From her lifted throat came again the golden chanting--but now a relentless, ruthless song of slaughter.
Up reared the monstrous bulk.

Into it ran the dragon tail.

Into it poured the fanged and bristling back.
Up, up we were thrust--three hundred feet, four hundred, five hundred.
Over the blue globe of Norhala's house bent a gigantic leg.

Spiderlike out from each side of the monster thrust half a score of others.
Overhead the dawn began to break.

Through it with ever increasing speed we moved, straight to the line of the cliffs behind which lay the city of the armored men--and Ruth and Ventnor..