We were free of the garden below our windows, quite long in its irregular rambling shape, bordering the cliff.

The walls were perfectly smooth and high, ending in the masonry of the building; and as I studied the great stones I became convinced that the whole structure was extremely old.

It was built like the pre-Incan architecture in Peru, of enormous monoliths, fitted as closely as mosaics.
"These folks have a history, that's sure," I told the others.

"And SOME time they were fighters--else why a fortress ?" I said we were free of the garden, but not wholly alone in it.

There was always a string of those uncomfortably strong women sitting about, always one of them watching us even if the others were reading, playing games, or busy at some kind of handiwork.
"When I see them knit," Terry said, "I can almost call them feminine." "That doesn't prove anything," Jeff promptly replied.