the image, or goddess, with his sword. He realized that the weapon would shatter with the first blow struck against the adamantine ribs; steel was worthless before whatever, element formed the living figure. Perhaps, he thought, when the thing fully recovered its powers it would be more susceptible to the influence of cold steel. There was a light in the mercenary's eyes not unlike the gleam in the baleful yellow pupils above him, except that his reflected rage and not cruelty.
Muttering an imprecation, he thrust his sword at a forepaw. The limb trembled, moved, lifted a full foot above the surface of the sand, and fell back limply. It scattered particles over their sandaled feet.
Hess was slowly coming to life!
Thwaine and Ating stood in frozen attitudes, fearful of their fates and watching Rald as he so carelessly prodded the recumbent monster. He turned toward them, still keeping a wary eye on the living mass of stone, and advised: "Suppose we place a little distance between this thing and us; I have an idea it would be safer. There seems to be no escape from the pit, and my blade is worthless against this solid hide; so let us play the defensive; perhaps Hess will more readily feel steel when she has fully awakened."
"Soundly reasoned!" declared Thwaine.
The three retreated toward the edge of the arena. They had almost regained the partial security of the shadows when the spectators above uttered low cries. Rald sensed the reason immediately and whirled in his tracks; Hess had arisen and, cat-fashion, was stretching the muscles of her back. Against the splendor of the full moon her powerful body was an impressive and terrifying sight; for the mammoth portions of her bulk, combined within the sleek, graceful, undulative physique, appeared as a masterpiece formed by some unknown god in a mad mood of creation. Rald was suddenly aware of his own smallness before this creature who was not of the earth nor of the clay from which he himself was molded.
"Take the left," he advised Thwaine. "I'll turn to the right. Whichever way the beast attacks, the man opposite can engage her from behind." In spite of the seriousness of their plight Rald could not still his laughter; it rang rich and strong to astonished ears above. "I have never pricked a goddess in the rear; I assure you it will afford me immense satisfaction!"
They separated, Thwaine and Ating scurrying to the left; Rald, calm once more as he surveyed the face of Death, striding to the right. On the edge of the black shadow cast by the sheer wall he paused to gaze upward. Somewhere in the throng above was Cene, who had tried to save them from death; somewhere, too, was Throal, who had condemned them. He intended to settle with both.
The monster was still stretching. Something in its poise hinted that the interlude of exercise was about over; so his voice became urgent when he cried: "Cene, are you there?"
He was rewarded by the sight of the queen's face, illuminated by torchlight as it was thrust over the edge of the pit. "Rald!" There was a note in her voice that caused his heart to leap. "Swords are useless! Take this!"
A burning iron wood brand fell, or was cast, handle downward so that its end was buried in the sand while the flare continued undiminished. It landed but a few feet from the mercenary.
