grimaced with the memory. One of those round-headed goths had throttled
him with its ape-like hands, while another of them cracked him on the
head with a rock. He gazed around the room uneasily now, but none of
them was in sight.

"Can those goths talk, too?" he demanded.

"Yes. A little, but it's hard to understand. A growling mumble. But
they're very intelligent. You see, their life-span is nearly ten
years, so we only have a few generations that father taught. He said
that with use, the vocal cords and the larynx were getting more
adapted. Tamo is my best one. And he makes the others understand.
They're very gentle."

"With you," Morgan supplemented wryly.

"Yes. Cah called them for help."

"Cah? You mean that big bird?"

"Yes. Father bred six generations of his family. And nature made his
talking apparatus very adequate for human words."

"No argument on that," Morgan agreed. He was gazing through the glowing
window-opening of the cave-room. There was vegetation outside. It
was like a great lush subterranean forest. Gnarled, fantastic-shaped
trees with bluish vines lacing them together. Huge pods hung on them,
and monstrous pallid flowers that opened and closed their petals
rhythmically as though breathing.

Gruesome damn things. Morgan was about to ask if what looked like
vegetation here might not be more animal than vegetable, when suddenly
his attention was caught by a little round red thing that was on the
ledge of the rocky window-opening. It was no bigger than the end of
his finger--a round, glistening, red-shelled thing with jointed legs
protruding from it. Tiny antenna were weaving in front of its single
eye, which seemed glaring at him balefully.

He made a startled gesture. "What the devil is that?" he demanded.

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