrian

manner. On each man's head was set a highly polished, pointed casque

of copper, surmounted in each instance by the six-pointed star of

Solomon. Otherwise the brutal looking emissaries wore nothing but

dirty, food-spotted kilts and rough hide sandals secured by thongs.

* * * * *

With all the insolence and self assurance of conquerors in the

presence of slaves the four jet-eyed ambassadors swaggered up to the

diamond throne. Then the foremost briefly inclined his head towards

Altorius in a grudging salute and began to speak in deep, resonant

tones.

From that point Nelson could understand nothing of the conversation as

it was carried on in the guttural and unintelligible language of that

lost realm, but, from time to time Hero John found opportunity to

translate an occasional phrase.

Darker and darker grew the brows of the gorgeously attired Emperor and

his eagle-visaged Captain-General as they listened to the pompous

oratory of the foremost Jarmuthian, and in dark fury more than one

Atlantean noble half drew his sword when the speaker fell silent at

last.

"He said," the younger Atlantean whispered, "that Jereboam is no

longer satisfied with six maidens. Beelzebub demands a further

offering of six more damsels to be delivered before the third division

of time on the morrow. By Saturn! The insolence of these besotted

swine passes all tolerance!"

From the Atlantean Emperor's outraged negative gestures, Nelson

surmised that Altorius was making an emphatic refusal and even adding

some vicious threat. The foremost Jarmuthian slapped huge dirty hands

on armored hips and fell to laughing with an insolence that would have

provoked a rabbit.

* * * * *

Forgetting dignity and self-control, Altorius, in a single tigerish

leap sprang from his throne and knocked the mocker senseless with a

powerful blow to the jaw. Then, spurning the fallen Jarmuthian with a

sandaled foot, the Atlantean fixed blazing eyes upon the three other

ambassadors who, nothing daunted, closed up, muttering savagely in

their frizzed black beards, while their hands sought the spot where

swords would normally have hung.

"Nice right to the jaw," commented Nelson with a grin. "He's still

English enough to use his fists." He turned to Hero John, who stood

with an expression of horror on his comely features. "What caused the

row?"

"Verily, our plight is grave indeed. That braggart dog threatened to

march on Heliopolis in the first division of morning, and,"--Hero

John's lips compressed into a hopeless, taut expression--"our

reinforcing phalanxes can never arrive in time to defend Cierum at

that hour. Should the defense fail, as it must--since they outnumber

us three to one for the nonce--it would cost us many thousands of men

to stay the blood-hungry hordes of Jereboam once freed on the great

plain."

Like a star shell bursting on a cloudy night came the inception of an

idea.

"Here," cried Nelson, "I've an idea! Maybe I can fix a stall until the

rest of your boys do a General Phil Sheridan and get here."

Hero John's blue eyes widened uncomprehendingly. "What?" he demanded.

"What dost thou propose?"

* * * * *

Nelson's hand crept to his head, for the unaccustomed weight and heat

of the helmet made it itch. "You say these bright boys from over the

border want to chow six more girls? Am I right?"

"Yea, oh Friend Nelson, they demand the victims to-morrow morn, else

they advance."

"All right." Nelson was thinking fast now, a dreadful vision of

Richard Alden stretched for sacrifice on the brass altar of Beelzebub

ever floating before his aching eyes. "Tell those Semites that they

can have those six girls _if_ they can take them away from me."

A puzzled frown creased the younger Hero's brow and he tugged

thoughtfully at his scant yellow beard. "Prithee pardon me, but I do

not comprehend."

"All right, get this now! Tell the Jarmuthians that they can send six

of their biggest and best scrappers, one for each girl. If they can

take any one of those girls away from me, they take them all--taking

me as well--and we'll all get the works in Jezreel together. But, on

the other hand, if I kill their six champions, then Alden is returned

unharmed, the six girls come home and the six other girls come back

too--and there'll be no more hostages. I don't think they'll agree to

or even consider surrendering Your Princess, Altara. I'm sorry I can't

accomplish that, too. But if I can stop this annual tribute, it won't

be so bad, will it?"

* * * * *

Rounder and rounder grew the Atlantean's eyes, and he gaped like a

school boy in a side show.

"What sayest thou? Thou alone to overcome six of their best warriors?

Nay, but this is folly! Moonshine! What knowest thou of their

weapons?"

"Nothing," admitted Nelson, "but I do know Brother Winchester here."

He patted the smooth stock. "He's mighty persuasive, properly

handled."

"But they are armored! They have the fungus bombs, the light retortii

and the javelin!"

"Righto!" agreed Nelson a trifle carelessly, "but you don't know what

this old boy can do when he's put to it. Well?"

"By Saturn!" An uncertain ring crept into the Atlantean Prince's

voice. "A moment, while I address His Splendor."

"I'm a fool, a damn fool!" thought Nelson. "Still, it's Alden's only

chance--unless the Jarmuthians've got some trick I'm not on to, I

ought to stand a fighting chance." Meanwhile Emperor and

Captain-General drew to one side, listening to Hero John's impassioned

oratory. That the idea met with disapproval, Nelson quietly recognized

from the incredulous, even contemptuous, glances Altorius shot at him.

Leaving the four sneering Jarmuthians under guard of the nobles, the

Emperor came striding impatiently over the inlaid floor.

"What madness is this?" he demanded harshly. "Dost thou realize what

would hang upon thy skill? If thou shouldst fail, our annual hostage

for the divine Altara would be twelve instead of six of our maidens.

Further, the dog-conceived Jereboam would wax unbearably overweening

and insolent. Nay, there is too much at hazard! Though outnumbered we

will give battle in the morning."

"Yes?" demanded Nelson, in turn impatient. "A fine chance you'd stand!

Why, less than half of your army is here at Cerium and Hero John tells

me that the enemy have massed their entire forces on the salient of

Poseidon. Isn't that so?"

* * * * *

Altorius' handsome brow darkened. "Aye," he admitted, "but our

reinforcing corps will come up before the third hour of the third

division."

Here Hero Giles broke in and, speaking with the quick, impassioned

tones of one whose reactions are violent, pled for confidence in the

American. "Nay, fair cousin," he replied, casting a sidewise look at

the Jarmuthians standing in muttered colloquy with their leader, who

had now gotten to his feet and was angrily dabbing the blood from his

chin with the hem of his yellow kiltlike garment. "I saw with mine own

eyes what miracles Friend Nelson doth perform with his curious

noise-making retortii. If Jereboam falls upon us ere our regiments are

marshaled, then, verily, are we doomed. We have no choice but to play

for time. Harken to the counsel of Hero John! Methinks this stranger

from the Ice World is no braggart. He will fight well. If he loses he

dies horribly--that he knows. The thought will strengthen his arms,

and if he wins--!"

Then broke in Nelson firmly. "If I win I must have the word of Your

Majesty that Alden and I are to be afforded all help and free passage

to that place where your soldiers captured my friend. It that

understood?"

Altorius' blue eyes shifted and there was a slight hesitation in his

manner. Then, coming to a decision, he whirled and extended his hand.

"Good, 'tis agreed," he said. "On my head be it. Have patience while

Hero Giles confers with these outlandish dogs."

It was with intense interest that the anxious aviator watched the

ensuing conference. He could see the four Jarmuthians listening, dark

eyes restlessly flitting back and forth, and their mouths twisted into

contemptuous half snarls. Then, as Nelson's offer was made clear, a

look of cunning seemed to creep into the eyes of the leader. He asked

for clarification of several points, then, being informed of the

details, his thick lips parted in an evil, crafty grin.

* * * * *

Taken aback at the suspiciously ready acquiescence of the enemy, Hero

Giles turned about. "They agree," he translated, "that, should Friend

Nelson win, they will return to their own land, they will forfeit the

annual tribute forever and return the other stranger unharmed. They

speak fair, but I fear--" He bit his lips in perplexity. "These dogs,

who talk with the forked tongues of serpents, plan some snare, some

cunning trickery."

"Repeat the terms." Altorius seemed gripped with apprehension too.

"Let all be clearly understood: at the third division of morning will

the wanderer fight six warriors. No more and no less."

This was agreed and reaffirmed. Then, with an insolent, triumphant

laugh, the Jarmuthian delegation whirled about and stalked from the

room, their dark greaved legs flashing in military unison over the

polished floor.

"'Tis done," quoth Hero Giles gloomily. "The encounter will take place

on the plain of Gilboa at the third hour of the third division. And

may Saturn help us if thy might fails. Friend Nelson! For then surely

will the hordes of Jarmuth despoil us and there will come a desolation

and a darkness upon the Empire of Atlans."

CHAPTER V

It seemed incredibly soon that Victor Nelson found himself striding

out from the serrated ranks of the Atlantean army which, drawn up in a

rough diamond formation, looked discouragingly small in comparison to

that vast sea of helmets twinkling ominously across the plain of

Poseidon amid a haze of bright yellow dust which climbed lazily into

the breathless heavens. The Jarmuthian army, numbering perhaps sixty

or seventy thousand effective troops, lay encamped in a great salient

formed by a convolution of the Apidanus and formed the only Jarmuthian

tract of the great valley lying south of the boiling river.

Like low-lying snow drifts, the sheen of the enemy tents struck

Nelson's eye as he strode over the bright green turf to battle for

Richard Alden's life.

"There was something back of those nasty grins of the ambassadors," he

reflected. "I wonder what deviltry they're cooking up?"

He glanced at a stalwart Atlantean herald who, nervous in the extreme,

clutched his brazen, dolphin-shaped horn and followed in the

American's wake together with a sad little company. Weeping, moaning

and dressed in plain black robes marched six really lovely girls--they

who would perish on Beelzebub's altar if Nelson failed. Bitter were

the looks of the guards as they secured the hands of the victims and

many the hopeful look cast at the impassive American when they turned

back, leaving the helpless girls to their fate.

The ground where the one-sided duel was to take place was marked off

by means of little yellow flags on a level plain perhaps a quarter of

a mile long and wide. Arriving on the nearest border Nelson briefly

motioned the herald to halt.

"Might as well start shooting at the best range possible, and beat

their steam throwers," he decided. "Wish to the devil I'd a few more

cartridges. Only thirteen shots between me and Beelzeebub's altar in

Jezreel, so I'd better not miss. All right, son, toot your horn."

* * * * *

With his thumb be gestured the command, whereupon the Atlantean nodded

eagerly and, filling his chest, set horn to lips to blow a long,

strident note that rang harshly, boldly out over the great plain.

While the note of the challenge rang out, Nelson's eyes turned back to

regard the Atlantean array and detected, far in the rear, a huge

pillar of dust which must mark the progress of the Atlantean

reinforcements. Would they arrive at Cierum in time? Then his eyes

sought that spot where Altorius and his staff sat anxiously on their

podokos, watching intently the impending struggle. Very clearly the

flash of their armor came to him.

"I guess, like the girls back there, they're kind of nervous and

jumpy," thought Nelson. "Well, I don't blame them. I've had quieter

moments myself."

Having blown three blasts, the Atlantean herald saluted; then, with

disconcerting haste, made his way back to the ranks of his fellows

some two hundred yards away.

From the Jarmuthian army came an answering blast. Nelson cast a last

look on the Atlantean army, breathlessly awaiting the impending duel.

There was the allosauri corps on the far left; he could see the

chimeric monsters' long, repulsive necks writhing endlessly back and

forth through the air as they squealed and tugged strongly at their

restraining chains. On the right were stationed perhaps ten thousand

podokesons, their slender, yellow-shafted lances swaying like a

sapling forest in the distance. In the center were eleven thousand

protection infantry, green-crested and armed with compact tanks of

blue-maxima vapor, fungus bombs and swords. Behind them, and

corresponding to heavy infantry, were ranged some twenty thousand

blue-plumed hoplites, eagerly fingering the brazen hoses of their

death dealing portable retortii.

* * * * *

Nelson had no time to further study the array, for he whirled about as

from the Atlantean army arose a deep, horrified shout. He stood

paralyzed, his jaw slack. For there, waddling slowly forward, came the

most fantastic huge creature imaginable. Unspeakably repellent and

horrible, it stood on short legs thick as mature trees, to tower at

least thirty-five feet above the ground at the fore-shoulders! An

immense reptilian neck some twenty-five feet long weaved continuously

back and forth, while a surprisingly small, bullet-shaped head emitted

rumbling grunts.

"Great God!" gasped the horrified aviator, and felt the ground sway

under him. "It must be ninety feet long!"

Paralyzed by a dreadful fascination he watched the ungainly, hill-like

reptile shuffle ponderously forward and realized that, high on its

back, was fixed a small fort, rather like those howdahs or boxes which

are fastened to the backs of elephants. Chilled with the nearness of

death, Nelson counted six mail-clad warriors in the howdah. Then the

true import of the Jarmuthians evil jest struck him with full force.

"Six men, they said. And six men there are--but the treacherous devils

mounted them on that walking hill-side! Guess Altorius can kiss his

six girls good-by right now. Poor Alden! Well, I did my best--a rotten

trick."

* * * * *

At that moment he felt as an ant must feel on beholding the approach

of a human. It was terrifying, the inexorable advance of that

colossal, fantastic monster. From behind he could hear the infuriated

shouts of the Atlantean army. They knew even he could not hope to

withstand the murderous onslaught of the beast now entering the

duelling space.

On came the diplodocus, its vast warty tail trailing over the ground

and raising a heavy column of dust, while its mud smeared sides bore

out Hero Giles' statement that here was one of those semi-aquatic

titans from the steaming swamps of Jarmuth.

"Hell! Poor Alden's as good as finished now! What a fool I was to

think I could save him!"

Obedient to an overwhelming fear, Nelson whirled to flee, then

stopped, as, from the depths of his being, a stronger power forbade

him to desert his friend to certain death.

"Range two hundred and fifty yards," he estimated, and, whipping up

the Winchester, sighted full at the ponderous creature's slimy

snakelike head. When the recoil jarred his shoulder, Nelson dropped

the barrel an inch or so to watch. Nothing happened. The great beast

was advancing as before, its incredibly long neck weaving steadily

back and forth as though to sniff the air.

"Hell!"

Struck by a sudden thought, he snatched a cartridge from his pocket

and, with that strength which comes to men in their hour of mortal

peril, wrenched out the metal-jacketed bullet, to reinsert it

backwards into the brass cartridge case.

Meanwhile the vast brute had drawn nearer, crushing flat a young oak

in its path as easily as though it had been a wheat stalk.

"Maybe this dum-dum will do some good," panted Nelson. "If it doesn't,

nothing will stop it!"

* * * * *

Again he sighted until, finding those small, orange red eyes in line

with his sight, he fired. This time the gray-brown monster uttered a

titantic bellow of rage, halted, and began shaking its clumsy blunt

head.

"Hit it, by God!" exulted Nelson, and seized the momentary respite to

slip two fresh cartridges into the Winchester's magazine.

But, to his inexpressible dismay, the monster presently resumed its

ponderous progress while the Jarmuthians in the howdah uttered

taunting yells that reached him faintly, while the sun flares glinted

on their brandished swords and lances. One of them plucked a fungus

grenade from his belt and flung it with all his might in Nelson's

direction. The missile fell to the earth far short of its destination

and seemed to break rather than explode, at the same time expelling

that deadly, greenish-yellow vapor which, blown away by a strong wind,

fortunately came nowhere near the doomed aviator.

"Oh! You will?"

Nelson sighted swiftly at the grenade-thrower and fired, whereupon the

Jarmuthian, some hundred and fifty yards distant, spun crazily about,

flung both arms towards the amber-yellow sky and toppled from the

howdah, for all the world like a diver in quest of pearls.

From both breathless armies rose a terrific shout. Accustomed as they

were to the visible destruction of the retortii, this noisy yet

invisible death was appalling.

But Nelson's agonized attention was not on the assembled armies, for

nearer came the mountainous diplodocus, its lumbering strides making

the howdah sway like a ship in a gale and preventing use of the

portable retortii.

* * * * *

Nelson planted both feet, took fresh grip on his waning courage and

shot again, this time aiming at a gigantic, black bearded warrior who

seemed to be training one of those portable retortii upon him.

Again the Winchester cracked and this time the black bearded man sank

from sight back into the howdah, while his companions, uttering

vengeful shouts, tossed more fungus bombs at the lone heroic figure

barring their progress towards the six bound and shrieking maidens.

Towering thrice as high as the largest African elephant, the

diplodocus was now but seventy-five yards away. He had hit it, that

Nelson could tell, for a large shower of blood sprayed from the

monster's neck. Then, uttering a despairing curse, he sent a shot

smacking squarely into the left shoulder, at the base of that mastlike

neck with fervent hope of finding the heart. But the heavy bullet

bothered the cyclopean reptile no more than a sting of a mosquito.

On, on it came. In another minute it must stamp out Victor Nelson's

life beneath feet as large as hogsheads.

"Damn!"

Nelson snapped the ejector lever, throwing out the spent cartridge.

"No use," he whispered, "can't faze that hill of meat! But I might as

well kill all of those bloody cannibals I can."

With amazing speed and accuracy he picked off two of the remaining

Jarmuthians, whose shining, bronze armor could nowise withstand the

wicked impact of modern nickel-jacketed bullets. One of the stricken

men for a moment dangled with the last of his strength from one of the

chains securing the howdah to the enormous creature's back, then

tumbled heavily some forty feet to the earth.

Only two shots more in the magazine--! Nelson suddenly found himself

very cool. "Two shots and then--"

He was conscious of that great, snakelike head darting viciously in

his direction. A huge, slobbering mouth, studded with teeth a foot

long, yawned redly before him like a nightmare incarnate, blotting out

consciousness of all else. Then Victor Nelson, fighting to control his

strumming nerves, deliberately sighted into a great, orange colored

eye, saw the narrow black iris over the Winchester's front sight and

knew the huge warty head was not ten feet away.

* * * * *

He pressed the trigger and never heard the report, but felt the blast

of a furnace-hot breath in his face--a breath that stank like the foul

reek of burning rubber.

With a detached sense of surprise he saw the eye miraculously and

dreadfully disintegrate; then, as the bitter smell of burned cordite

stung his nostrils, he sprang violently sidewise to find himself

staring up at the howdah, now towering at least forty feet above.

The next few moments were indescribable. Horrible roars and bellows,

loud as those of a thousand angered bulls, shattered the air. The

diplodocus halted, stunned by pain and the partial loss of eyesight;

then, its infinitesimal brain becoming gripped with fear, it plunged

and lumbered sidewise, nearly shaking the warriors from the howdah,

where they clung for dear life. Nelson was barely able to avoid the

sweep of the powerful tail as the diplodocus wheeled about on hind

legs, reeled and started blindly back towards the Jarmuthian ranks.

Suddenly it stood stock still, shaking with super-elephantine motions.

Then, for all the world like a balky mule, it sank to the earth and

cowered there, despite the frantic efforts of the surviving

Jarmuthians to stir it to obedience.

By the strong amber light of the sun flare Nelson had a vision of the

last two warriors swinging in apelike agility to the ground. They were

giants, those two men of Jarmuth, and their conical helmets added

additional stature. One of them, shouting an unintelligible taunt,

reached for his belt to snatch out a fungus bomb, but Nelson, dropping

on one knee, sent a bullet crashing between the Jarmuthian's scowling

eyes. Even as he fell, the last of the six champions unwisely ignored

his retortii and frantically sprang forward, razor-edged sword

upraised.

Nelson frantically worked the ejector lever but only an empty click

resulted! His heart sank. "Hell! the magazine's empty!"

* * * * *

He had just time to swing the Winchester about and grasp its barrel as

the Jarmuthian, with a loud shout, sprang in, slashing viciously at

Nelson's unprotected neck. Using the clubbed rifle like a baseball

bat, the American struck out with the strength of despair. There came

a resonant clang as blade and barrel encountered each other. Steel is

ever stronger than bronze, so Nelson had the satisfaction of seeing

the Jarmuthian's sword blade break squarely in two near the hilt.

Horrified, the black bearded warrior glanced at the empty hilt in his

hand but, courageous to the end, sprang in like a tiger to grapple

with that small, agile man in khaki and serge.

"You would--eh?" gasped Nelson.

Putting all his strength behind a blow he whirled up the heavy

Winchester, struck out and felt the solid walnut stock smash fair and

square on the conical helmet. Like an eggshell the bronze helm broke

and the six-pointed star above went spinning off into the dust. As a

tree sways before it falls beneath a forester's ax, so the dark

Jarmuthian giant tottered, while the wide dusty plain of Poseidon

echoed with a rumbling, incredulous shout.

"There," choked Nelson, incredulous to be still alive, "I guess

that'll be about all for to-day."

But he was wrong. From the ranks of Jarmuth rose a terrible, ominous

cry and at the same time there broke out the sibilant hiss of a

thousand retortii. From the Atlantean army came an answering yell and

Nelson turned to race back to the shelter of Altorius' body-guard,

pausing but to arouse the terrified hostages. Swiftly he cast loose

their bonds and pointed to the nearest detachment of Atlanteans.

Sobbing with joy the six girls fled for dear life just as the first of

the allosauri went racing over the plains. Screaming, all-powerful and

uncanny war dogs, they bounded grotesquely high in the air, plunging

straight towards the Jarmuthian ranks which greeted them with a

searing, billowing blast of their retortii. Though dozens of the

terrible creatures fell kicking and writhing beneath the scalding

discharge of the retortii, the main body, perhaps forty or fifty in

number, sprang like rending fiends into the dense packed masses of

Jarmuthian infantry.

* * * * *

Of the ensuing battle, Nelson had but the most confused recollections.

The dominating impression was that the fray was awesome, horrible

beyond power of description. He recalled feeding the five remaining

cartridges into the magazine, then clapping on an Atlantean noble's

helmet. With Hero John at his side he joined in an furious headlong

charge of the podoko corps.

Like a vast glittering wedge the gallant Atlantean lancers advanced

under shelter of the blue maxima vapor which, discharged by the

protectons or light infantry, dispelled the scalding steam clouds

launched from the Jarmuthian portable retortii.