remembered the sharp catnip taste of beer, the peppery spiciness of curry, the fresh hot taste of newly-baked bread. The sweet juice of tangerines was in his mouth, and the heavy richness of cocoa. The aromatic tickling of old brandy.
Eagerness touched Raft. The probing grew more violent. He half roused himself from his trance.
Still the memories were dragged into the forefront of his consciousness. The tastes of things he had known once, elsewhere.
Where, then?
In a world where brandy was sipped from sleek glass inhalers, where bread was baked in ovens, where cocoa was served in cups, on tables upon which white linen was spread. Association clicked in Raft's brain. He remembered more than food now.
He remembered civilization. And with that thought came realization of himself, of Brian Raft. He was not a sensuous machine for sucking up nourishment.
The bright mists swept down like a shrouding blanket. The Garden of Kham sent its heavy perfume like a tide over Raft. But he remembered, very suddenly and chillingly, another Garden, and a Tree which had borne strange fruit A command that said, 'Ye shall not eat of it.'
You have always known hunger, Brian Raft. Feed as I feed. Know ecstasy as I know it.
A still, cool, distant voice, infinitely alluring, impossible to resist, although it, too, aroused memory. That indefinable familiarity was stronger now. The presence that infiltrated the Garden was one that Raft had known before, in different form.
Then he remembered.
And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die.
The blind shock of realization stabbed through Raft with abysmal violence. His muscles jerked into tenseness. He attempted to spring up, and found that he could not.
That gelid carpet had flowed upon him, over him, as he had lain motionless.
Yet it was possible to move. With infinite effort he dragged his arm down till his hand closed over the hilt of the dagger. He could feel the treacherously pleasant embrace of the thing all around him. A winding sheet that would have absorbed him, he thought, as he lay helpless.
He stabbed up, claustrophobia bringing dry panic to his throat. He slashed in a blind frenzy of panic till the living carpet was ribboned. The worst part was that the entity did not try to flee. It let itself be cut to rags, till all that flowery beauty was torn and spoiled. Raft stumbled away into the dubious shelter of the saffron forest, choking for a breath of clean air. He felt filthy and contaminated.
It revolted him that any one of his senses, the purely animal one of taste, could be so treacherous!
What monstrous dead-end evolution had developed such a devil's Garden as this?
It was more than symbiosis. It was an attunement of all life within these walls. Outside, on the cyclopean trees, various species killed each other, ate, propagated, and died. But in Kharn there had been a gradual absorption, a bond growing into existence between plant and animal life.
One species—dominant!
Raft presently saw that species.
Deeper in the forest, the shapeless mound of flesh lay under a transparent hemisphere that seemed to be unbreakable. Raft yielded to impulse and smashed a rock down upon it, without result. He did not wish to fire his revolver, for fear of forewarning Parror, but he had an idea that a bullet would not harm that protective barrier either. Immersed in a watery liquid the gray mass floated. Small conduits like arteries led down into the ground.
A brain? Only partially. Sections of it were abnormally developed, others vestigial. There were other additions which
Raft could not understand. But he felt more strongly than ever the intangible evil that throbbed out from the thing.
For it was reptilian. Here in Kharn the reptilian species had become dominant, subjugating all other life into a fantastic rapport that made the Garden itself a single entity. There was no really recognizable intelligence in the being. Reptilian instincts are not mammalian, and a tremendously evolved reptile might have nothing at all in common with other creatures.
The thing lived only for the specialized pleasure of taste. It had developed the necessity of feeding into a sensory ecstasy that was exclusive of all other faculties. Intelligence there might be, or a sort, but it was applied only to purposes that would aid the monster's dominant instinct.
Through the Garden, through living trees and and living flesh, that horrible, ravening hunger-urge had swept. Trees and flesh ate as their—brain—commanded. In return, they transmitted their sensory reactions to the reptilian thing that had gone beyond the touch of any sense but one.
Impregnable, alien, living only for blind delight, the horror floated within the transparent dome.
Shuddering, Raft turned away. Once more he turned to the easily-discernible trail of Parror and Craddock. The sooner he caught up with them, the sooner he could get out of the Garden. Unless they themselves had fallen victim to Kharn's menace.
They had not. The white gleam of pillars showed ahead. A figure was visible there, working at something, and Raft recognized Parror's sleek hair and the velvet beard that shadowed the jaw. The Flame's guardian sensed Raft's presence instantly. He whirled, eyes narrow, and then, relaxing, laughed.
The familiar anger began to rise in Raft. As always, he was conscious of Parror's calm arrogance, his complete self-assurance. He tried to fight down the feeling.
'So you got away from Darum,' Parror said, smiling with some secret amusement. 'You're shrewder than I'd thought. How did you know where to find me?'
Raft ignored the question. 'Where's Craddock?' he asked.
Parror's head moved slightly. Beyond a pale column lay a motionless figure, eyes closed.
'There he is. Don't bother to take out your knife. He's unharmed.' Parror finished winding up a thin coil. He dropped the silvery wire into a pocket and fumbled there for a moment. When his hand emerged, it wore one of the taloned gauntlets.
'You touched me once in anger,' Parror said silkily. 'I haven't forgotten that. I've no further use for you or Craddock.' He was almost purring. 'I've an extra glove. Here.'
Raft said, 'Thanks. I can take care of myself.' He had an idea that might remove the careless smile from Parror's face. It would be a pleasure to do just that.
He took out the jeweled glove he had stolen from Darum's treasure-chamber and slipped it on his right hand. Parror nodded.
'You learn fast,' he said, flexing his fingers so that the dull claws spread and closed menacingly. Raft poised himself and waited silently.
Dull claws.
They were bright metal where they joined the gloves, but their three-inch blades were stained dark. Raft suddenly guessed the significance of that. He had an idea that if those razor-sharp talons penetrated his skin, he would die, no matter how slight the wound.
Treachery, to a feline, was not dishonorable, it seemed.
Too late now to call a halt. Parror was stalking forward, his eyes shining. Moveover, Raft still had an ace in the hole. But he dared not fail.
Then Parror sprang. He was laughing, his velvet motion almost careless, as he came in with the agility of a jaguar. With rippling, nimble speed he charged, swerving at the last moment, while the talons raked straight at Raft's face.
Raft ducked under the slash. His hand came up, clenched into a fist. That short, deadly blow cracked solidly against Parror's chin. Raft felt flesh grind against his knuckles as hard gems ripped through skin and grated on bone.
Whatever Parror had expected, it was not this. He was flung back, dazed and reeling, and for a few seconds was actually unconscious as he wavered there. Then the blinding berserk rage dropped upon him like a scarlet cloak. His lips flattened. His eyes flamed green. His face was that of a devil—or a beast.
Raft had torn off his glove. He held da Fonseca's revolver now, and he was smiling coldly.
'Come on,' he whispered. 'Come on, Parror. It's just what I want. Close quarters. So I won't be able to
