Garan the Eternal by Andre Norton

warning. But I too felt a tingle awaken my flesh. His illustration was apt Only three days before had I witnessed a worn-out and aged grippon being coaxed along the ramp which led to the cage of a giant sapt And he bad gone willingly enough to his end, trusting the men who urged him on.
    The girl held back the curtain. Without hesitation I entered.
    Like a golden bowl, carved to meet the lips of some mountain godling, was the room in which we found ourselves. It was oval in shape, ringed by twenty archways like the one through which we had come, each curtained by a sheet of bewildering and melting color. Overhead the walls domed sharply into a cone, the point of which was open to the stars.
    From where we stood the floor sank down, by a series of wide steps completely encircling the room. In the center of this nest of ever-narrowing rings was a shallow oval pitfrom which arose lazy strings of colored, scented vapor. The massive steps were crowded with heaps of priceless metallic fabrics, flagons of gem-set stone, tiny tables heaped with dainties. And here lounged most of those who had preceded us, ministered to by the beauties of the palace.
    And they were beautiful. Never before had I seen all the race types produced beneath Krand’s sun assembled together, each startling in her loveliness. Like the brown- skinned Teriation at the outer door and the white Aholian at my side, each was a perfect specimen of her race.
    I heard Anatan draw a deep breath and Zacat chuckle.
    “A pleasure to loot, this place,” the latter observed dryly. “It is not hard to understand why these palaces are barred to those below the rank of wing officer. A few of my Ruian lads in here —”
    “By the Breath of Zant,” broke in Anatan, “look to that maid in black. Have you ever seen her like?”
    He pointed to one of the Lapidian cave dwellers. Her hair, bleached to bone whiteness by the generations her people have dwelt away from the light, was wreathed around her proud head in heavy coils. From throat to heel she was wrapped in dead black, but her white arms were naked to the shoulder. She was a striking and outstanding figure as she moved slowly through the ranks of her more brightly-robed companions.
    “Would you linger here, my Lords? Or are you for the inner courts, perhaps?” the Aholian asked softly when we had looked our fill.
    “The inner courts,” I answered quickly before Anatan could protest.
    We followed her around the uppermost step from which opened the twenty curtained archways. Anatan tugged at my cloak, whispering: “Ask to see the Lady of the Palace. It is customary to do so upon the first visit.”
    Wondering where he had gained his knowledge, I obeyed his instructions. The Aholian nodded and immediately pulled aside a flame and silver hanging at another door. Many were the wonders through which we passed. I remember one room that was walled with transparent crystal behind which swam living monsters from the outer seas, queer things with phosphorescent bodies or jaws gleaming in the dim light And there were other chambers as strange or as weirdly beautiful.
    Then at length we came into a small room, white-walledand floored. But the dome was lacquered night-black, studded with great stars of crystal. Here on a couch of vivid scarlet rested the one who was ruler of all this maze of color.
    By her dress and heavily painted face she was a woman of Arct. In contrast to her maids outside she was hideously plain. Thin to the point of emaciation, her sheath-like covering of silver net revealed every bone and hollow. Her face was thickly enameled after the fashion of her country, huge purple circles about her sunken eyes, orange slashes for lips and the rest flat white.
    But her glorious hair was her claim to a place in that palace of charm. Black and very long, it was undisfigured by any fastenings or pins, rippling in freedom down to lie upon the floor when she was seated.
    However, it was not at the ruler of the pleasure