s he passed through the first fringe of trees, Jerry found that he had stepped into a cultivated garden, laid out with paths of resilient, reddish-brown material as springy as rubber, which wound among beds of bright, weird blooms of grotesque forms and patterns, clumps of shrubbery, and shady groves of trees.
After walking for a distance of about a mile he reached the edge of the garden, bounded by a wall about fifty feet in height, which stretched in a gradual curve to the right and left, as far as he could see. It was constructed from immense blocks of translucent, amber-colored material, fitted together so cleverly that the seams were all but invisible. At regular intervals, curving stairways led up to the top of the wall, and he made his way to the nearest one.
A short climb brought him to the top of the wall, which was more than a hundred feet thick. He walked across it and peered over the edge, then drew back dizzily. He was looking down on the busy streets of an immense city, so far belo
Better than the Swordsman of Mars also by Kline, but nowhere in ERB's class. Kline tries hard, but his characters tend to me re-active--not pro-active which bores me. I want my heros to be heroic darn it!