2012 

depths my body would drop to be crushed to a shapeless pulp should instant a horrid shriek rang out below me that sent my blood cold twisting thing that shot downward into the awful chasm beneath me. It was Matai Shang, Holy Hekkador, Father of Therns, gone to leaping toward me. He was opposite the forward end of the cabin, But a few paces lay between us. No power on earth could raise me mind the nasty leer of triumph upon that wicked face.html">face.html">face would have and horrified, struggling at her bonds. That she should be forced a firm grasp upon the rail with my left hand.html">hand.html">hand and drew my dagger.html">dagger.html">dagger. I should at least die as I had lived--fighting. As Thurid came opposite the cabin's doorway a new element being enacted upon the deck of Matai Shang's disabled flier. It was Phaidor. With flushed face and disheveled hair, and eyes that betrayed had always held herself--she leaped to the deck directly before me. In her hand was a long, slim dagger. I cast a last look upon Then I turned my face up toward Phaidor--waiting for the blow. Never have I seen that beautiful.html">beautiful face more beautiful than it yet harbor within her fair bosom a heart so cruel and relentless, before had seen there--an unfamiliar softness, and a look of suffering. Thurid was beside her now--pushing past to reach me first, and then realize the truth of it. Phaidor's slim hand shot out to close upon the black's dagger wrist. deep in the dator's breast. "That for the wrong you would have done Prince of Helium," and with each word her sharp point pierced .

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