"About a hundred. Not many are strong enough to reach the pass. And about the same number of Venusian natives."

"How many Swamja?"

"A thousand, more or less," Lysla explained. "Only the highest classes have slaves. Most of the Swamja are trained for the military."

"So? Who the devil do they fight?"

"Nobody. It's a tradition with them—part of their religion. They believe they're gods, and the soldiers serve as the Valkyries did in the Norse Valhalla."

"Two hundred slaves.... What weapons do the Swamja have?"

Lysla shook her head. "Not many. A paralysis hand-projector, a few others. But they're invulnerable, or nearly so. Their muscles are much tougher than ours. A different cellular construction."

Vanning pondered. He could understand that. The human heart-muscle is much stronger and tougher than—say—the biceps.

The girl broke into his thoughts. "Rebellion is quite useless. You won't believe that now, but you'll understand soon."

"Maybe," Vanning said tonelessly. "Anyhow—what's next on the program?"

"Slavery." Her voice was bitter. "Here are your clothes. When you're dressed, you'll find a ramp leading down outside the door. I'll be waiting." She detached a metal plaque from the wall and went out. Vanning, after a scowling pause, dressed and followed.

The corridor in which he found himself was of bare plastic, covered with a wavy bas-relief oddly reminiscent of water's ripples, and tinted azure and gray. Here and there cold lamps, using a principle unfamiliar to the man, were set in the walls. Radioactivity, he theorized, or the Venusian equivalent. He saw a ramp, and descended it to enter a huge low-ceilinged room, with doors at intervals set in the curving walls. One of the doors was open, and Lysla's low voice called him.

He entered a cubicle, not large, with four crude bunks arranged here and there. The girl was fitting the metal plaque into a frame over one. She smiled at him.

"Your dog-license, Jerry. You're 57-R-Mel. It means something to the Swamja, I suppose."

"Yeah?" Vanning saw a similar plaque over each of the cots. "What's this place?"

 Prev. P 12/35 next