Land Beyond the Flame

Beyond the Flame Barrier lay knowledge of the Originals. Long it stretched from horizon to horizon, a thin stream of living light; a thin path of peril for Allyn the Numan.
At his back, the jagged rocks rose and fused into wild hills. Before him stretched the Graysand Desert, cruel with heat and treacherous sands. And, shrill in the fiery air, came the squeals of the rat pack.
Giant carnivores, shaggy and foul-breathed, their wicked claws could tear a man fleshless. Fetid poison lay in the bite from their sharp yellow teeth, and those teeth were bared now in raging anticipation.
They were on the kill! Hunger in their voices and lust. And their gray bodies, a pollution on the landscape, surged after a desperate prey.
What did they pursue? Allyn strained to see.
An Olman!
The sun blazed on the sweat of the mighty chest heaving with exertion. Like all the males of that savage group he was naked, save for a loincloth, and his bronzed corded arms swung in tempo with his pumping feet. With each step, he left a bloody trail which spurred the rats to further frenzy.
The blood loss told! He fell! But, even as he went down, he spun on his back, teeth bared, and the burning wind carried his fierce yell of defiance.
The rodents went mad with triumph. They leapt for the kill.
Without thinking Allyn brought his flame gun from its holster. Lances of bright death seared the gray ranks. Squeals died. The rats swerved from the fallen man, scattered. Retreat was a panic stampede. And soon their shrilling faded in the distance.
The prone man twisted to hands and knees to face his rescuer. Hope was bright in his eyes. But then he saw Allyn. Elation became horror.
Numan! It was a despairing cry. Then he fainted.