As
the rampart reared close he threw himself upon Rador; hurled him and
himself against the side of the flying whorl. Under the shock the
finely balanced machine swerved from its course. It struck the soft,
low bank of the road, shot high in air, bounded on through the thick
carpeting, whirled like a dervish and fell upon its side. Shot from
it, we rolled for yards, but the moss saved broken bones or serious
bruise.
"Quick!" cried the green dwarf. He seized an arm, dragged me to my
feet, began running to the cliff base not a hundred feet away. Beside
us raced O'Keefe and Olaf. At our left was the black road. It stopped
abruptly--was cut off by a slab of polished crimson stone a hundred
feet high, and as wide, set within the coppery face of the barrier. On
each side of it stood pillars, cut from the living rock and immense,
almost, as those which held the rainbow veil of the Dweller. Across
its face weaved unnameable carvings--but I had no time for more than a
glance. The green dwarf gripped my arm again.
Pages:
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338