Finally, he became aware of a picture growing in his mind. Of a vine and tree-latticed river spouting out of a jungle into a deep pool. All around the edges of the pool were stacked great piles of huge oyster shells.
The surface of the pool broke regularly, conical heads popped out and the mottled bodies swam toward shore, depositing the huge shells where they were taken by other Chameleon men, expertly split open and examined.
One out of three yielded a pulsating pearl.
Then into Jarl Gare's mind came another picture. He and Waltk leaping through the trees, then jumping through the force field, finally coming to the fields, leaving the jungle behind. Then a picture of the pearl beds again. Now a picture of strange men—wrestling with the Chameleon men, throwing great weights, leaping, diving into the pool, racing against the Chameleon men in their own element.
A great sigh lifted Jarl Gare's breast.
"Waltk," he cried. "We have passed all but the final test. One more, and the pearls are ours."
The Chameleon men nodded and turned, to march ahead of them across the fields.
Jarl Gare was exulting. "I will win a pearl—a glorious gray pearl pulsing with life and beauty. I have no weakness, Waltk. My quest is almost over."
Waltk said quietly, "You have a weakness, Jarl. Perhaps I can help you."
Jarl Gare drew his slight body taut. "I need no help now, Waltk. I used you when I needed you. I don't need you any longer. I will win out alone. With all your strength, you are weaker than I."