“Keep cool, Doc!” he said. “Remember⁠—she wants to learn the language!”

Now from Yolara burst chime upon chime of mocking laughter. She gave a command⁠—the hands loosened, the poniard withdrew from my heart; suddenly as I had been caught I was free⁠—and unpleasantly weak and shaky.

“Have you that in Ireland, Larree!” cried the priestess⁠—and once more trembled with laughter.

“A good play, Yolara.” His voice was as calm as his face. “But they did that in Ireland even before Dalua piped away his first man’s shadow. And in Goodwin’s land they make ships⁠— coria that go on water⁠—so you can pass by them and see only sea and sky; and those water coria are each of them many times greater than this whole palace of yours.”