[Sidenote: _Grimly Eric John Stark slogged toward that ancient Martian city--with every step he cursed the talisman of Ban Cruach that flamed in his blood-stained belt. Behind him screamed the hordes of Ciaran, hungering for that magic jewel--ahead lay the dread abode of the Ice Creatures--at his side stalked the whispering spectre of Ban Cruach, urging him on to a battle Stark knew he must lose!_] Through all the long cold hours of the Norland night the Martian had not moved nor spoken. At dusk of the day before Eric John Stark had brought him into the ruined tower and laid him down, wrapped in blankets, on the snow. He had built a fire of dead brush, and since then the two men had waited,…
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