While two men-at-arms continued to hold me, another undid the bonds on my wrists. Three men-at-arms, with crossbows, stood ready, the weapons trained on my back. ~ "If I succeed in slaying or escaping the monster in the pool," I said, casually, "I take it that I am then, of course, free. , "That is only fair," said Saphrar.

"Good," I said.

The Paravaci, in the hood, threw back his head and laughed. The crossbowmen also smiled.

"None has, of course," said Saphrar, "ever succeeded in doing either."

"I see," I said.

I now looked across the surface of the pool. Its appear- ance was now truly remarkable. It was almost as if it were lower in the center and the edges higher near the marble basin, inching as high as they could toward our sandals. I took it that this was an optical illusion of some sort. The pool was now, it seemed, literally coruscating, glistening with a brilliance of hues that was phenomenal, almost like hands lifting and spilling gems in sunlit water. The filamentous strands seemed to go mad with movement and the spheres of various colors were almost phosphorescent, pulsating beneath the surface. The steam rhythm was now swift, and the gases or fumes mixed with that moisture, noxious. It was almost as though the pool itself respired.

"Enter the pool," commanded Saphrar.

Feet first, quiva in hand, I plunged into the yellow fluid. To my surprise the pool, at least near the edge, was not deep. I stood in the fluid only to my knees. I took a few more steps out into the pool. It became deeper toward the center. About a third of the way toward the center I was entered into the pool to my waist.

I looked about, searching for whatever it was that would attack me. It was difficult to look into the fluid because of the yellow, the glistening brilliance of the surface troubled by my passage.

I noted that the steam, and gas or fumes, no longer rose from the pool. It was quiet.

The filamentous threads did not approach me, but now seemed quiet, almost as if content. The spheres, too, seemed quiescent. Some of them, mostly whitish, luminescent ones, had seemed to float nearer, and hovered slightly beneath the surface, in a ring about me, some ten feet away. I took a step towards the ring and the spheres, doubtless moved by the fluids displaced in my step, seemed to slowly disperse and move away. The yellow of the pool's fluid, though rich, no longer seemed to leap and startle me with its vibrance. I waited for the attack of the monster.

I stood so, in the fluid to my waist, for perhaps two or three minutes.

Then, angrily, thinking perhaps the pool was empty, or had been made fool of, I cried out to Saphrar. "When is it that I meet the monster?" Over the surface I heard Saphrar, standing behind the wooden shield, laugh. "You have met it," he said. "You lie!" I cried.

"No," he responded, amused, "you have met it."

"What is the monster?" I cried.

"The pool!" he shouted.

"The pool?" I asked.

"Yes," said Saphrar, gleefully. "It is alive!"

At the very instant that Saphrar had called out there was a great blast of steam and fumes that seemed to explode from the fluid about me as though the monster in which I found myself had now, its prey satisfactorily entrapped, dared to respire and, at the same time, I felt the yellow fluid about my body begin to thicken and yell. I cried out suddenly in alarm horrified at my predicament and struggled to turn back and wade to the edge of the marbled-basin that was the cage of the thing in which I was, but the fluid, tightening about me, DOW seemed to have the consistency of a rich yellow, hot mud and then, by the time I had reached a level where it rose to a point midway between my knees and waist the fluid had become as resistant as wet, yellow cement and I could move no further. My legs began to tingle and sting, and I could feel the skin beginning to be etched and picked by the corrosive elements now attacking them.

I heard Saphrar remark, "It sometimes takes hours to be fully digested."

Wildly, with the useless quiva, I began to slash and pick at the damp, thick stud about me. The blade would sink in fully, as though in a tub of wet cement, leaving a mark, but when it was withdrawn the mark would be erased by the material flowing in to fill the aperture "Some men," said Saphrar, "those who do not struggle have lived for as much as three hours long enough in some cases to see, I saw one of the vines hanging near me. My heart leaped wildly at this chance. If I could but reach it! With all my strength I moved towards it an inch and then another inch my fingers stretched, my arms and back aching, until in another inch I might have grasped it and then, to my horror, as I reached in agony for the vine, it rustled and lifted itself just beyond my reach. I moved toward it again, and again it did this. I howled with rage. I was going to try again when I saw the slave I had noticed earlier watching me, his hands on certain of the levers in the panel on the curving wall. I stood in the coagulating, tightening fluid, held fast a prisoner, and threw back my head in despair. He had, of course, controlled the movement of the vine from the panel, undoubtedly by wires.

"Yes, Tarl Cabot," wheezed Saphrar, giggling, "and yet you will, in an hour or so, when you are mad with pain and fear, try yet again and again to touch and grasp a vine, knowing that you will not succeed but yet again and again trying, believing that once somehow you will be successful. But you will not!" Saphrar now giggled uncontrollably. "I have even seen them reach for vines a spear's length above their head and think they could reach them!" Saphrar's two golden teeth, like yellow fangs, showed as he put back his head and howled with pleasure, his fat little hands pounding on the wood of the shield.

The quiva had turned itself in my hand and my arm flew back, that I might take with me in my death the tormentor, Saphrar of Turia.

"Beware!" cried the Paravaci and Saphrar suddenly stopped laughing and observed me warily.

If my arm should fly forward he would have time to leap below the wooden frame.

Now he was putting his chin on the wooden shield and watching me again, once more giggling.

"Many have used the quiva before now," he said, "but usually to plunge it into their own heart."

I looked at the blade.

"Tarl Cabot," I said, "does not slay himself."

"I did not think so," said Saphrar. "And that is why you were permitted to keep the quiva." Then he threw back his head and laughed again.

"You fat, filthy urt!" cried Harold, struggling in his bonds with the two men-at-arms who held him.

"Be patient," giggled Saphrar. "Be patient, my impetuous young friend. Your turn will come!"

I stood as still as I could. My feet and legs felt cold and yet as if they were burning presumably the acids of the pool were at work. As nearly as I could determine the pool was thick, rubbery, gelatinous, only in the area near to my body. I could see it rippling, and splashing a bit against the edge of the marbled basin. Indeed, it was even lower toward the edge now, and had humped itself in my vicinity, as though in time it might climb my body and, in some hours perhaps, engulf me. But doubtless by then I would have been half digested, much of me little more than a cream of fluids and proteins then mixing with and nourishing the substance of my devourer the Yellow Pool of Turia.

I pushed now, with all my might, not toward the edge of the marbled basin, but rather toward the deepest part of the pool. To my satisfaction I found that I could move, though barely, in this direction. The pool was content that I should enter it more deeply, perhaps it even desired that I do so, that its meal might be even more readily obtained. "What is he doing?" cried the Paravaci.

"He is mad," said Saphrar.