CHAPTER 5THE CRAWLING SLIME
When dawn came shouldering up over the edges of the world, and flooded the landscape with pale gold fight, Carthalla went down to the banks of the Black River without bothering to awaken her companion. She was filthy with the dust and grime of travel, and her body stank of sour sweat. She must bathe, and be the water black or no, at least it was wet. In the shelter of overhanging ferns she stripped off her filthy gown, which was by now little more than rags. She handled it despairingly. She would scrub it as clean as possible—but later. First the bath. However, she could not resist ripping the remnants of the hem away: from thigh down the gown was in long ribbons which entangled her legs when she walked. So she tore the soiled cloth and made an abbreviated, but
