The city of Mart sprawled like a lazing slug upon the prairie. Aircraft sped across its walls, winging into illimitable distances. The deep hum of tradesmen's voices as they called their wares mingled with the smooth roll of gyrocars, rising to form the soul of the great metropolis. Armed guards clanged along the tops of the pyramidal walls.
A tall man clad like a mountain shepherd, in wool cloak and hood, stalked beside a woman who went with downbent head, clinging to his arm. Once in a while the woman whispered to him, and the man made a turn into a different street.
They had dust on their cloaks and dust on their feet, those two. Occasionally the woman stumbled, for she was a born actress. Yet an airplane lay less than three miles from the city walls, hidden by boughs torn from hibithus-trees.
"We are almost at the Commune," whispered the woman.
"There are no people here," the man said.
"Your Trylla approach not near to the building that houses the Glow. They fear it too much."
They went faster, lengthening their steps. Opposite a tall white building that had ardth lettering graven into its stone, they slowed and the woman spoke again.
"That is where the Glow is, hidden deep in the bowels of earth beneath the Citadel. Always are there guards there. They must be overcome."
The man threw back the cloak, revealed big chest and long arms naked under it. Head flung back, he studied the building eagerly.