Again the small lightnings darted, and Naida reached for the cylinder.
“Do you mind if I take it for a moment?”
“Of course not.”
Promptly then she faced around.
“Wait here, everyone,” she ordered.
And with that she waved the cylinder in a flashing little arc before their eyes, and darted to the door.
It was all so unexpected that she was gone before Kirby could speak. Slowly, with all of the suddenly gay company of girls following after him, he went to the doorway, and stood on the steps leading to the amphitheatre.
A minute passed. He heard voices downstairs. He heard Naida’s voice ringing clearly, though he could not distinguish her words. He heard a great cry from a score of male throats. More minutes passed. Words that were low and tense poured out in a rumbling volume. Above the rumble, Naida’s voice presently sounded again, clear and sweet, but incisive. Then, when no more than five or six minutes had gone, Kirby heard the clang of the bronze gate at the foot of the steps, heard light, swift footsteps ascending.
“Naida!” he called softly.