"Noises do not kill," said the warrior skeptically. "It is not the bark of the jalok or the growl of the ryth that rends the flesh of man. The hiss of the thipdar kills no one."
"It was not the noise that killed it," said Jason, "but if you will examine its head and especially the roof of its mouth you will see what happened when my weapons spoke."
Following Jason's suggestion the warrior examined the head and mouth of the dyrodor and when he had seen the gaping wounds he looked at Jason with a new respect. "Who are you," he asked, "and what are you doing in the land of Zoram?"
"My God!" exclaimed Jason. "Am I in Zoram?"
"You are."
"And you are one of the men of Zoram?" demanded the American.
"I am; but who are you?"
"Tell me, do you know Jana, The Red Flower of Zoram?" insisted Jason.
"What do you know of The Red Flower of Zoram, stranger?" demanded the other. And then suddenly his eyes widened to a new thought. "Tell me," he cried, "by what name do they call you in the country from which you come?"
"My name is Gridley," replied the American; "Jason Gridley."