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hand swept out, snatched Alasa’s garment, ripped it brutally away.
    Frantically Mason battled his overpowering weakness, the sickening dizziness that nauseated him. The centaur bellowed mad laughter.
    And again the scream of Alasa came—terrified, hopeless!

Chapter V

Madness of the Centaur
    The centaur’s monstrous head bent; watery orbs avidly dwelt on the girl’s nudity. She struck out vainly, her nails ripping at the creature’s face. Though blood came, the centaur paid no attention to its wounds.
    Mason managed to crawl dizzily to his feet. The dagger lay glinting in the straw near him. He bent, picked it up. He turned toward the man-beast.
    Alasa lay pale and motionless in the centaur’s arms. The monster had no other thought than the girl. Its eyes were glaring and bloodshot. Spittle drooled from the sagging mouth. It did not see Mason as he crept forward.
    The man had but one chance, and he knew it. Silently he stole up behind the beast. At the last moment the centaur sensed danger, started to whirl, roaring menace.
    Mason’s arm slashed down. The dagger ripped into the centaur’s throat, slicing through skin and flesh and cartilage. A great gout of blood burst out, spattering the nude girl with scarlet.
    With a deafening scream of agony the centaur dropped Alasa. Its hands clawed up to the ruined throat. It plunged at Mason.
    He managed to dodge, though flying hoofs grazed his side. As the creature lunged past Mason put all his strength into a desperate leap. He felt iron-hard flesh under him, came down on the centaur’s back, his arms locked about the monster’s throat. The dagger was still in his hand.
    The beast-man went berserk. Screaming, it flung back its hands, seeking its prey.
    The taloned fingers sought Mason’s eyes.
    The man ripped out blindly with the dagger. He felt himself flung through the air, fell heavily on his side, rolling over and over. Clashing hoofs thundered past. Swaying, Mason sprang up—and halted, staring.
    The centaur was blind. The dagger’s chance stroke had ripped across its eyeballs, slashing them open. The beast-face was veiled with blood. And if the monster had been enraged before—now it was a demon incarnate!
    Blind and dying, it shrieked mad rage and murder-lust. Hoofs grinding down viciously on the straw, great arms swinging, the centaur drove around the den, hunting the man who had slain it. Mason saw Alasa lying near by. He dashed toward her, lifted her nude body in his arms. He staggered into a corner, and the centaur flashed past him like a Juggernaut.
    It was a mad, fantastic game they played there, with the dying monster blindly seeking prey, and with Mason, carrying the girl, dodging and waiting alternately, his breath a raw, singeing flame in his throat. All at once the centaur grew still, its bloody arms hanging laxly, blind head lifted questingly as it listened.
    The creature stiffened as the girl in Mason’s arms moaned and stirred. Guided by the sound, it sprang forward—
    And dropped—dead! It rolled in a gory, shapeless huddle over and over on the straw, the great wound in the throat ceasing to bleed as the mighty beast-heart slowed and stopped. It lay quiescent, its dreadful life ended forever.
    Reaction shook Mason. Dizzily he lowered the girl to the ground, relaxed beside her, weak and sick. But after a moment he rallied his strength and turned to Alasa. She was still and white as a marble statue, her pale body splotched with the centaur’s blood. Mason’s throat was suddenly dry. Was she even alive?
    Swiftly he chafed her arms, striving to bring her back to consciousness. And at last the girl’s lashes lifted; golden eyes looked into Mason’s, wide and fearful. With a shuddering little cry Alasa clung to the man, no longer the queen of a mighty city, but a girl, frightened and thoroughly human. Involuntarily Mason bent his head, kissed the soft hollow of her throat, her rounded shoulders.
    A flush turned Alasa’s face rosy. She drew