"Wait you here." She passed through a curtaining; then as swiftly as she had gone she returned through the hangings, tresses braided, a swathing of golden gauze about her.
"Rador," she said, "bear you Larry--for into your heart the Silent Ones would look.

And fear nothing," she added at the green dwarf's disconcerted, almost fearful start.
Rador bowed, was thrust aside by Olaf.
"No," said the Norseman; "I will carry him." He lifted Larry like a child against his broad breast.

The dwarf glanced quickly at Lakla; she nodded.
"Come!" she commanded, and held aside the folds.
Of that journey I have few memories.

I only know that we went through corridor upon corridor; successions of vast halls and chambers, some carpeted with the rushes, others with rugs into which the feet sank as into deep, soft meadows; spaces illumined by the rubrous light, and spaces in which softer lights held sway.
We paused before a slab of the same crimson stone as that the green dwarf had called the portal, and upon its polished surface weaved the same unnameable symbols.

The Golden Girl pressed upon its side; it slipped softly back; a torrent of opalescence gushed out of the opening--and as one in a dream I entered.
We were, I knew, just under the dome; but for the moment, caught in the flood of radiance, I could see nothing.