And if he did, and if—as he felt—Sam was somehow involved, what good could he do if the Enlightened One himself could not handle the situation?

He had no answer, but he found himself moving forward, crouched low in the damp grass, swinging far to his left.

When he was halfway there it happened again, and ten of the things towered, red and gold and yellow, drifting and returning, drifting and returning, as though their bases were rooted to the ground.

He crouched there wet and shivering, examined his courage and found it to be a small thing indeed. Yet, he pushed on until he was parallel to the strange place, then past it.

He drew up behind it, finding himself in the midst of many large stones. Grateful for their shelter and the cover they provided against observation from below, he inched forward, never taking his eyes from the fang.

He could see now that it was partly hollow. There was a dry, shallow cave at its base, and two figures knelt within it. Holy men at prayer? He wondered.

Then it happened. The most frightful flashing he had ever seen came down upon the stones—not once, or for a mere instant. It was as if a fire-tongued beast licked and licked about the stone, growling as it did so, for perhaps a quarter of a minute.

When Tak opened his eyes, he counted twenty of the blazing towers.

One of the holy men leaned forward, gestured. The other laughed. The sound carried to where Tak lay, and the words: "Eyes of the serpent! Mine now!"

"What is the quantity?" asked the second, and Tak knew it to be the voice of Great-Souled Sam.

"Twice, or none at all!" roared the other, and he leaned forward, rocked back, then gestured as Sam had done.

"Nina from Srinagina!" he chanted, and leaned, rocked, and gestured once more.

"Sacred seven," Sam said softly.