This gremlin god is known as the red mountain or the red rock of doom. When enough victims crawl onto its back, they sink down, down into the pit of this monstrosity and are boiled alive. The mountain dwellers shun it, and only in the scurrying panic of flight can one glimpse it through a rock's rim. It is hinted--and by the gods it is shewn clearly--that only the stoutest iron can halt this pit." "Madness rides the horned horse that neighs for nought. It snarls and barks orders to the driver as it ploddes along at top speed. The men take the wheel and follow like mindless slaves, sometimes turning to look, but never rising to turn again. Once I watched as a rider made a sharp turn to turn left at the bend in the road, only to have his horns give way and send him flying over his shoulder. Other times I watched as the front wheel fell from a horse not used to exerting so much impetus. I ask myself why there is in this land of death and madness such a fine blend of motion, such an ecstasy of motion and response. One must not ask that, for the answer is none other than the inexhaustible potentiality of the human will, of the reason that made the ancients invent creation and the laws of Nature.