She turned Sarchedon homeward, but scarcely had faced that way when she wheeled him again.

She rode slowly and she rode swiftly.

The former was hateful because it held her back--from what she no longer dared think; the latter was fearful because it hurried her on swiftly, irresistibly to her fate.
Lin Slone had changed his camp and had chosen a pass high up where the great walls had began to break into sections.

Here there was intimacy with the sheer cliffs of red and yellow.

Wide avenues between the walls opened on all points of the compass, and that one to the north appeared to be a gateway down into the valley of monuments.