seaward windows, with Golden Wings sleeping in his arms, Khal Kan also slept—
Henry Stevens brooded as he sat
waiting in the office of the psychoanalyst, the next afternoon. Things couldn't go on this way! He'd been reprimanded twice this day by Carson for neglect of his work.
Since he'd awakened this morning, the danger to Jotan had been obsessing his thoughts.
It was queer, but he had had more time to reflect upon the peril than had Khal Kan himself in the dream.
"You can go in now, Mr. Stevens," smiled the receptionist.
Doctor Thorn's alert young eyes caught the haggardness of Henry's face but he was casual as he pushed cigarettes across the desk.
"You had the same dream last night?" he asked Henry.
Henry Stevens nodded. "Yes, and things are getting worse—over there in Thar. The Bunts have taken Galoon in some way, and Egir must be planning to lead them on against Jotan."
"Egir?" questioned the psychoanalyst.
Henry explained. "Egir was my—I mean Khal Kan's—uncle, the younger brother of Kan Abul. He's a renegade to Jotan. He fled from there about—let's see, about four Thar years ago, after Kan Abul discovered his plot to usurp the throne. Since then, he's been conspiring with the Bunts."
Henry took a pencil and drew a little map on a sheet of paper. It showed a curving, crescent-like coast.
"This is the Zambrian Sea," he explained. "On the north of this indented gulf is Jotan, my city—I mean, Khal Kan's city. Away to the south here across the gulf is Buntland, where the barbarian green men live. On the coast between Buntland and Jotan are the independent city of Kaubos and the southernmost Jotanian city of Galoon.
"When my uncle Egir fled to the Bunts," Henry went on earnestly, "he stirred them up to attack Kaubos, which they captured. We've been planning an expedition to drive them out of there. Five days ago I rode over the Dragal Mountains with two comrades to reconnoiter a possible route by which we could make a surprise march south. But now the Bunts are moving north and have sacked Galoon. There's a big battle coming—"
Henry paused embarrassedly. He had suddenly awakened from his intense interest in exposition to become aware that Doctor Thorn was not looking at the map, but at his face.
"I know it all sounds crazy, to talk about a dream this way," Henry mumbled. "But I can't help worrying about Jotan. You see, if it turned out that Thar was real and that this was the dream—"
He broke off again, and then finished with an earnest plea. "That's why I must know which is real—Thar or Earth, Khal Kan or myself!"
Doctor Thorn considered gravely. The young psychiatrist did not ridicule Henry's bafflement, as he had half expected.
"Look at it from my point of view," Thorn proposed. "You think it's possible that I may be only a figment in a world dreamed by Khal Kan each night. But I know that I'm real, though I can't very well prove it."
"That's it," Henry murmured discouragedly. "People always take for granted that this world is real—they never even imagine that it may be just a dream. But none of them could prove that it isn't a dream."
"But suppose you could prove that Thar is a dream?" Thorn pursued. "Then you'd know that this must be the real existence."
Henry considered. "That's true. But how can I do that?"
