Kortha grinned broadly, hefting the thing in his palm. "Pure gold. Heavy, but somewhat soft, Xax. I was right. Blessed be the mythmaker, for he shall help us find truth!"
"It can't be true," protested Xax, his faceted eyes glued to the amber bar in the giant's hand. "You don't turn one thing into another, not by just a—a color!"
"Of course not by a color. That green light was something that got down to rock bottom, affecting the very nature of the wood. What's so odd about it? All matter is composed of electrons. Those electrons move in certain orbits within the atom. If it is possible to alter the vibratory rate of those electrons—why, then your substance itself is changed. It is something else. In this case, it's gold."
The voice interrupted him. It came from the outer chamber: harshly gloating, unrelievedly triumphant.
It called: "Kortha. Come where I can see you, Kortha. I want to talk to you."
"Guantra," whispered Kortha, and ran.
He found the quartz-crystal televisi-screen finally, perched in a niche in the hall, where it could command a view of the closed doors. Kortha went and stood before it. He drew back his lips, and spat.
The image of the man in the screen recoiled slightly, then thrust forward again, pushing the lean hawk's face with jutting, black-bearded chin and hooked nose and slightly bald forehead almost to the limits of the screen. The thin lips twisted in a savage smile. The dark eyes glittered under thin brows.