pure white beard. The eyes, black as polished jet, flamed now with the glare of baleful fires.
As Naida, stealing close to Kirby, trembled, and even the abased caciques trembled, Kirby himself felt as if icy water was trickling over him.
He fought the sensation off. For suddenly he knew that in spite of first impressions which made the man seem a living god, the old Duca was human. And what was more, he was in the wrong. All of which being true, the thing to do was keep a level head and fight.
ALL at once Kirby spoke across the silence in the great room.
"I have sent for you," he said, weighing words carefully.
"And I,"—the Duca's voice was mellow and deep—"have come. But I am not here because you summoned me."
"Oh!" Kirby let sarcasm edge his words. "Well, I won't quibble about your motives for coming. Did my messenger tell you why we are here and demand your presence?"
"Your messenger," the old man said calmly, "told me."
"Very well. Do you consent to listen to Naida's and my terms? If you will listen—"
"But wait a moment," the Duca interrupted, still calmly, but with a look in his eyes which Kirby did not like. "Are you asking me, to my face, whether I will listen to terms which you offer as self-styled victor of a battle with my caciques?"
Kirby nodded. His apprehension increased.
"Ah," said the Duca softly. And then, amazingly, a smile deepened every wrinkle of his parchment face. "But do you not remember that I said I had not come here because you summoned me?"
"Yes," Kirby said solidly. "I remember very well."
"The thing which brought me here was the failure of my followers to accomplish an assignment which I had given them—namely, that of ending your life."
"Hum." Kirby scratched behind his ear. "You are not interested in arranging terms of peace, then."
"I am here,"—suddenly the Duca's voice filled the room—"to do that which my priests were unable to do. And the moment has come when the Gods will no longer trifle with you. You dog! You thieving intruder! You—"
Swiftly the Duca plunged one withered but still powerful hand into the folds of his robe above the flaming girdle. Then his hand flashed out, and in it he held—
BUT Kirby did not get to see.
A strangled cry of terror smote his ears. Naida leaped toward him from one side, while Elana, the lovely youngest girl, sprang from another direction, hurled Naida aside, and stopped in front of Kirby.
Through the glaring room flickered a tiny red serpentine creature which the Duca hurled from a crystalline tube in his hand. As the minute snake struck Elana's breast, she gave a choked cough, and then, as she half turned to smile at both Naida and Kirby over her shoulder, her eyes went blank, and she collapsed gently to the polished stones of the floor—dead.
A second later came squirming out from under her the ghastly, glimmering little snake which had struck.
Slowly, while every mortal in the room stood paralyzed, Kirby stepped forward and set his heel upon the writhing thing. When he raised his boot, the snake was only a blotch on the floor.
The Duca was standing as still as girls and caciques. The laughter with which he had started to greet what he had thought would be Kirby's extermination had faded to a look of wonder—and fear. He was an easy mark.
Up to him Kirby rolled, and with all the force of soul and muscular body, drove his fist into the Duca's face.
