 CHAPTER 18 The Amphitheater of Jet For hours the black-haired folk had been streaming across the bridges, flowing along the promenade by scores and by hundreds, drifting down toward the gigantic Seven Terrace Temple, whose interior I had never as yet seen, and from whose towering exterior indeed I had always been kept far enough away, unobtrusively but nonetheless decisively, to prevent any real observation. The structure, I had estimated nevertheless, could not reach less than a thousand feet above its silvery base, and the diameter of its circuit or foundation was about the same. I wondered what was bringing the Ladala into Laura and where they were vanishing. All of them were flower-crowned with the luminous, lovely blooms, old and young, slender, mocking-eyed girls, dwarfed youths, mothers with their babes, gnome dolsters, on they poured silent for the most part and sullen, a sullenness that held acid bitterness even as their subtle, half-sinister, rough-gay malice seemed tempered into little keen-edged flames, oddly menacingly defiant. There were many of the green-clad soldiers along the way, and the garrison of the only bridge-span I could see had certainly been doubled. Wondering still, I turned from my point of observation and made my way back to our pavilion, hoping that Larry, who had been with Yolara for the past two hours, had returned. Finally had I reached it, before Rador came hurrying up, in his manner a curious exultance mingled with what in anyone else I would have called a decided nervousness. Come, he commanded before I could speak. The council has made decision, and Larry is awaiting you. What has been decided, I panted as we sped along the mosaic path that led to the house of Yolara. And why is Larry awaiting me? And at his answer I felt my heart pause in its beat, and threw me race a wave of mingled panic and eagerness. The shining one dances, had answered the green dwarf. And you are to worship! What was this dancing of the shining one, of which so often he had spoken? Whatever my forebodings, Larry evidently, had none. Great stuff! he cried, when we had met in the great anti-chamber, now empty of the dwarfs. Hoping it we were seeing, have to be something damned good, though, to catch me, after what I've seen of shows at the front, he added. And remembering, with a little shock of apprehension, that he had no knowledge of the dweller beyond my poor description of it, for there are no words actually to describe what that miracle of interwoven glory and horror was. I wondered what Larry O'Keefe would say and do when he did behold it. Rador began to show impatience. Come, he urged, there is much to be done, and the time grows short. He led us to a tiny fountain-room in whose miniature pool the white waters were concentrated, furrow-like and opalescent in their circling rim. Bave, he commanded, and set the example by stripping himself and plunging within. Only a minute or two did the green dwarf allow us, and he checked us as we were about to don our clothing. Then, to my intense embarrassment, without warning, two of the black-haired girls entered, bearing robes of a peculiar dull blue hue. At our manifest discomfort Rador's laughter roared out. He took the garments from the pair, motioned them to leave us, and, still laughing, threw one around me. Its texture was soft, but decidedly metallic, like some blue metal spun to the finest of a spider's thread. The garment buckled tightly at the throat, was girdled at the waist, and below this tincture fell to the floor, its folds being held together by a half-dozen looped cords. From the shoulders a hood resembling a monk's cowl. Rador cast this over my head. It completely covered my face, but was of so transparent a texture that I could see, though somewhat mistily, through it. Finally he handed us both a pair of long gloves of the same material and high stockings, the feet of which were gloved, five toad. And again his laughter rang out at our manifest surprise. The priestess of the Shining One does not altogether trust the Shining One's voice, he said at last. And these are to guard against any sudden errors. And fear not, Goodwin, he went on kindly. Not for the Shining One itself would your olara see harm come to Larry here, nor because of him to you. But I would not stake much on the great white one, and for him I am sorry, for him I do like well. Is he to be with us? asked Larry eagerly. He is to be where we go, replied the dwarf soberly. Grimly Larry reached down and drew from his uniform his automatic. He popped a fresh clip into the pocket-fold of his girdle. The pistol he slung high up beneath his armpit. The green dwarf looked at the weapon curiously. O'Keefe tapped it. Thess, said Larry, slays quicker than the calf. I take it so no harm shall come to the blue-eyed one, whose name is Olaf. If I should raise it, be you not in its way, Rador, he added significantly. The dwarf nodded again, his eyes sparkling. He thrust a hand out to both of us. A change comes, he said. What it is, I know not, nor how it will fall. But this, remember, Rador is more friend to you than you yet can know. And now let us go, he ended abruptly. He led us, not through the entrance, but into a sloping passage ending in a blind wall. Touched a simple grave in there, and it opened, precisely as had the rosy barrier of the moon-pool chamber. And just as there, but far smaller, was a passage-end, a low-curved wall facing a shaft, not black as had been that abode of living darkness, but faintly luminescent. Rador leaned over the wall. The mechanism clicked and started. The door swung shut, the sides of the car slipped into place, and we swept swiftly down the passage. Overhead, the wind whistled. In a few moments the moving platform began to slow down. It stopped in a closed chamber, no larger than itself. Rador drew his poignard and struck twice upon the wall with its hilt. Immediately a panel moved away, revealing a space filled with a faint, misty blue radiance. And at each side of the open portal stood four of the dwarfish men, gray-headed, old, clad in flowing garments of white, each pointing toward us a short silver rod. Rador drew from his girdle a ring and held it out to the first dwarf. He examined it, handed it to the one beside him, and not until each had inspected the ring did they lower their curious weapons. Containers of that terrific energy they called the keth, I thought, and later was to know that I had been right. We stepped out. The doors closed behind us. The place was weird enough. Its pave was a greenish-blue stone resembling lapis lazuli. On each side were high pedestals holding carved figures of the same material. There were perhaps a score of these, but in the mistiness I could not make out their outlines. A droning, rushing roar beat upon our ears, filled the whole cavern. I smelled the sea, said Larry, suddenly. The roaring became deep-toned, clamorous, and close in front of us a rift opened. Twenty feet in width it cut the cavern floor and vanished into the blue mist on each side. The cleft was spanned by one solid slab of rock, not more than two yards wide. It had neither railing nor other protection. The four leading priests marched out upon it one by one and we followed. In the middle of the span they knelt. Ten feet beneath us was a torrent of blue sea water racing with prodigious speed between polished walls. It gave the impression of vast depth. It roared as it sped by, and far to the right was a low arch through which it disappeared. It was so swift that its surface shone like polished blue steel, and from it came the blessed, our-worldly, familiar ocean breath that strengthened my soul amazingly and made me realize how earth-sick I was. Wants came the stream, I marveled, forgetting for the moment as we passed on again, all else. Were we closer to the surface of earth than I had thought, or was this some mighty flood falling through an opening in sea-floor, heaven alone knew how many miles above us, losing itself in deeper abysses beyond these? How near and how far this was from the truth I was to learn, and never did truth come to man in more dreadful guise. The roaring fell away, the blue haze lessened. In front of us stretched a wide flight of steps, huge as those which had led us into the courtyard of Nantouach through the ruined sea-gate. We scaled it, it narrowed. From above light poured through a still narrower opening. Side by side Larry and I passed out of it. We had emerged upon an enormous platform of what seemed to be glistening ivory. It stretched before us for a hundred yards or more, and then shelved gently into the white waters. Opposite, not a mile away, was that prodigious web of woven rainbows Rador had called the veil of the shining one. There it shone in all its unearthly grandeur on each side of the cyclopean pillars, as though a mountain should stretch up arms raising between them a fairy banner of auroral glories. Beneath it was the curved scimitar sweep of the pier with its clustered gleaming temples. Before that brief, fascinated glance was done, there dropped upon my soul a sensation as of brooding weight intolerable, a spiritual oppression as though some vastness was falling, pressing, stifling me. I turned, and Larry caught me as I reeled. Steady, steady old man, he whispered. At first all that my staggering consciousness could realize was an immensity and immeasurable uprearing that brought with it the same throat-gripping vertigo as comes from gazing downward from some great height. Then a blur of white faces, intolerable shinings of hundreds upon thousands of eyes. Huge, incredibly huge, a colossal amphitheater of jet, a stupendous semi-circle, held within its mighty arc the ivory platform on which I stood. It reared itself almost perpendicularly hundreds of feet up into the sparkling heavens, and thrust down on each side its ebb and bulwarks like monstrous paws. Now, the giddiness from its sheer greatness passing, I saw that it was indeed an amphitheater sloping slightly backward, tear after tear, and that the white blur of faces against its blackness, the gleaming of countless eyes were those of myriads of the people who sat silent, flower garlanded, their gaze focused upon the rainbow curtain and sweeping over me like a torrent, tangible, appalling. Five hundred feet beyond the smooth, high retaining wall of the amphitheater raised itself, above it the first terrace of the seats and above this, dividing the tiers for another half a thousand feet upward, set within them like a panel, was a dead black surface in which shone faintly with a bluish radiance a gigantic disc. Above it and around it a cluster of innumerable smaller ones. On each side of me bordering the platform were scores of small pillard alcoves, a low wall stretching across their fronts. Delicate, fretted grills shielding them, save where in each lattice an opening stared. It came to me that they were like those stalls in ancient Gothic cathedrals, wherein for centuries had kneeled paladins and people of my own race on earth's fair face. And within these alcoves were gathered score upon score the elfin beauties, the dwarfish men of the fair-haired folk. At my right, a few feet from the opening through which we had come, a passageway led back between the fretted stalls. Halfway between us and the massive base of the amphitheater a dais rose. Up the platform to it a wide ramp ascended. And on ramp and dais and along the center of the gleaming platform down to where it kissed the white waters, a broad ribbon of the radiant flowers lay like a fairy carpet. On one side of this dais, meshed in a silken web that hid no line or curve of her sweet body, white flesh gleaming through its folds, stood Yolara. And opposite her, crowned with a circlet of flashing blue stones, his mighty body stark bare was Lugwer. O'Keefe drew a long breath. Rador touched my arm, and still dazed, I let myself be drawn into the aisle and through a corridor that ran behind the alcoves. At the back of one of these the green dwarf paused, opened a door, and motioned us within. Entering, I found that we were exactly opposite where the ramp ran up to the dais, and that Yolara was not more than fifty feet away. She glanced at O'Keefe and smiled. Her eyes were ablaze with little dancing points of light. Her body seemed to palpitate, the rounded, delicate muscles beneath the translucent skin to run with joyful little eager waves. Larry whistled softly. "'Dar's Marikinof,' he said. I looked where he pointed. Opposite us sat the Russian, clothed as we were, leaning forward, his eyes eager behind his glasses. But if he saw us he gave no sign.' "'And, Terzolov,' said O'Keefe.' Beneath the carved stalled in which sat the Russian was an aperture, and within it was Haldricksson, unprotected by pillars or by grills, opening clear upon the platform, near him stretched the trail of flowers up to the great dais which Lugwer and Yolara the Priestess guarded. He sat alone, and my heart went out to him. O'Keefe's face softened. "'Bring him hair,' he said to Rador. The green dwarf was looking at the Norseman too, a shade of pity upon his mocking face. He shook his head. "'Wait,' he said. You can do nothing now, and it may be there will be no need to do anything,' he added, but I could feel that there was little of conviction in his words. End of CHAPTER XIV of THE MOON POOL by Abraham Merritt. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. THE MOON POOL CHAPTER XIX THE MADNESS OF OLOF. Yolara threw her white arms high. From the mountainous tears came a mighty sky. A rippling ran through them. And upon the moment, before Yolara's arms fell, there issued, apparently from the air around us, a peel of sound that might have been the shouting of some playful God, hurling great suns through the net of stars. It was like the deepest notes of all the organs in the world combined in one. Summoning, majestic, cosmic. But held within it the thunder of the spheres rolling through the infinite, the birth song of suns made manifest in the womb of space. Echoes of creation's supernal cord. It shook the body like a pulse from the heart of the universe. Pulsed and died away. On its death came a blaring as of all the trumpets of conquering hosts since the first pharaoh led his swarms, triumphal, compelling. Alexander's clamoring hosts, brazen, throated wolf horns of Caesar's legions, blare of trumpets of Genghis Khan and his golden horde, clanger of the locust levies of Tamerlane, bugles of Napoleon's armies, war shout of all earth's conquerors. And it died. Fast upon it a throbbing muffled tumult of harp sounds, mellownesses of myriads of wood-horns, the subdued, sweet shrilling of multitudes of flutes, pandy and pipings, inviting, caring with them the calling of waterfalls in the hidden places, rushing brooks and murmuring forest winds, calling, calling, languorous, lulling, dripping into the brain like the very honeyed essence of sound. And after them a silence in which the memory of the music seemed to beat, to beat ever more faintly through every quivering nerve. From me all fear, all apprehension had fled. In their place was nothing but joyous anticipation, a supernal freedom from even the shadow of the shadow of care or sorrow. Not now did anything matter. Olaf or his haunted, hate-filled eyes, Throckmarten or his fate, nothing of pain, nothing of agony, nothing of striving nor endeavour nor despair in that wide outer world that had turned suddenly into a troubled dream. Once more the first great note peeled out. Once more it died and from the clustered spheres a kaleidoscopic blaze shot as though drawn from the majestic sound itself. The many colored rays darted across the white waters and sought the face of the iris veil. As they touched it sparkled, flamed, wavered and shook with fountains of prismatic colour. The light increased, and in its intensity the silver air darkened. Faded into shadow that white mosaic of flower-crowned faces set in the amphitheater of jet, and vast shadows dropped upon the high-flung tears and shrouded them. But on the skirts of the rays the fretted stalls in which we sat with the fair-haired ones blazed out, iridescent like jewels. I was sensible of an acceleration of every pulse, a wild stimulation of every nerve. I felt myself being lifted above the world, close to the threshold of the high gods. Soon their essence and their power would stream out into me. I glanced at Larry. His eyes were wild with life. I looked at Olaf, and in his face was none of this. Only hate and hate and hate. The peacock waves streamed out over the waters, cleaving the seeming darkness, a rainbow path of glory. And the veil flashed as though all the rainbows that had ever shown were burning within it. Again the mighty sound peeled. Into the centre of the veil the light drew itself, grew into an intolerable brightness, and with a storm of tinklings, a tempest of crystalline notes, a tumult of tiny shimings. Through it sped the shining one. Straight down that radiant path its high flung plumes of feathery flame shimmering, its coruscating spirals whirling, its seven globes of seven colours shining above its glowing core, it raced toward us. The hurricane of bells of diamond glass were jubilant, joyous. I felt O'Keefe grip my arm. Yolara threw her white arms out in a welcoming gesture. I heard from the tear a sigh of rapture, and in it a poignant, wailing undertone of agony. Over the waters, down the light stream, to the end of the ivory pier, flew the shining one. Through its crystal pizzicati drifted inarticulate murmurings, deadly sweet, stilling the heart and setting it leaping madly. For a moment it paused, poised itself, and then came whirling down the flower path to its priestess, slowly, ever more slowly. It hovered for a moment between the woman and the dwarf, as though contemplating them. Turned to her with its storm of tinkling softened, its murmurings infinitely caressing. Bent toward it, Yolara seemed to gather within herself pulsing waves of power. She was terrifying, gloriously maddeningly evil, and, as gloriously maddeningly heavenly. Aphrodite and the Virgin, tanneth of the Carthaginians and St. Bride of the Isles. A queen of hell and a princess of heaven in one. Only for a moment did that which we had called the Dweller, and which these named the shining one, pause. It swept up the ramp to the dais, rested there, slowly turning, plumes and spirals lacing and unlacing, throbbing, pulsing. Now its nucleus grew planer, stronger, human in a fashion and all inhuman, neither man nor woman, neither god nor devil, subtly partaking of all. Nor could I doubt that whatever it was within that shining nucleus was something sentient, something that had will and energy and in some awful, supernormal fashion, intelligence. Under trumpeting, a sound of stones opening, a long, low wail of utter anguish, something moved shadowy in the river of light, and slowly at first, then ever more rapidly, shapes swam through it. There were half a score of them, girls and youths, women and men. The shining one poised itself, regarded them. They drew closer, and in the eyes of each and in their faces was the bud of that awful intermingling of emotions, of joy and sorrow, ecstasy and terror, that I had seen in full blossom on Throckmartons. The thing began again its murmurings, now infinitely caressing, coaxing, like the song of a siren from some witched star, and the bell sounds rang out, compellingly, calling calling, calling. I saw Olaf lean far out of his place, saw half consciously, at Lugur's signal, three of the dwarfs creep in and take places unnoticed behind him. Now the first of the figures rushed upon the dais and paused. It was the girl who had been brought before Yolara when the gnome named Sangar was driven into the nothingness. With all the quickness of light, a spiral of the shining one stretched out and encircled her. At its touch there was an infinitely dreadful shrinking, and it seemed a simultaneous hurling of herself into its radiance. As it wrapped its swirls around her, permeated her, the crystal chorus burst forth tumultuously, through and through her the radiance pulsed. Began then, that infinitely dreadful, but infinitely glorious, rhythm, they called the dance of the shining one. And as the girl swirled within its sparkling mists another and another flew into its embrace, until, at last, the dais was an incredible vision. A mad star's witch's sabbath, an altar of white faces and bodies gleaming through living flame, transfused with rapture insupportable and horror that was hellish, and ever radiant plumes and spirals expanding, the core of the shining one waxed, growing greater as it consumed as it drew into and through itself the life-force of those lost ones. So they spun, interlaced, and there began to pulse from them life, vitality, as though the very essence of nature was filling us. Dimly I recognized that what I was beholding was vampirism inconceivable. The banked tears chanted, the mighty sounds peeled forth. It was a Saturnalia of demigods. Then, whirling, bell-notes storming, the shining one withdrew slowly from the dais, down the ramp, still embracing, still interwoven with those who had thrown themselves into its spirals. They drifted with it, as though half-carried in dreadful dance. White faces sealed, forever, into that semblance of those who held within, linked God and Devil. I covered my eyes. I heard a gasp from O'Keeffe, opened my eyes and sought his. Saw the wildness vanish from them as he strained forward. Olaf had leaned far out, and as he did so the dwarfs beside him caught him, and whether by design or through his own swift involuntary movement thrust him half into the dweller's path. The dweller paused in its gyrations, seemed to watch him. The Norseman's face was crimson, his eyes blazing. He threw himself back, and with one defiant shout gripped one of the dwarfs about the middle and sent him hurtling through the air, straight at the radiant thing. A whirling mass of legs and arms the dwarf flew. Then, in mid-flight, stopped as though some gigantic, invisible hand had caught him, and was dashed down upon the platform not a yard from the shining one. Like a broken spider he moved, feebly, once, twice. From the dweller shot a shimmering tentacle, touched him, recoiled. Its crystal tinklings changed into an angry chiming. From all about, jeweled stalls and jet-peak came a sigh of incredulous horror. Lugor leaped forward. On the instant Larry was over the low barrier between the pillars, rushing to the Norseman's side. And even as they ran there was another wild shout from Olaf, and he hurled himself out, straight at the throat of the dweller. But before he could touch the shining one, now motionless, and never was the thing more horrible than then, with the purely human suggestion of surprise, plain in its poise, Larry had struck him aside. I tried to follow, and was held by Rador. He was trembling, but not with fear. In his face was incredulous hope, inexplicable eagerness. Wait, he said. Wait! The shining one stretched out a slow spiral, and as it did so, I saw the bravest thing man has ever witnessed. Instantly O'Keefe thrust himself between it and Olaf, pistol out. The tentacle touched him, and the dull blue of his robe flashed out into blinding, intense azure light. From the automatic in his gloved hand came three quick bursts of flame, straight into the thing. The dweller drew back. The bell sound swelled. Luger paused. His hand darted up, and in it was one of the silver keth cones. But before he could flash it upon the Norseman, Larry had unlooped his robe, thrown its fold over Olaf, and, holding him with one hand away from the shining one, thrust with the other his pistol into the dwarf's stomach. His lips moved, but I could not hear what he said. But Luger understood, for his hand dropped. Now Yolara was there. All this had taken barely more than five seconds. She thrust herself between the three men and the dweller. She spoke to it, and the wild buzzing died down. The gay crystal tinklings burst forth again. The thing murmured to her, began to whirl, faster, faster. Passed down the ivory pier, out upon the waters, bearing with it, meshed in its light, the sacrifices, swept on ever more swiftly, triumphantly, and turning, turning with its ghastly crew, vanished through the veil. Abruptly the polychromatic path snapped out. The silver light poured in upon us. From all the amphitheater arose a clamor, a shouting. Marekinov, his eyes staring, was leaning out, listening. Unrestrained now by Rador, I vaulted the wall and rushed forward. But not before I had heard the green dwarf murmur. There is something stronger than the shining one. Two things, yay, a strong heart and hate. Olof, panting, eyes glazed, trembling, shrank beneath my hand. To devil that took my helmet! I heard him whisper. The shining devil! Both these men, Lugor was raging, they shall dance with the shining one, and this one too, he pointed at me malignantly. "'This man is mine,' said the priestess, and her voice was menacing. She rested her hand on Larry's shoulder. He shall not dance. No, nor his friend. I have told you, I dare not for this one,' she pointed to Olof. "'Neither this man nor this,' said Larry, shall be harmed. This is my word, Yolara.' Even so, she answered quietly, my lord. I saw Marekinov stare at O'Keefe with a new and curiously speculative interest. Lugor's eyes grew hellish. He raised his arms as though to strike her. Larry's pistol prodded him rudely enough. "'Oh, rough stuff now, kid,' said Keefe in English. The red dwarf quivered, turned, caught a robe from a priest standing by, and threw it over himself. The Ladala, shouting, gesticulating, fighting with the soldiers, were jostling down from the tears of jet. "'Come,' commanded Yolara, her eyes rested upon Larry. "'Your heart is great indeed, my lord,' she murmured, and her voice was very sweet. "'Come.' "'This man comes with us, Yolara,' said O'Keefe, pointing to Olof. "'Bring him,' she said. "'Bring him. Only tell him to look no more upon me as before,' she added fiercely. Beside her the three of us passed along the stalls, where sat the fair-haired, now silent, at gaze, as though in the grip of some great doubt. Silently Olof strode beside me. Rador had disappeared. Down the stairway, through the hall of Turquoise Mist, over the rushing sea-stream we went, and stood beside the wall through which we had entered. The white-robed ones had gone. Yolara pressed, the portal opened. We stepped upon the car, she took the lever, we raced through the faintly luminous corridor to the house of the priestess. At one thing now I knew, sick at heart and soul, the truth had come to me. No more need to search for Throckmarten. Behind that veil, in the lair of the Dweller, dead alive, like those we had just seen swim in its shining train was he, and Edith, Stanton, and Thora, and Olof Haldrickson's wife. The car came to rest, the portal opened, Yolara leaped out lightly, beckoned and flitted up the corridor. She paused before an ebb and screen. At a touch it vanished, revealing an entrance to a small blue chamber, glowing as though cut from the heart of some gigantic sapphire. Bear, saved that in its center, upon a low pedestal, stood a great globe fashioned from milky rock crystal. Upon its surface were faint tracings as of seas and continents, but if so, either of some other world or of this world in immemorial past, or in no way did they resemble the mapped coastlines of our earth. Laced upon the globe, rising from it, out into space, locked in each other's arms, lips to lips, were two figures, a woman and a man, so exquisite, so lifelike, that for the moment I failed to realize that they too were carved of the crystal. And before this shrine, for nothing else could it be I knew, three slender cones raised themselves, one of the purest white flame, one of opalescent water, and the third of moonlight. There was no mistaking them, the height of a tall man each stood, but how water, flame, and light were held so evenly, so steadily in their spire shapes I could not tell. Yolara bowed lowly, once, twice, thrice. She turned to O'Keefe, nor by slightest look or gesture betrayed she knew others were there than he. The blue eyes wide, searching, unfathomable, she drew close, put white hands on his shoulders, looked down into his very soul. My Lord, she murmured, now listen well, for I, Yolara, give you three things, myself and the shining one, and the power that is the shining ones, yea, and still a fourth thing that is all three, power over all upon that world from whence you came. These, my Lord, ye shall have. I swear it. She turned toward the altar, uplifted her arms. By Syah and by Syanna, and by the flame, by the water, and by the light. I have no space here even to outline the eschatology of this people nor to catalog their pantheon. Syah and Syanna typified worldly love. Their ritual was, however, singularly free from those degrading elements usually found in love cults. Priests and priestesses of all cults dwelt in the immense, seven-terrest structure of which the jet amphitheater was the water-side. The symbol, icon, representation of Syah and Syanna, the globe and the up-striving figures, typified earthly love, feet bound to earth but eyes among the stars. Hell or heaven I never heard formulated, nor their equivalents, unless that existence in the shining one's domain could serve for either. Over all this was Thanaroa, remote, unheeding, but still maker and ruler of all, an absentee first cause personified. Thanaroa seemed to be the one article of belief in the creed of the soldiers. Rador, with his reverence for the ancient ones, was an exception. Whatever there was, indeed of high, truly religious impulse among the myrians, this far high god had. I found this exceedingly interesting, because it had long been my theory, to put the matter in the shape of a geometrical formula, that the real attractiveness of gods to man increases uniformly according to the square of their distance. W. T. G. Let none dare to take you from me, nor ye go from me unbidden, she whispered fiercely. Then swiftly, still ignoring us, she threw her arms about O'Keeffe, pressed her white body to his breast, lips raised, eyes closed, seeking his. O'Keeffe's arms tightened around her, his head dropped, lips seeking, finding hers, passionately. From Olaf came a deep, in-drawn breath that was almost a groan. But not in my heart could I find blame for the Irishman. The priestess opened eyes, now all misty blue, thrust him back, stood regarding him. O'Keeffe, dead white, raised a trembling hand to his face. And thus have I sealed my oath, O Lord, she whispered. For the first time she seemed to recognize our presence, stared at us a moment, then, through us, and turned to O'Keeffe. Go now, she said, soon Rador shall come for you. Then, well, after that, let happen what will. She smiled once more at him, so sweetly, turned toward the figures upon the great globe, sank upon her knees before them. Quietly we crept away. Still silent made our way to the little pavilion. But as we passed, we heard a tumult from the green roadway, shouts of men, now and then a woman scream. Through a rift in the garden I glimpsed a jostling crowd on one of the bridges. Green dwarfs struggling with the Ladala, and all about droned a humming as of a giant hive disturbed. Larry threw himself down upon one of the devans, covered his face with his hands, dropped them to catch in Olaf's eyes troubled reproach, looked at me. I couldn't help it, he said, half defiantly, half miserably. God, what a woman! I couldn't help it! Larry, I asked, why didn't you tell her you didn't love her then? He gazed at me, the old twinkle back in his eyes. Spoken like a scientist, Doc, he exclaimed, I suppose if a burning angel struck you out of nowhere and threw itself about you, you would most dignifiedly tell it you didn't want to be burned. For God's sake, don't talk nonsense, Goodwin, he ended almost peevishly. Evil, evil! The Norseman's voice was deep, nearly a chant. All here is of evil. Trolldom and Helvide it is, yeah. And that she-devil scuff beauty, what is she but heartate of that shining devil they worship? I, or Love-Hudrickson, know what she meant when she held out to you power over all the world, yeah, as if the world had not devils enough in it now. What? The cry came from both O'Keefe and myself at once. Olaf made a gesture of caution, relapsed into sullen silence. There were footsteps on the path, and into sight came Rador. But a Rador changed. Gone was every vestige of his mockery. In his solemn, he saluted O'Keefe and Olaf with that salute, which before this I had seen given only to Yolara and to Lugur. There came a swift quickening of the tumult, dyed away. He shrugged mighty shoulders. The Ladala are awake, he said. So much for what two brave men can do! He was thoughtfully. Bones and dust jostle not each other for place against the grave wall, he added oddly. But if bones and dust have revealed to them that they still live... He stopped abruptly, his eyes seeking the globe that bore and sent forth speech. I find that I have neglected to explain the working of these interesting mechanisms that were telephonic, dictophonic, and telegraphic in one. I must assume that my readers are familiar with the receiving apparatus of wireless telegraphy, which must be tuned by the operator until its own vibratory quality is in exact harmony with the vibrations, the extreme rapid impacts of those short electric wavelengths we call Hertzian, and which carry the wireless messages. We must assume also that they are familiar with the elementary fact of physics that the vibrations of light and sound are interchangeable. The hearing-talking globes utilize both these principles and with consummate simplicity. The light with which they shone was produced by an atomic motor within their base, similar to that which activated the merely illuminating globes. The composition of the phonic spheres gave their surfaces an acute sensitivity and resonance. In conjunction with its energizing power, the metal set up what is called a field of force, which linked it with every particle of its kind no matter how distant. When vibrations of speech impinged upon the resonant surface, its rhythmic light vibrations were broken, just as a telephone transmitter breaks an electric current. Simultaneously these light vibrations were changed into sound, on the surfaces of all spheres tuned to that particular instrument. The crawling colors which showed themselves at these times were literally the voice of the speaker in its spectrum equivalent. While usually the sounds produced required considerable familiarity with the apparatus to be understood quickly, they could, on occasion, be made startlingly loud and clear as I was soon to realize. W.T.G. The Afyomai has sent me to watch over you till she summons you, he announced clearly. There is to be a feast. You, Larry, you, Goodwin, are to come. I remain here with Olof. No harm to him, broke in O'Keefe sharply. Rador touched his heart, his eyes. By the ancient ones and by my love for you and by what you twain did before the shining one, I swear it, he whispered. Rador clapped palms. A soldier came round the path, in his grip a long flat box of polished wood. The green dwarf took it, dismissed him, threw open the lid. Here is your apparel for the feast, Larry, he said, pointing to the contents. O'Keefe stared, reached down and drew out a white, shimmering, softly metallic, long-sleeved tunic, a broad silvery girdle, legs swathings of the same argent material and sandals that seem to be cut out from silver. He made a quick gesture of angry dissent. Nay, Larry, muttered the dwarf, wear them, I counsel it, I pray it, ask me not why. He went on swiftly, looking again at the globe. O'Keefe, as I, was impressed by his earnestness. The dwarf made a curiously expressive pleading gesture. O'Keefe abruptly took the garments, passed into the room of the fountain. The shining one dances not again, I asked. No, he said. No, he hesitated. It is the usual feast that follows the sacrament. Lugor, and double-tongue who came with you, will be there, he added slowly. Lugor, I gasped in astonishment. After what happened, he will be there? Perhaps because of what happened, good-win my friend, he answered. His eyes again full of malice. And there will be others, friends of Yolara, friends of Lugor, and perhaps another. His voice was almost inaudible, one whom they have not called. He halted, half fearfully, glancing at the globe. Put finger to lips and spread himself out upon one of the couches. Strike up the band, came O'Keefe's voice. Here comes the hero! He strode into the room. I am bound to say that the admiration in Rador's eyes was reflected in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf's. A son of Sayana! whispered Rador. He knelt, took from his girdle pouch a silk-wrapped something, unwound it, and still kneeling, drew out a slender poignard of gleaming white metal, hilted with the blue stones. He thrust it into O'Keefe's girdle, then gave him again the rare salute. Come, he ordered, and took us to the head of the pathway. Now, he said grimly, let the silent ones show their power, if they still have it. And with this strange benediction he turned back. For God's sake, Larry, I urged as we approached the house of the priestess, you'll be careful. He nodded, but I saw with a little deadly pang of apprehension in my heart a puzzled, lurking doubt within his eyes. As we ascended the serpent's steps, Marekinov appeared. He gave a signal to our guards, and I wondered what influence the Russian had attained, for promptly, without question, they drew aside. At me he smiled amiably. Have you found your friends yet? He went on. And now I sent something deeply sinister in him. No, it is too bad. Well, don't give up hope. He turned to O'Keefe. Lieutenant, I would like to speak to you, alone. I've no secrets from Goodwin, answered O'Keefe. So, queried Marekinov suavely, he bent, whispered to Larry. The Irishman started, eyed him with a certain, shocked incredulity, then turned to me. Just a minute, doc, he said, and I caught the suspicion of a wink. They drew aside, out of earshot. The Russian talked rapidly. Larry was all attention. Marekinov's earnestness became intense. O'Keefe interrupted, appeared to question. O'Keefe glanced at me, and as his gaze shifted from O'Keefe, I saw a flame of rage and horror blaze up in the latter's eyes. At last the Irishman appeared to consider gravely. Nodded as though he had arrived at some decision, and Marekinov thrust his hand to him. And only I could have noticed Larry shrinking, his microscopic hesitation before he took it, and his involuntary movement as though to shake off something unclean when the clasp was ended. Marekinov, without another look at me, turned and went quickly within. The guards took their places. I looked at Larry inquiringly. "'Dod ask a thing now, Doc,' he said tensely. "'Wait till we get home. But we've got to get damn busy, and quick, I'll tell you that now.'" CHAPTER XX. THE TEMPTING OF LARRY We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur of many voices. They parted. Out came two, ushers I suppose they were, inquirises and kilts that reminded me somewhat of chain mail, the first armour of any kind here that I had seen. They held open the folds. The chamber, on whose threshold we stood, was far larger than either anti-room or hall of audience. Not less than three hundred feet long, and half that in length. From end to end of it ran two huge semi-circular tables, paralleling each other divided by a wide aisle, and heaped with flowers, with fruits, with vines unknown to me and glittering with crystal-flaggons, beakers, goblets of as many hues as the blooms. On the gay, cushioned couches that flanked the tables, lounging luxuriously were scores of the fair-haired ruling class, and there rose a little buzz of admiration, oddly mixed with a half-startled amaze as their gaze fell upon O'Keefe in all his silvery magnificence. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their rosy at radiance. The queerest dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the inner half-circle was another glittering board, an oval. But of those seated there, facing us, I had eyes for only one, Yolara. She swayed up to greet O'Keefe, and she was like one of those white lily-maids, whose beauty, huangku, the sage, says made the goby first a paradise, and whose lusts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out hands to Larry, and on her face was passion, unashamed, unhiding. She was seercy, but seercy conquered. Webbs of filmiest white clung to the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk hair a threaded circlet of pale sapphire shone, but they were pale beside Yolara's eyes. O'Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere admiration flaming from him. She saw, and smiling, drew him down beside her. It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O'Keefe, were in white, and I wondered. Then, with a tightening of nerves ceased to wonder, as there entered Lugor. He was all in scarlet, and as he strode forward a silence fell a tense, strained silence. His gaze turned upon Yolara, rested upon O'Keefe, and instantly his face grew dreadful. There is no other word than that for it. Marekinov leaned forward from the center of the table, near whose end I sat, touched and whispered to him swiftly. With appalling effort the red dwarf controlled himself. He saluted the priestess ironically, I thought. Took his place at the further end of the oval. And now I noted that the figures between were the seven of that council, of which the shining one's priestess and voice were the heads. The tension relaxed, but did not pass, as though a storm cloud should turn away, but still lurk, threatening. My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the exquisitely colored, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands. Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet above the floor, its gleaming surface half covered with the luminous petals, fragrant, delicate. On each side below it were low-carven stools. The curtains parted, and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the curiously emotion exciting octaved drums. They sank into their places. They touched their instruments. A faint, languorous measure throbbed through the rosy air. The stage was set. What was to be the play? Now about the tables, past other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms bare, their scanty curdles looped high, pouring out the wines for the feasters. My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marekinov had said, clearly it now filled his mind, even to the exclusion of the wondrous woman beside him. His eyes were stern, cold, and now and then, as he turned them toward the Russian, filled with a curious speculation. Yolara watched him, frowned, gave a low order to the heebie behind her. The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her lips, handed it to him. Half smiling, half abstractedly, he took it, touched his own lips where hers had kissed, drained it. A nod from Yolara and the maid had refilled his goblet. At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His abstraction vanished. The sternness fled. His eyes sparkled. He leaned caressingly toward Yolara, whispered. Her blue eyes flashed triumphantly. Her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass, but within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's, and again he drained his own, and lifting it, full once more, caught the baleful eyes of Luger and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed close, alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety, rollicking deviltry. A toast, he cried in English, to the shining one, and made a hell where it belongs soon claim it. He had used their own word for their god. All else had been in his own tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt in his action they did recognize, and a dead, a fearful silence fell upon them all. Luger's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keeffe. He seized the soft hand, caressed it. His gaze grew far away, sombre. The shining one, he spoke low, and now again I see the faces of those who dance with it. It is the fires of Mora. Come, God alone knows how, from Aaron to this place, the fires of Mora. He contemplated the hushed folk before him, and then from his lips came that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Aaron, the Curse of Mora. The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night. He thrills no more to loving nor weeps for past delight. For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight. Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her. And once more he gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed. He crooned. And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune when the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon. He stood, swaying for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess have her way, drained again the glass. And now my heart was cold indeed, for what hope was there left with Larry, mad, wild drunk. The silence was unbroken. Women, women, and dwarfs glancing furtively at each other. But now Yolara rose, face set, eyes flashing gray. Here you, the Council, and you, Lugor, and all who are here, she cried. Now I, the priestess of the shining one, take, as is my right, my mate. And this is he. She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up at her. Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara. He muttered thickly. But say anything you like. I love your voice. I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the Irishman's curls caressingly. You know the law, Yolara. Lugor's voice was flat, deadly. You may not mate with other than your own kind. And this man is a stranger, a barbarian, food for the shining one. Literally he spat the phrase. No, not of our kind, Lugor. Hire, Yolara answered serenely. Lo, a son of Sia and of Siana. A lie! roared the red dwarf. A lie! The shining one revealed it to me, said Yolara, sweetly. And if ye believe not, Lugor, go ask of the shining one if it be not truth. There was bitter, nameless menace in those last words, and whatever their hidden message to Lugor it was potent. He stood, choking, face hell-shadowed. Marekinov leaned out again, whispered. The red dwarf bowed, now wholly ironically, resumed his place and his silence. And again I wondered, ice-hearted, what was the power the Russian had so to sway Lugor? What says the Council? Yolara demanded, turning to them. Only for a moment they consulted among themselves. Then the woman whose face was a ravaged shrine of beauty spoke. The will of the priestess is the will of the Council, she answered. Defiance died from Yolara's face. She looked down at Larry tenderly. He sat, swaying, crooning. Bid the priests come, she commanded, then turned to the silent room. By the rites of Syah and Syanna, Yolara takes their son for her mate. And again her hand stole down possessingly, serpent soft to the drunken head of the O'Keefe. The curtains parted widely. Through them filed two by two, twelve hooded figures clad in flowing robes of the green one sees in forest vistas of opening buds of dawning spring. Of each pair one bore clasped to breast a globe of that milky crystal in the sapphire shrine-room. The other a harp, small, shaped somewhat like the ancient clarsak of the druids. Two by two they stepped upon the raised platform, placed gently upon it each their globe. And two by two crouched behind them. They formed now a star of six points about the petaldeus, and simultaneously they drew from their faces the covering cowls. I half rose, youths and maidens these of the fair haired, and youths and maids more beautiful than any of those I had yet seen, for upon their faces was little of that disturbing mockery to which I have been forced so often, because of the deep impression it made upon me to refer. The ashen gold of the maiden priestess's hair was wound about their brows in shining coronals. The pale locks of the youths were clustered within circuits of translucent, glimmering gems like moonstones. And then, crystal-globe alternately before, and harp alternately held by youth and maid, they began to sing. What was that song? I do not know, nor ever shall. Archaic, ancient beyond thought it seemed. Not with the ancientness of things that for uncounted ages have been but wind-driven dust, rather it was the ancientness of the golden youth of the world. Love-lilts of earth younglings, with light of newborn suns drenching them, corals of young stars mating in space, murmurings of April gods and goddesses. A langer stole through me. The rosy lights upon the tripods began to die away, and as they faded the milky globes gleamed forth brighter, ever brighter. Yolara Rose, stretched a hand to Larry, led him through the sex tuple-groups and stood face to face with him in the center of their circle. The rose-light died. All that immense chamber was black save for the circle of the glowing spheres. Within this their milky radiance grew brighter, brighter. The song whispered away. A throbbing arpeggio dripped from the harps, and as the notes pulsed out up from the globes as though striving to follow pulsed with them tips of moon-fire cones, such as I had seen before Yolara's altar. Weirdly, caressingly, compellingly, the harp notes throbbed in repeated, re-repeated theme, holding within itself the same archaic golden quality I had noted in the singing. And over the moon-flame pinnacles rose higher. Yolara lifted her hands. Within her hands were clasped o' keefs. She raised them above their two heads, and slowly, slowly, drew him with her into a circling, graceful step, tenderling's delicate as the slow spiraling's of twilight mist upon some still stream. As they swayed, the rippling arpeggios grew louder, and suddenly the slender pinnacles of moon-fire bent, dipped, flowed to the floor, crept in a shining ring around those two, and began to rise, a gleaming, glimmering, enchanted barrier, rising, ever rising, hiding them. With one swift movement, Yolara unbound her circlet of pale sapphires, shook loose the waves of her silken hair. It fell, a rippling, wondrous cascade, veiling both her and o' keef to their girdles, and now the shining coils of moon-fire had crept to their knees, was circling higher, higher, and ever despair grew deeper in my soul. What was that? I started to my feet, and all around me in the darkness I heard startled motion. From without came a blaring of trumpets, the sound of running men, loud murmurings. The tumult grew closer. I heard cries of, Lakla, Lakla! Now it was at the very threshold, and within it, oddly, as though punctuating the clamor, a deep-toned, almost abysmal booming sound, thunderously bass and reverberant. Abruptly the harping ceased, the moon-fire shuddered, fell, and began to sweep back into the crystal globes. Yolara's swaying form grew rigid, every atom of it listening. She threw aside the veiling cloud of hair, and in the gleam of the last retreating spirals her face glared out like some old Greek mask of tragedy. The sweet lips that even at their sweetest could never lose their delicate cruelty had no sweetness now. They were drawn into a square, inhuman as that of the Medusa. In her eyes were the fires of the pit, and her hair seemed to writhe like the serpent locks of that gorgon whose mouth she had borrowed. All her beauty was transformed into a nameless thing, hideous, inhuman, blasting. If this was the true soul of Yolara springing to her face, then, I thought, God help us in very deed. I've rested my gaze away to O'Keeffe. All drunkenness gone, himself again, he was staring down at her, and in his eyes were loathing and horror unutterable. So they stood, and the light fled. Only for a moment did the darkness hold. With lightning swiftness the blackness that was the chamber's other wall vanished. Through a portal opened between gray screens the silver-sparkling radiance poured. And through the portal marched two by two incredible nightmare figures, frogmen, giants, taller by nearly a yard than even tall O'Keeffe. Their enormous saucer eyes were iris'd by wide bands of green-flecked red, in which the phosphorescence flickered. Their long muzzles, lips half open in monstrous grin, held rows of glistening, slender, lancet, sharp fangs. Over the glaring eyes arose a horny helmet, a carapace of black and orange scales, studded with foot-long, lance-headed horns. They'd lined themselves like soldiers on each side of the wide table aisle, and now I could see that their horny armor, covered shoulders and backs, ran across the chest in a knobbed querris, and at wrists and heels jutted out into curved, murderous spurs. The webbed hands and feet ended in yellow, spade-shaped claws. They carried spears, ten feet at least in length, the heads of which were pointed cones, glistening with that same covering from whose touch of swift decay I had so narrowly saved Pradoor. They were grotesque, yes, more grotesque than anything I had ever seen or dreamed, and they were terrible. And then, quietly, through their ranks came a girl, behind her enormous pouch at his throat, swelling in and out menacingly, in one paw a tree-like spike-studded mace, a frog-man, huger than any of the others, guarding. But of him I caught but a fleeting, involuntary impression. All my gaze was for her. For it was she who had pointed out to us the way from the peril of the dweller's lair on Nantauach, and as I looked at her I marveled that ever could I have thought the priestess more beautiful. Into the eyes of O'Keefe rushed joy, and an utter abasement of pain. And from all about came murmurs, edged with anger, half incredulous, tinged with fear. La-cla! La-cla! The handmaiden! She halted close beside me. From firm little chin to dainty buskin feet she was swathed in the soft robes of dull, almost coppery hue. The left arm was hidden, the right, free, and gloved. While tight about it was one of the vines of the sculptured wall and of Luger's circled signet ring. Thick of vivid green its five tendrils ran between her fingers, stretching out in five flowered heads that gleamed like blossoms cut from gigantic, glowing rubies. So she stood, contemplating Yolara. Then, drawn perhaps by my gaze, she dropped her eyes upon me. Golden, translucent, with tiny flecks of amber in their aureate irises, the soul that looked through them was far removed from that flaming out of the priestess as zenith is above nadir. I noted the low broad brow, the proud little nose, the tender mouth, and the soft, sunlight glow that seemed to transfuse the delicate skin. And suddenly, in the eyes dawned a smile, sweet, friendly, a touch of roguishness, profoundly reassuring in all its humanness. I felt my heart expand as though freed from fetters, a recredescence of confidence in the essential reality of things, as though in nightmare the struggling consciousness should glimpse some familiar face and know that tears with which it strove were but dreams. And involuntarily I smiled back at her. She raised her head and looked again at Yolara, contempt and a certain curiosity in her gaze. Adokif, and through the softened eyes, drifted swiftly a shadow of sorrow, and on its fleeting wings deepest interest, and hovering over that unnaive approval as reassuringly human as had been her smile. She spoke, and her voice, deep-timbered, liquid gold as was Yolara's all-silver, was subtly the synthesis of all the golden glowing beauty of her. The silent ones have sent me, O Yolara, she said, and this is their command to you, that you deliver to me to bring before them three of the four strangers who have found their way here. For him there, who plots with Lugor, she pointed at Marikinov, and I saw Yolara start. They have no need. Into his heart the silent ones have looked, and Lugor and you may keep him, Yolara. There was honeyed venom in the last words. Yolara was herself now, the edge of shrillness on her voice revealed her wrath, as she answered. And whence have the silent ones gained power to command, Choya? This last I knew was a very vulgar word. I had heard Rador use it in a moment of anger to one of the serving maize, and it meant, approximately, kitchen girl, scullion. Beneath the insult and the acid disdain the blood rushed up under Lakla's amber ivory skin. Yolara, her voice was low. Of no use is it to question me. I am but the messenger of the silent ones. And one thing only am I bidden to ask you. Do you deliver to me the three strangers? Lugor was on his feet. Eagerness, sardonic delight, sinister anticipation thrilling from him. And my same glance showed Marikinov, crouched, biting his fingernails, glaring at the golden girl. No, Yolara spat the word. No! Now by Thanaroa and by the shining one, no! Her eyes blazed, her nostrils were wide, in her fair throat a little pulse beat angrily. You, Lakla, take you my message to the silent ones. Say to them that I keep this man, she pointed to Larry, because he is mine. Say to them that I keep the yellow-haired one and him, she pointed to me, because it pleases me. Tell them that upon their mouths I place my foot so. She stamped upon the dais viciously. And that in their faces I spit. And her action was hideously snake-like. And say last to them, you handmaiden, that if you they dare send to Yolara again, she will feed you to the shining one. Now go! The handmaiden's face was white. Not unforeseen by the three was this, Yolara, she replied. And did you speak as you have spoken then, I was bidden to say this to you. Her voice deepened. Three, Tal, have you to take counsel, Yolara. And at the end of that time these things must you have determined, either to do or not to do. First, send the strangers to the silent ones. Second, give up, you and Lugor and all of you, that dream you have of conquest of the world without. And third, foreswear the shining one. And if you do not one and all these things, then you are done, your cup of life broken, your wine of life spilled. Ye, Yolara, for you and the shining one, Lugor and the nine, and all those here and their kind shall pass. This say the silent ones. Surely shall all of ye pass, and be as though never had ye been. Now a gasp of rage and fear arose from all those around me. But the priestess threw back her head and laughed, loud and long. Into the silver-sweet chiming of her laughter clashed that of Lugor, and after a little the nobles took it up till the whole chamber echoed with their mirth. O' Keef, lips tightening, moved toward the handmaiden, and almost imperceptibly, but peremptorily, she waved him back. "'Those are great words, great words indeed, Choya,' shrilled Yolara at last, and again Lakla winced beneath the word. "'Lo, for Leia upon Leia, the shining one has been freed from the three, and for Leia upon Leia they have sat helpless, rotting. Now I ask you again, whence comes their power to lay their will upon me, and whence comes their strength to wrestle with the shining one and the beloved of the shining one?' And again she laughed, and again Lugor and all the fair-haired joined in her laughter. Into the eyes of Lakla I saw creep a doubt, a wavering, as though deep within her the foundations of her own belief were none too firm. She hesitated, turning upon O' Keef a gaze in which rested more than suggestion of appeal. And Yolara saw too, for she flushed with triumph, stretched a finger toward the handmaiden. "'Look,' she cried. "'Look! Why, even she does not believe!' Her voice grew silk of silver, merciless, cruel. Now am I minded to send another answer to the silent ones. Yay, but not by you Lakla, by these!' She pointed to the frogmen, and, swift as light, her hand darted into her bosom, bringing forth the little shining cone of death. But before she could level it the golden girl had released that hidden left arm and thrown over her face a fold of the metallic swavings. Swifter than Yolara, she raised the arm that held the vine, and now I knew this was no inert blossoming thing. It was alive. It writhed down her arm, and its five rubescent flower heads thrust out toward the priestess, vibrating, quivering, held in leash only by the light touch of the handmaiden at its very end. From the swelling throat-pouch of the monster behind her came a succession of the reverberant boomings. The frogmen wheeled, raised their lances, leveled them at the throng. Around the reaching ruby flowers a faint red mist swiftly grew. The silver cone dropped from Yolara's rigid fingers. Her eyes grew stark with horror. All her unearthly loveliness fled from her. She stood, pale-lipped. The handmaiden dropped the protecting veil, and now it was she who laughed. It would seem, then, Yolara, that there was a thing of the signet one's ye fear, she said. Well, the kiss of the yekta I promise you in return for the embrace of your shining one. She looked at Larry, long, searchingly, and suddenly, again with all that effect of sunlight bursting into dark places, her smile shone upon him. She nodded, half-gayly, looked down upon me, the little merry light dancing in her eyes, waved her hand to me. She spoke to the giant frogmen. He wheeled behind her as she turned, facing the priestess, all but praised, fangs glistening. His troop moved, not a jot, spears held high. Lakla began to pass slowly, almost, I thought, tauntingly, and as she reached the portal, Larry leaped from the dais. Elena! he cried, you'll not believe in me just when I found you! In his excitement he spoke in his own tongue, the velvet brogue healing. Lakla turned, contemplated, O'Keefe, hesitant, unquestionably, longingly, irresistibly, like a child making up her mind whether she dared or dared not take a delectable something offered her. I go with you, said O'Keefe, this time in her own speech. Come on, doc! He reached out a hand to me. But now Yolara spoke. Life and beauty had flowed back into her face, and in the purple eyes all her hosts of devils were gathered. Do you forget what I promised you before Sia and Sayana? And do you think that you can leave me, me, as though I were a choia, like her? She pointed to Lakla. Do you now listen, Yolara? Larry interrupted, almost plaintively. No promise was passed from me to you. And why would you hold me? He passed unconsciously into English. Be a good spart, Yolara, he urged. You've got a very devil of a temper, you know, and so have I. And we'd be really awfully uncomfortable together. And why don't you get rid of that devilish pet of yours and be good? She looked at him, puzzled. Marikinof leaned over, translated to Lugor. The red dwarf smiled maliciously, drew near the priestess, whispered to her what was, without doubt, as near as he could come in the Mirian to Larry's own very colloquial phrases. Yolara's lips writhed. Hear me, Lakla, she cried. Now would I not let you take this man from me were I to dwell ten thousand Leia in the agony of the Yachta's kiss. This I swear to you, by Thanaroa, by my heart, and by my strength, and may my strength wither my heart rot in my breast, and Thanaroa forget me if I do. Blessed Yolara, began O'Keefe again. Be silent, you! It was almost a shriek, and her hand again sawed in her breast for the cone of rhythmic death. Lugor touched her arm, whispered again, the glint of guile shone in her eyes. She laughed softly, relaxed. The silent ones, Lakla, bade you say that they allowed me three Tau to decide, she said swavly. Go now in peace, Lakla, and say that Yolara has heard, and that for the three Tau they allow her she will take counsel. The handmaiden hesitated. The silent ones have said it, she answered at last. Stay you here, strangers. The long lashes drooped as her eyes met O'Keefe's, and a hint of blush was in her cheeks. Stay you here, strangers, till then. But, Yolara, see you on that heart and strength you have sworn by that they come to no harm, else that which you have invoked shall come upon you swiftly indeed, and that, I promise you, she added. Their eyes met, clashed, burned into each other, black flame from a badden, and golden flame from paradise. Remember, said Lakla, and passed through the portal. The gigantic frog-man boomed a thunderous note of command, his grotesque guards turned and slowly followed their mistress, and last of all passed out the monster with the mace. CHAPTER XXI A clamor arose from all the chambers, stilled in an instant by a motion of Yolara's hand. She stood, silent, regarding O'Keefe with something other now than blind wrath, something half regretful, half beseeching. But the Irishman's control was gone. Yolara, his voice shook with rage, and he threw caution to the wind. Now hear me. I go where I will, and when I will. Here shall we stay until the time she named is come, and then we follow her, whether you well or not, and if any should have thought to stop us, tell them of that flame that shattered the vase," he added grimly. The wistfulness died out of her eyes, leaving them cold. But no answer made she to him. What Lakla has said, the council must consider, and at once. The priestess was facing the nobles. Now friends of mine and friends of Lugor must all feud, all ranker between us end. She glanced swiftly at Lugor. The Ladala are stirring, and the silent ones threatened. Yet fear not. For are we not strong under the shining one? And now leave us. Her hand dropped to the table, and she gave evidently a signal, for in marched a dozen or more of the Green Dwarfs. Take these two to their place, she commanded, pointing to us. The Green Dwarfs clustered about us. Without another look at the priestess, O'Keeffe marched beside me, between them, from the chamber. And it was not until we had reached the pillard entrance that Larry spoke. I hate to talk like that to a woman, Doc, he said, and a pretty woman at that. But first she played me with a marked deck, and then not only pinched all the chips, but drew a gun on me. What the hell? She nearly had me married to her. I don't know what the stuff was she gave me, but take it from me. If I had the recipe for that brew, I could sell it for a thousand dollars a jolt at forty second in Broadway. One jigger of it, and you forget there is a trouble in the world. Three of them, and you forget there is a world. No excuse for it, Doc, and I don't care what you say or what Lachla may say. It wasn't my fault, and I don't hold it up against myself for a damn. I must admit that I'm a bit uneasy about her threats, I said, ignoring all this. He stopped abruptly. What are you afraid of? Mostly, I answered dryly, I have no desire to dance with the shining one. Listen to me, Goodwin. He took up his walk impatiently. I have all the love and admiration for you in the world, but this place has got your nerve. Hereafter, one Larry O'Keefe of Ireland and the Little Old USA leads this party. Nick's on the tremolo stop. Nick's on the superstition. I'm the works, get me? Yes, I get you, I exclaimed testily enough, but to use your own phrase kindly can the repeated references to superstition. Why should I? He was almost wrathful. You scientific people build up whole philosophies on the basis of things you never saw, and you scoff at people who believe in other things that you think they never saw, and that don't come under what you label scientific. You talk about paradoxes. Why, your scientist, who thinks he is the most skeptical, the most materialistic aggregation of atoms ever gathered at the exact mathematical center of Missouri, has more blind faith than a dervish, and more credulity, more superstition than a cross-eyed smoke beating out past a country graveyard in the dark of the moon. Larry, I cried, dazed. Oh, that's no better, he said, but I can make allowances for him. He's a sailor. No, sir, what this expedition needs is a man without superstition. And remember this, the leprechaun promised, that I'd have full warning before anything happened. And if we do have to go out, we'll see that banshee bunch clean up before we do, and pass in a blaze of glory. And don't forget it. Hereafter, I'm in charge. By this time we were before our pavilion, and neither of us in a very amiable mood, I'm afraid. Rador was awaiting us with a score of his men. Let none pass in here without authority, and let none pass out unless I accompany them, he ordered brusquely. Summon one of the swiftest of the chorea, and have it wait in readiness, he added, as though by afterthought. But when we had entered, and the screens were drawn together, his manner changed. All eagerness, he questioned us. Briefly, we told him of the happenings at the feast, of Lakla's dramatic interruption, and of what had followed. Three tal, he said musingly. Three tal the silent ones have allowed, and Yulara agreed. He sank back, silent and thoughtful. A tal in Muria is the equivalent of thirty hours of earth surface time, W.T.G. Ya, it was Olof. Ya, I told you the shining devil's mistress was all evil. Ya, now I begin again that tale I started when he came. He glanced toward the preoccupied Rador. And tell him not what I say, should he ask. For I trust none herein through them, save the Yomfrau, the white virgin. After the Ulster was at Spried, Olof once more used that expressive Norwegian word for the dissolving of Sangar. I knew that it was a time for cunning. I said to myself, if they think I have no ears to hear, they will speak, and it may be I will find a way to save my Hilma and Dr. Goodwin's friends, too. Ya, and they did speak. The Red-Trolde asked the Roshan how came it he was a worshiper of Danaroa. I could not resist a swift glance of triumph toward O'Keefe. And the Roshan, rumbled Olof, said that all his people worshipped Danaroa and had fought against the other nations that denied him. And then we had come to Lugor's Palace. They put me in rooms, and there came to me men who rubbed and oiled me and loosened my muscles. The next day I wrestled with a great dwarf they called Valdor. He was a mighty man, and long we struggled, and at last a broke his back. And Lugor was pleased, so that I sat with him at feast and with the Roshan, too, and again, not knowing that I understood them, they talked. The Roshan had gone fast and far. They talked of Lugor and Emperor of all Europe and Marikinov under him. They spoke of the green light that shook life from the Old Star. And Lugor said that the secret of it had been the ancient ones and that the Council had not too much of it. But the Roshan said that among his race were many wise men who could make more once they had studied it. And the next day I wrestled with a great dwarf named Tahola, mightier, far than Valdor. He might threw after a long, long time, and his back also I broke. Again Lugor was pleased, and again we sat at table, and he and the Roshan and I. This time they spoke of something these trodde have, which opens up a sverk, a bises into which all in which its range drops up into the sky. What! I exclaimed. I know about them, said Larry. Wait! Lugor had drunk much, went on Olaf. He was boastful. The Roshan pressed him to show this thing. After a while the red one went out and came back with a little golden box. He and the Roshan went into the garden. I followed them. There was a little hoi, a mound of stones in that garden in which grew flowers and trees. Lugor pressed upon the box, and a spark no bigger than a sand grain leaped out and fell beside the stones. Lugor pressed again, and a blue light shot from the box and lighted on the spark. The spark that had been no bigger than a grain of sand grew and grew as the blue struck it, and then there was a sighing, a wind-blue, and the stones and the flowers and the trees were not. They were, force-wind, vanished. Then Lugor, who had been laughing, grew quickly sober, for he thrust the Roshan back, far back. And soon, down into the garden, came tumbling the stones and the trees, but broken and shattered, and fallen as though from a great height. And Lugor said that of this something they had much, for its making was a secret handed down by their own forefathers and not by the ancient ones. They feared to use it, he said, for a spark thrice as large as that he had used would have sent all that garden falling upward and might have opened away to the outside before, he said just this, before we are ready to go out into it. The Russian questioned much, but Lugor sent for more drink and grew merrier and threatened him, and the Russian was silent through fear. Thereafter I listened when I could, and little more I learned, but that little enough. Yah! Lugor is hot for conquest, so Yolara and so the Council. They tire of it here, and the silent ones make their minds not too easy, no, even though they jeer at them. And this they plan to rule our world with their shining devil. The Norseman was silent for a moment, then voice, deep, trembling. Trolled him he's awake, helved a crouch as at earth gate, whining to be loosed into a world already devil-ridden, and we are but three. I felt the blood drive out of my heart, but Larry's was the fighting face of the O'Keefs of a thousand years. Rador glanced at him, arose, stepped through the curtains, returned swiftly with the Irishman's uniform. Put it on, he said, brusquely. Again fell back into his silence, and whatever O'Keef had been about to say was submerged in his wild and joyful hoop. He ripped from him glittering tunic and leg swavings. Richard is himself again, he shouted, and each Garmin as he donned it fanned his old devil-may-care confidence to a higher flame. The last scrap of it on, he drew himself up before us. Bow down, yet devils, he cried, bang your heads on the floor and do homage to Larry I, Emperor of Great Britain, Autocrat of all Ireland, Scotland, England, and Wales, and adjacent waters and islands. Nail you scuts, nail! Larry, I cried, are you going crazy? Not a bit of it, he said. I'm that and more, if comrade Marekinov is on the level. Whoop! Brink forth the royal jewels and put a whole new bunch of golden strings in Tara's harp and down with the sesamek forever. Whoop! He did a wild jig. Lord, how good the old togs feel, he grinned. The touch of them has gone to my head, but it's straight stuff I'm telling you about my empire. He's sobered. Not that it's not serious enough at that. A lot that Olaf's told us I have surmised from hints dropped by Olara. But I got the full key to it from the red himself when he stopped me just before—before—he reddened. Well, just before I acquired that brand new brand of sauce. Maybe he had a hint. Maybe he just surmised that I knew a lot more than I did. And he thought Olara and I were going to be loving little turtledoves. Also, he figured that Olara had a lot more influence with the unholy fireworks than Luger. Also, that being a woman, she could be more easily handled. Oh, this being so, what was the logical thing for himself to do? Sure, you get me, Steve. Throw down Luger and make an alliance with me. So he calmly offered to ditch the red dwarf if I would deliver Olara. My reward from Russia was to be said emperorship. Can you beat it? Good Lord! He went off into a perfect storm of laughter. But not to me, in the light of what Russia has done and has proved herself capable, did this thing seem at all absurd. Rather in it I sensed the dawn of catastrophe colossal. And yet, he was quiet enough now, I'm a bit scared. They've got that kithray and those gravity-destroying bombs. Gravity-destroying bombs, I gasped. Sure, he said, the little fairy that sent the trees and stones kiting up from Luger's garden. Marikinof licked his lips over them. They cut off gravity, just about as the shadow screens cut off light, and consequently, whatever's in their range, go shooting just naturally up to the moon. They get my goat, why deny it, went on Larry. With them and the kith and the gentle, invisible soldiers walking around, assassinating at will, well, the worst Belcheviki are only puking babes, a doc. I don't mind the shining one, said O'Keefe. One splash of a downtown New York high-pressure fire hose would do for it. But the others are the goods, believe me. But for once O'Keefe's confidence found no echo within me. Not lightly, as he did I hold that dread mystery, the dweller, and a vision passed before me. A vision of an apocalypse undreamed by the evangelist. A vision of the shining one swirling into our world. A monstrous, glorious flaming pillar of incarnate, eternal evil. Of peoples passing through its radiant embrace into that hideous, unearthly life in death which I had seen enfold the sacrifices. Of armies trembling into dancing atoms of diamond dust beneath the green-rays rhythmic death. Of cities rushing out into space upon the wings of that other demoniac force which Olaf had watched at work. Of a haunted world through which the assassins of the dweller's court stole invisible, carrying with them every passion of hell. Of the rallying to the thing of every sinister soul, and of the weak and the unbalanced, mystics and carnivores of humanity alike. For well I knew that, once loosed, not any nation could hold this devil-god for long, and that swiftly its blight would spread. And then a world that was all colossal wreak of cruelty and terror. A welter of lusts, of hatreds, and of torment. A chaos of horror in which the dweller waxing ever stronger, the ghastly hordes of those it had consumed growing ever greater, wreaked its inhuman will. At the last a ruined planet. A cosmic plague, spinning through the shuttering heavens. Its verdant plains, its murmuring forests, its meadows and its mountains manned only by a countless crew of soulless, mindless, dead alive, their shells illumined with the dweller's infernal glory. And, flaming over this vampirized earth like a flare from some hell, far, infinitely far beyond the reach of man's farthest flung imagining the dweller. Rador jumped to his feet, walked to the whispering globe. He bent over its base, did something with its mechanism, beckoned to us. The globe swam rapidly, faster than ever I had seen it before. A low humming arose, changed into a murmur, and then from it I heard Luger's voice clearly. It is to be war, then. There was a chorus of ascent from the Council, I thought. I will take the tall one, named Larry. It was the Priestess's voice. After the three tal, you may have him, Luger, to do with as you will. No! It was Luger's voice again, but with a rasp of anger. All must die. He shall die, again, Yolara. But I would that first he see Lakla pass, and that she know what is to happen to him. No! I started, for this was Marikinof. Now is no time, Yolara, for one's own desires. This is my Council. At the end of the three tal, Lakla will come for our answer. Your men will be in ambush, and they will slay her and her escort quickly with the Keth. But not till that is done must the three be slain, and then quickly. With Lakla dead we shall go forth to the silent ones, and I promise you that I will find the way to destroy them. It is well, it was Luger. It is well, Yolara. It was a woman's voice, and I knew it for that old one of ravaged beauty. Cast from your mind whatever is in it for this stranger, either of love or hatred. In this the Council is with Luger and the man of wisdom. There was a silence. Then came the priestess's voice, sullen but beaten. It is well. Let the three be taken now by Rador to the temple, and given to the High Priest Sator, thus Luger, until what we have planned comes to pass. Rador gripped the base of the globe. Abruptly it ceased its spinning. He turned to us, as though to speak, and even as he did so its bell-note sounded peremptorily, and on it the color films began to creep at their accustomed pace. I hear, the Green Dwarf whispered, they shall be taken there at once. The globe grew silent. He stepped toward us. You have heard, he turned to us. Not on your life, Rador, said Larry. Nothing doing. And then, in the murion's own tongue, we follow Lakla, Rador, and you lead the way. He thrust the pistol close to the Green Dwarf's side. Rador did not move. Of what use, Larry, he said quietly. Me, you can slay. But in the end, you will be taken. Life is not held so dear in Muria that my men out there, or those others who can come quickly, will let you by, even though you slay many. And in the end, they will overpower you. There was a trace of irresolution in O'Keeffe's face. And, added Rador, if I let you go, I dance with the shining one, or worse. O'Keeffe's pistol-hand dropped. You're a good Spart, Rador, and far be it from me to get you in bad, he said. Take us to the temple. When we get there, well, your responsibility ends, doesn't it? The Green Dwarf nodded. On his face a curious expression. Was it relief? Or was it emotion higher than this? He turned curtly. Follow, he said. We passed out of that gay little pavilion that had come to be home to us even in this alien place. The guard stood at attention. Yo, Satoya, stand by the globe, he ordered one of them. Should the Afyomaii ask, say that I am on my way with the strangers, even as she has commanded. We passed through the lines to the quarryal standing like a great shell at the end of the runway leading to the green road. Wait, you hear, he said, curtly to the driver. The Green Dwarf ascended to his seat, sought the lever, and we swept on, on and out upon the glistening obsidian. Then Rador faced us and laughed. Larry, he cried, I love you for that spirit of yours. And did you think that Rador would carry to the temple prison a man who would take the chances of torment upon his own shoulders to save him? Or you, Goodwin, who saved him from the rotting death? For what did I take the quarryal, or lift the veil of silence that I might hear what threatened you? He swept the quarryal to the left, away from the temple approach. I am done with Lugor and with Yolara and the shining one, cried Rador. My hand is for you three and for Lakla, and those to whom she is handmaiden. The shell leaped forward seemed to fly. END OF CHAPTER XXI