Nor had the _ladala_ fared so
well. Of all the men and women, for women as well as men had taken
their part in the swift war, not more than a tenth remained alive.
And the dancing motes of light in the silver air were thick,
thick--they whispered.
They told us of the Shining One rushing through the Veil, cometlike,
its hosts streaming behind it, raging with it, in ranks that seemed
interminable!
Of the massacre of the priests and priestesses in the Cyclopean
temple; of the flashing forth of the summoning lights by unseen
hands--followed by the tearing of the rainbow curtain, by colossal
shatterings of the radiant cliffs; the vanishing behind their debris
of all trace of entrance to the haunted place wherein the hordes of
the Shining One had slaved--the sealing of the lair!
Then, when the tempest of hate had ended in seething Lara, how,
thrilled with victory, armed with the weapons of those they had slain,
they had lifted the Shadow, passed through the Portal, met and
slaughtered the fleeing remnants of Yolara's men--only to find the
tempest stilled here, too.
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