I made a mighty movement to escape; was held more firmly⁠—and then close to the face of Larry, flashing out with that terrifying instantaneousness even as had his, was the head of Yolara, as devilishly mocking as I had ever seen it, the cruelty shining through it like delicate white flames from hell⁠—and beautiful!

“Stir not! Strike not⁠—until I command!” She flung the words beyond her, addressed to the invisible ones who had accompanied her; whose presences I sensed filling the chamber. The floating, beautiful head, crowned high with corn-silk hair, darted toward the Irishman. He took a swift step backward. The eyes of the priestess deepened toward purple; sparkled with malice.

“So,” she said. “So, Larree⁠—you thought you could go from me so easily!” She laughed softly. “In my hidden hand I hold the Keth cone,” she murmured. “Before you can raise the death tube I can smite you⁠—and will. And consider, Larree, if the handmaiden, the choya comes, I can vanish⁠—so”⁠—the mocking head disappeared, burst forth again⁠—“and slay her with the Keth⁠—or bid my people seize her and bear her to the Shining One!”