The place in which they found themselves was a large oblong cavern, with walls, floor, and ceiling of natural rock.  There were two doorways:  that by which they had entered, and another of smaller size directly opposite.  The cave was cold and cheerless; a damp draft passed from door to door.  Many skins of wild animals lay scattered on the ground.  A number of lumps of sun-dried flesh were hanging on a string along the wall, and a few bulging liquor skins reposed in a corner.  There were tusks, horns, and bones everywhere.  Resting against the wall were two short hunting spears, having beautiful crystal heads.

Haunte set down the two male stones on the ground, near the farther door; their light illuminated the whole cave.  He then walked over to the meat and, snatching a large piece, began to gnaw it ravenously.

“Are we invited to the feast?” asked Maskull.

Haunte pointed to the hanging flesh and to the liquor skins, but did not pause in his chewing.

“Where’s a cup?” inquired Maskull, lifting one of the skins.

Haunte indicated a clay goblet lying on the floor.  Maskull picked it up, undid the neck of the skin, and, resting it under his arm, filled the cup.  Tasting the liquor, he discovered it to be raw spirit.  He tossed off the draught, and then felt much better.

The second cupful he proffered to Corpang.  The latter took a single sip, swallowed it, and then passed the cup back without a word.  He refused to drink again, as long as they were in the cave.  Maskull finished the cup, and began to throw off care.

Going to the meat line, he took down a large double handful, and sat down on a pile of skins to eat at his ease.  The flesh was tough and coarse, but he had never tasted anything sweeter.  He could not understand the flavour, which was not surprising in a world of strange animals.  The meal proceeded in silence.  Corpang ate sparingly, standing up, and afterward lay down on a bundle of furs.  His bold eyes watched all the movements of the other two.  Haunte had not drunk as yet.

At last Maskull concluded his meal.  He emptied another cup, sighed pleasantly, and prepared to talk.

“Now explain further about your women, Haunte.”

Haunte fetched another skin of liquor and a second cup.  He tore off the string with his teeth, and poured out and drank cup after cup in quick succession.  Then he sat down, crossed his legs, and turned to Maskull.

“Well?”

“So they are objectionable?”

“They are deadly.”

“Deadly?  In what way can they possibly be deadly?”

“You will learn.  I was watching you in the boat, Maskull.  You had some bad feelings, eh?”

“I don’t conceal it.  There were times when I felt as if I were struggling with a nightmare.  What caused it?”

“The female atmosphere of Lichstorm.  Sexual passion.”

“I had no passion.”