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Updated: June 13, 2025
A second later the "killing-blow" had fallen on the barbarian's neck, just where the swelling protuberance behind the ear marked the vital spot. Terrible was the force of that blow, struck for his own life, for the honor of Beatrice, the salvation of the world. Kamrou gave a strange grunt. His head fell backward. Both eyes closed; the mouth lolled open and a glairy froth began to trickle down.
Kamrou was nowhere to be seen. Seemingly very distant, he heard the copper drums begin to beat once more with feverish haste. A great, compelling lassitude enveloped him. He knew no more. "What altitude now? Can you make-out, Allan?" "No. The aneroid's only good up to five miles. We must have made two hundred, vertically, since this morning.
More powerfully still his terrible fight with Kamrou, ending with the death of that great chief in the boiling vat. And now, acknowledging him their overlord and ruler, whom they had feared to lose forever, they trooped in wild, disordered throngs to do him reverence.
He stood there in the flamelight, broad-chested, beautifully muscled, lean of hip, the perfect picture of a fighting man. Naked he was, save for his loin-cloth. And still he smiled. Stern likewise stripped away his own cloak. Clad only like the chief, he faced him. "Well, now," said he, "here goes! And may the best man win!" Kamrou waved the circle back at one side.
Your own death, my son, and the fate of the girl, will be as nothing beside the terrible catastrophe, if you are beaten. "For, verily, it will be the death of the world! "And now, my son, now go to battle to battle for this woman, for yourself, for us, for the future of our race, for everything! "Kamrou is ready. The pit is boiling. "Go now! Fight and and "
His voice was lost in a great tumult of cries, yells, shouts. Spears brandished. Came a sound of shields struck with clubs and axes. The copper drums again began to throb and clang. Kamrou had risen from his seat. Stern knew the supreme moment of his life was at hand. Kamrou flung off his long and heavy cloak.
Nowhere could he catch even a glimpse of the girl. In that shoving, pushing, shouting horde, nothing could be made out. He knew not even whether civil war had blazed or whether all alike had owned the rule of Kamrou the Terrible. Like buoys tossing upon the surface of a raging sea, the flaring torches pitched and danced, rose, fell.
And through all his rage and bitter bafflement and pain, a sudden great desire welled up in him to see this chief of the Folk, at last to lay eyes on this formidable, this terrible one to stand face to face with him in whose hand now lay everything, Kamrou! Across the dim, fog-covered expanse of the plaza he saw the blue-green shimmer of the great flame.
Two tall men broke through the tensely eager throng. In their hands they bore each a golden jar, curiously shaped and chiseled, and bearing a whimsical resemblance to a coffee-urn. "What the devil now?" wondered Stern, eager to be at work. He saw at once the meaning of the jars. One of the bearers approached Kamrou. The other came to him.
"This Kamrou you're talking about doesn't want us, or our new ideas, or anything? Well, see here. There's no use beating around the bush, now. This thing's going through, this plan of ours! And if Kamrou or anybody else gets in the way of it good-by for him!" "You mean war?" "War! And I know who'll win, at that!
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