Now the doubt in the blue eyes was strong indeed. She shook her head.
"None of our men can do that!" she answered, at length. "Nor do I think you could, Larree."
"Oh, no," said Larry easily. "I never tried to be that strong. I fly," he added, casually.
The priestess rose to her feet, gazing at him with startled eyes.
"Fly!" she repeated incredulously. "Like a Zitia? A bird?"
Larry nodded—and then seeing the dawning command in her eyes, went on hastily.
"Not with my own wings, Yolara. In a—a corial that moves through—what's the word for air, Doc—well, through this—" He made a wide gesture up toward the nebulous haze above us. He took a pencil and on a white cloth made a hasty sketch of an airplane. "In a—a corial like this—" She regarded the sketch gravely, thrust a hand down into her girdle and brought forth a keen-bladed poniard; cut Larry's markings out and placed the fragment carefully aside.
"That I can understand," she said.
"Remarkably intelligent young woman," muttered O'Keefe. "Hope I'm not giving anything away—but she had me."
"But what are your women like, Larree? Are they like me? And how many have loved you?" she whispered.