From half its length the darting snake streamed red rain.

I heard a sigh from Ruth; wrested my gaze from the
hollow; turned. She lay fainting in Drake's arms.

Beside the two the swathed woman stood, looking out
upon that slaughter, calm and still, shrouded with an unearthly
tranquillity--viewing it, it came to me, with eyes
impersonal, cold, indifferent as the untroubled stars which
look down upon hurricane and earthquake in this world
of ours.

There was a rushing of many feet at our left; a wail
from Chiu-Ming. Were they maddened by fear, driven by
despair, determined to slay before they themselves were
slain? I do not know. But those who still lived of the
men from the tunnel mouth were charging us.

They clustered close, their shields held before them. They
had no bows, these men. They moved swiftly down upon
us in silence--swords and pikes gleaming.

The Smiting Thing rocked toward us, the metal tentacle
straining out like a rigid, racing serpent, flying to cut
between its weird mistress and those who menaced her.

I heard Chiu-Ming scream; saw him throw up his hands,
cover his eyes--run straight upon the pikes!