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Meanwhile, Ardath walked swiftly through the forest, his thoughts busy. The Kyrian had already forgotten Thordred and Jansaiya. He was pondering the mystery of the savage chief Dro-Ghir, whose actions were those of a genius, but who certainly did not resemble one in any way.

In a far later age, Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun would ravage the Earth as Dro-Ghir did now. Centuries later, the walled cities of China would again fall victim to the invader, as they had fallen before Dro-Ghir. Out of the Northern steppes the hordes of this scourge had come, huge hairy men on horseback. Their villages were crude collections of dome-shaped huts—yurts, they were called.

Eastward the ravagers had swept, and down the bleak coasts into Oriental lands. Westward they had been halted, for a time, by the vast mountain range that towered to the skies. In the South they had swarmed into a land of green, lush jungle and carved stone temples, where men worshiped Siva and Kali the Many-armed.

Like an avalanche, the hoofs of the invaders thundered across the Earth.

"Slay!" they shouted.

Their curved swords glittered. Their horse-tail standards shook in the chill winds that followed them from the North. Their spears drank deep, lifted, dripping red! Great beast-faced giants who rode like centaurs and fought like devils, they bathed the East in rivers of blood.

Slay! Show no mercy. Prisoners mutter and revolt, therefore take no prisoners. Only slay!

Over these barbarians Dro-Ghir ruled.

Ardath's vision screen had showed him that Dro-Ghir camped with a group of his men, not far away. But night had fallen before he reached the outposts and was accosted by a wary sentry.

In the moonlight, the guard's face was like that of a gargoyle. He lifted his spear—and held k rigid as Ardath's gaze met and locked with his. A silent conflict flared without words or actions between the two men.

As the stronger will mastered, the sentry turned and led the Kyrian into the midst of a group of goat-skin tents. Before the largest he paused. A few soldiers were sitting here and there by their fires. They looked up curiously, but none offered to interfere.

The sentry lifted the tent-flap and Ardath entered. He felt an involuntary tension as he faced the baffling Dro-Ghir.

A few small lamps of pottery, with wicks protruding from reeking animal-oil, cast a flickering yellowish gleam on the tent walls. There were some beast-skins scattered around haphazardly, but nothing more. A man reclined at length on a greasy fur, and he looked up sharply as the intruder entered.

Dro-Ghir was a giant as huge as Thordred. He wore nothing but a loose robe, which left his shaggy breast bare. His thick black beard was shiny with oil. His long, thick mustache had been twisted into two short braids and tied with golden wire. A fur cap covered his head. His face was that of a blindly ferocious beast. The low brow slanted back. The thick lips 'revealed yellow, broken tusks. In the shallow eyes was little sign of intelligence.

Ardath frowned in wonder. Was this the genius he sought?

CHAPTER IX

Li Yang

Dro-Ghir surged up in one swift motion. His hand brought out a short throwing-spear, which he leveled at Ardath.

"Li Yang!" he roared. "Come here!"

Ardath had already taken pains to learn the language of the barbarian hordes.

"I mean no harm," he began. "I merely—"

"Peace, Lord," a new voice broke in. "He comes unarmed. Wait!"

Someone was crouching in the shadows. Ardath peered intently into the darkness. He saw a gross lump of a man, an absurdly fat Oriental who sat cross-legged in the gloom. Sharp black eyes, almost hidden in the sagging pads of the bland round face, stared back at Ardath. The tiny, red lips were childlike, and the domelike skull was bald and shining. Li Yang wore a loose robe, girt about his bulging waist by a golden cord.

Dro-Ghir had also swiveled to peer at the Oriental.

"Hear his words," Li Yang counseled, and picked up a lutelike instrument at his side. Idly he strummed the strings as he gave his advice. "There is no harm in words."

But Dro-Ghir did not release his grip on the spear. He stood with legs wide apart, watching Ardath.

"Well?" he demanded.

The Kyrian spread his hands in appeal.

"I come in peace."

"How did you get through the lines?"

"That does not matter. I have a message for you."

Dro-Ghir growled a savage threat deep in his throat.

"Let him speak, Lord," Li Yang whispered. Then speak—but swiftly!"

Swiftly Ardath told his story. He was still puzzled, and he grew more bewildered as he searched the dull, ferocious eyes of the chieftain. No understanding woke in them, yet Ardath plunged on, explaining his purpose, asking Dro-Ghir to come with him into time.

Finally he finished. There was tense silence as the lamps sputtered and flickered eerily. At last the soft twang of the lute murmured vaguely.

"What is your answer?" Ardath asked. Dro-Ghir tugged at his beard, while his hand was still clenched about the spear. Abruptly the Oriental broke in.

"Lord, I think this foreigner has strange powers. It would be well to make him welcome."

The Oriental heaved to his feet, a flabby behemoth from the furs, and the pudgy hand made a swift motion to Dro-Ghir. The chieftain hesitated. Then his face broke into a wolfish grin.

"Good. We are not enemies, you and I. Break bread with me."

Li Yang shuffled ponderously forward, thrust a cake of mealy, unleavened bread into Dro-Ghir's paw. The chieftain broke the cake into halves and handed Ardath one, stuffing the other into his capacious mouth. The crumbs that fell were caught in his filthy beard.

Warily the Kyrian ate. Something was amiss here, though what is was, he did not know.

"You will come with me?" he asked. "I am tired of using force. If you refuse, I shall merely leave you and continue my search."

"Drink!" Dro-Ghir roared.

He seized a hollowed horn from Li Yang and thrust it at Ardath. The Oriental gave Dro-Ghir another cup. The wine was hotly spiced and steaming. "In friendship—drink!"

The barbarian chief lifted the horn to his lips and drained it. Ardath followed his example. Slowly he lowered the cup. Li Yang was back in his corner, strumming at the lute. His voice rose in a monotonous Oriental song. "All men see the petals of the rose drift down, the jasmine fades, the lotus passes…"

Dro-Ghir stood motionless. Abruptly his huge hand tightened on the drinking-horn, and it shattered.

His hair-fringed mouth gaped open in agony. Only a choking snarl rasped out.

"But no man sees his own doom in the falling of the rose…"

The chieftain's body arched back. He clawed at his throat, his contorted face blindly upturned. Then he crashed down, as a tree falls, and lay silent on a dirty bear fur. A single shudder shook the gross form, before Dro-Ghir was utterly still.

Ardath caught his breath.

His glance probed the Oriental's sharp black eyes as Li Yang stood up hurriedly.

"We must go before Dro-Ghir's body is found. Most of the men are in a drunken stupor, as always after a victory. Hurry!"

"Wait," Ardath protested. "I do not understand."

The Oriental's bland face was immobile, but his black eyes twinkled with malicious amusement.

"Dro-Ghir signaled me to give you the poisoned cup. I gave him the deadly wine, instead. Listen, Ardath—that is your name, I think. Your words were not for this barbarian chief. Ever since Dro-Ghir captured me, years ago, I have served him with my wisdom. He spared me because I gave him good counsel."

Ardath's eyes widened, startled by the simple explanation. Li Yang had been the power behind Dro-Ghir's throne.

The Oriental was the genius who had inspired the invader!

"I am tired of being a slave," said Li Yang frankly. "Eventually Dro-Ghir would have doubted my wisdom, and would have slain me. Also, I do not like this savage world. Let me go with you, Ardath, into the future"—he glanced at the grease-stained furs—"where, at least, there may be more comfortable couches."