At each corner of the top was a decorative casting. They were minia- ture beasts of the sort which in larger scale could have modeled the censer’s terrible clawed legs. The creatures had catlike heads, the bodies of toads with triangular plates rising along the spine for protection, and the forelegs of birds of prey. Serpent tails curled up behind them, sug- gesting the creatures were intended as handles for the censer; but anyone who attempted to put them to that purpose would have his hands pierced by the hair-thin spikes with which the tails ended.
There was no other furniture in the room, but a pentacle several feet in diameter was painted or inlaid on the concrete floor to the reading stand’s left. It was empty. The floor and white-stuccoed walls were other- wise unmarked.
Khamwas’s lips pursed.
“Go ahead,” said Samlor with a shrug. “Maybe your stone’s on the ceiling where we can’t see it.”
“Yes,” said the Napatan, though there was doubt rather than hope in his tone.
Khamwas thrust his staff as far into the mauve light as it would go while his hand on the tip remained above floor level.
Nothing happened, but Samlor was not foo! enough to think it had been a pointless exercise. His companion was doing what he had prom- ised, concentrating his talents-better, his knowledge-on the task at hand.
Still holding the staff out in his direction of travel, Khamwas backed awkwardly down the ladder. The ferule banged accidentally on the cen- ser as he turned. It made Khamwas jump back but did not concern Samlor, who saw what was about to happen.