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In a corner stood the Brende instrument, fully erected. A light from it seemed penetrating the bared chest of a man who was at that moment standing in its curative rays. He whom Tarrano called Cretar, took a step forward. "Master, we " "Making yourselves immortal?" The anger had left Tarrano's voice; irony was there instead. "Master " "Have you done that?" "Master yes! Yes! We did!
Tarrano was evidently in a mood of high good humor. "You welcome me prettily, Tara." She had flung her arms about him. "Tara, my dear is " "Master you come but in time. They are working the Brende instrument. Already they have " "They? Who?" He frowned. His words were hard and cold as the ice-blocks around him. "Woolff. And the son of Cretar. Many of them using it now!"
Tarrano drew Elza with him. Tara led the way. Through glowing white hallways, an arcade; down steps and an incline to burst at last through a tunnel-like passage into a room. "So? What is this, Cretar?" A room littered with apparatus. A dozen men were about. Men scantily dressed in this interior heat. Short, squat men of the Cold Country; flat-nosed, heavy faces; hair long to the base of the neck.
I bid you strike one of them!" She stared; but as she suddenly faced about, she caught in part his meaning. Before her Cretar shrank back, his face gone white, his teeth chattering. "What's that behind you?" Tarrano's voice simulated sudden alarm; he scuffled his feet on the floor. The men jumped with fright; nerves unstrung, they cowered. "What manner of men!" Tarrano's laugh was contemptuous.
They crouched; wary; alert eyes like animals at bay. Tarrano laughed. "Treat me! Cretar, you know not with what you have been trifling. Immortal? You are indeed. Disease cannot touch you! You cannot die save by violence!" He swung to Elza. "These men, Lady Elza they are strong-muscled. In health now more perfect than any other humans. You are frail a frail little woman. And unarmed.
On the flesh of all the men save the one who had been checked in the act of using the instrument a bright orange mottling was apparent. Cretar exclaimed: "The immunity to all diseases, master. It is itself a disease harmless and it combats every other." He laughed a little wildly. "We cannot get sick now. We cannot die we are immortal. Come, Master let us make you so!"
Forgive us, Master." The man before the instrument had retreated from it. Elza saw now that all the men were shrinking back in terror. All save Cretar, who had fallen tremblingly to his knees. Yet Tarrano showed no anger. He laughed. "I would not hurt you, Cretar! Get up, man! I am not angry not even annoyed. Why, your skin is turning orange. See the mottles!"
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