The Conquest of the Moon Pool/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX
THE AMPHITHEATER OF HELL
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-terraced 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 none the less 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 circular foundation was about the same.
I wondered what it was that was bringing the ladala into Lora, and where were they 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, gnomed oldsters—on they poured, silent for the most part and sullen. A sullenness that held acid bitterness even, as their subtle, half-sinister, half-gay malice seemed tempered into little keen-edged flames, oddly, menacingly defiant.
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. Hardly had I reached it before Rador came hurrying up, in his manner a curious exultance.
"Come!" he commanded before I could speak. "The council has made decision, and Larree is awaiting you."
"What has been decided?" I panted as we sped along the mosaicked path that led to the house of Yolara.
"The Shining One dances!" had answered Rador. "And you are to worship!"
"Lugur was against it,'* he whispered as we went swiftly on. "The Shining One's Voice said 'No,' but the Shining One's priestess said 'Yes'; and the council thought at last, and as usual, as she did. What the Shining One may think, friend Goodwin, I do not know"—he shot a mocking glance at me—"but Yolara with you, there is no fear that you will join the dance," he added hastily, and obviously with reassuring intention.
What was this dancing of the Shining One, of which so often he had spoken? And in it, what was there for us of the deadly, inexplicable danger that had blasted Throckmartin and his and destroyed the wife and child of Olaf? Would we meet at this ceremony, whatever it was, those I had come here to find?
Whatever my forebodings, Larry evidently had none.
"Great stuff!" he cried, when we had met in the great antechamber, now empty of the dwarfs. "We're invited to the show. Reserved seats and all the rest of it. Hope it will be worth seeing. Have to be something damned good, though, to catch me."
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!
Radar 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, pearl-like and opalescent in their circling rim.
"Bathe!" he commanded; and set the example by stripping himself and plunging within. We followed. I experienced the peculiar stimulation that these waters always gave. They seemed to sparkle through every nerve and muscle. Only a minute or two did the green dwarf allow us, and he checked us as we were about to don our clothing.
Their texture was soft, but decidedly metallic, like some blue metal spun to the fineness of a spider's thread. My garment buckled tightly at the throat, was girdled at the waist, and, below this cincture, 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-toed.
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 Yolara see harm come to Larree here—nor, because of him, to you. But I would not stake much on her heart toward the Double Tongue whom Lugur has claimed, nor to the great white one. And for the last I am sorry, for him I do like well."
"Are they to be with us?" asked Larry eagerly.
"˜They are to be where we go," replied the dwarf soberly. "For Double Tongue there is no more peril than for you. Lugur stands with him; but for the other—" He was silent.
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. Now O'Keefe had cautioned me against revealing my weapon, and had, up till now, kept his own concealed.
"When we do need 'em, we're certain to have a bunch of odds against us, Doc," he had said. "And the element of surprise will be mighty valuable to us. Keep 'em under cover till we have to use 'em; then shoot straight!"
Therefore I wondered why Larry was showing his hand. The green dwarf looked at the weapon curiously. O'Keefe tapped it, and as he spoke I understood.
"Listen, Rador," he said. "I like you, and I believe you like us."
The dwarf nodded emphatically.
"This," said Larry, "slays quicker than the Keth. 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 up in a blind wall; touched a symbol graven 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.
O'Keefe winked at me. 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. Rador turned toward us.
"Have no fear," he began, and then, for the green dwarf was keen, was aware without doubt of our lack of surprise he started again to speak, shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back. Our speed was great and the journey not long. In a few moments the moving platform began to slow down. It stopped in a closed chamber no larger than itself.
Rador drew from his girdle a ring and then, finding what he sought, although I could see nothing on its smooth surface, drew his poniard and struck twice with its hilt. Immediately a panel moved away, revealing a space filled with faint, misty blue radiance. And at each side of the opened portal stood four of the dwarfish men, gray-headed, old, clad in a flowing garment 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, lowered his rod, handed it to the one beside him, and not until each had examined the ring did each lower his curious weapon; containers of that terrific energy they called the Keth, I thought.
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 smell the sea," said Larry suddenly.
And then I, too, realized that the tang of ocean was strong. I felt its moisture upon my face and hands. Rador spoke again to the leader of—the priests—as I now began to think them. Four leading the way and four following us, we marched forward. The floor arose gradually, and the rushing roar grew louder, the sea breath stronger.
And now 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 priests leading us knelt, Rador imitating them; O'Keefe nudged me, and we, too, dropped to our knees. We arose and went forward. Before us 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 stopped and again we knelt. Ten feet beneath us was a torrent of blue sea-water racing with terrific 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. Larry, too, drew himself up, drawing deep breaths.
Whence came the stream? I marveled, forgetting for the moment as we passed on again, all else. Were we closer to the surface of the earth than I had thought, or was this some mighty stream 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 let us into the courtyard of Nan-Tanach 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.
HOW can I describe what I saw? Two things there are before which I falter—to picture that temple of the Shining One as it first met our eyes in all its incredible immensity, and what happened there; and that thing to come to pass, that twilight of the gods, in the abode of the Silent Ones on the Sea of Crimson. But I must attempt it, knowing full well that it is impossible to make clear one-tenth of their grandeur, their awfulness, their soul-shaking terror.
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 curtain 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—in front the curved, simitar 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, an 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 ebon bulwarks, like monstrous paws. Now, the giddiness from its sheer greatness passing, I saw that it was indeed an amphitheater, sloping slightly backward tier after tier. 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-garland- ed, 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 was the first terrace of 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 disk. Above it and around it a cluster of innumerable smaller ones.
On each side of me, bordering the platform, were scores of small pillared 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 passage-way led back between the fretted stalls. Halfway between us and the massive base of the amphitheater a daïs 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, 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, was Lugur!
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 met the daïs, and that Yolara was not more than fifty feet away. She glanced at O'Keefe and smiled. I noted her extraordinary exhilaration. Her eyes were ablaze with little dancing points of light. Her body seemed to palpitate, the rounded delicate muscles beneath the translucent skin seemed to run with little eager waves. She seemed—what is the word the Scotch use?—fey! Suddenly Larry whistled softly.
"There's Von Hetzdorp!" he said.
I looked where he pointed. Opposite us sat the German; clothed as we were. He was leaning forward, his eyes eager behind his glasses. But if he saw us he gave no sign.
"And there's Olaf!" said O'Keefe.
Beneath the carved stall in which sat the German was an aperture. Unprotected by pillars, or by grills, opening clear upon the platform, near it stretched the trail of flowers up to the great daïs which Lugur the Voice and Yolara the Priestess guarded. Nor was Olaf clad as we. His mighty torso covered with a white tunic stuffed into his old dungarees, his feet bare, he sat immobile, staring out toward the prismatic veil. And in his eyes, even at that distance, I could see a flare of consuming hatred. So he sat alone, and my heart went out to him.
O'Keefe's face softened.
"Bring him here," 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.
YOLARA drew herself up; threw her white arms high. From the mountainous tiers came a mighty sigh; a ripple ran through them. And upon the moment, before Yolara's arms fell, there issued, apparently from the air around us, a peal 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!
It 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 chord! 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, clangor of the locust swarms 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, Pandean pipings—inviting, carrying with them the calling of waterfalls in the hidden place, rushing brooks and murmuring forest winds—calling, calling, langorous, 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.
Once more the first great note pealed out! As once more it died, from the clustered spheres a kaledoscopic 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 irised veil. As they touched, it sparkled, flamed, wavered, and shook with fountains of prismatic color.
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 tiers 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 face was transformed. He was like Balder the Beautiful. Wonderful as one of those olden half gods of his own beloved isle! His eyes were wild with life! And Yolara—I cannot describe her, but as her face turned toward his I saw in the joy of her own eyes infernal allure and a passion withering.
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 shone were burning within it. Again the mighty sound pealed.
Into the center 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 chimings, through it sped—the Shining One!
Straight down that radiant path, with its high-flung plumes of feathery flame shimmering, its coruscating spirals whirling, its seven globes of seven colors 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 tiers a sigh of rapture—and in it poignant, wailing undertone of agony!
And 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 passed Olaf, and I saw his hands' clench until the knuckles whitened. Saw his mighty chest swell with the terrific restrained impulse to leap out upon it!
It passed, hovered for a moment between the woman and the dwarf, as though contemplating them; turned to her with its storm of tinklings 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! Tanith of the Carthaginians and St. Bride of the Isles! Succubus and angel! A queen of hell and a princess of heaven, in one!
Only for a moment did that which we had called the Dweller and that these named the Shining One, pause. It swept up the ramp to the daïs, rested there, slowly turning, plumes and spirals lacing and unlacing, throbbing, pulsing. Now its nucleus grew plainer, 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!
Another 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. And I knew that these were sacrifices thrust out to the god. As they drew on, 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 strange intermingling of emotions, of joy and sorrow, ecstasy and terror, that I had seen in full blossom on Throckmartin's.
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 place, unnoticed, behind him. But in the fire of my interest the sight was burned instantaneously from my mind.
Now the first of the swift figures rushed upon the daïs, and paused. But only for a moment. It was the girl who had been brought before Yolara, when the gnome named Songar was driven into 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. And 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 daïs was an incredible vision; a mad star's Witches' Sabbath, phantasmagoric, Macaberesque. 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 these lost ones!
So they spun there, interlaced, souls caught in the monstrous web 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 tiers chanted. The mighty sounds pealed forth! It was a Saturnalia of demigods—Yolara transformed beyond semblance of earth—her beauty flaring out into unholy and devilish, and at once holy and wondrous fulfilment impossible to tell.
Whirling, murmuring, bell-notes storming, the Shining One began to pass from the dais down the ramp, still embracing, still interwoven with those who had thrown themselves into its spirals. They drew along 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!
And the Shining One passed—passed on—was beside Olaf—
I heard a gasp from O'Keefe; opened my eyes and sought his; saw the madness depart from them as he strained forward. Olaf had leaned far out, and as he did so two of 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 mad, 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—it came to me as one would dash a great spider, with prodigious force, down upon the platform not a yard from the Shining One!
And 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.
And all the while those dead-alive, who had danced with the Shining One, turned slowly within its sparkling mist. Faces devoid of all human semblance, turning, slowly in its coruscating net—chatoyant—like fireflies in gleaming, swirling mist—God!
"God!" The echo of an invocation came from O'Keefe. "Olaf threw him short!" But I knew that was not what had stopped his flight!
Lugur, his face gray, all exaltation gone from it, 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 radar. 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-sounds swelled angrily.
And all that time its prey, unheeding, white-faced, transfigured—turned—turned slowly in its radiant web. Can I ever forget!
Then I saw Lugur pause, 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 Lugur seemed to understand, 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 apparition, of which she was priestess. 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. It passed down the ivory pier, out upon the waters, bearing with it, meshed in its light, the sacrifice. It swept on ever more swiftly, triumphantly—and vanished; turning, turning, with its ghastly crew, 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. Von Hetzdorp, his eyes staring, was leaning out, listening. Unrestrained now by Rador, I vaulted the wall and rushed forward. But not before I heard the green dwarf murmur:
"There is something stronger than the Shining One! Two things—yea—a strong heart—and hate!"
Olaf, panting, eyes glazed, trembling, shrank beneath my hand.
"The devil that took my Helma!" I heard him whispering. "The Shining Devil!"
"Both these men," Lugur 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 icily menacing. She rested her hand on Larry's shoulder. "He shall not dance. No—nor shall his friend. I have told you I care not for this one!" She pointed to Olaf.
"Neither this man, nor this," said Larry, his pistol still pressed against Lugur, "shall be harmed. This is my word, Yolara!"
She looked at him.
"Even so," she said quietly, "my lord!"
Lugur's eyes grew hellish, and I saw Von Hetzdorp stare at O'Keefe with a new, a curiously speculative interest.
"I have said it!" She turned to Lugur. "What can you do?" she added quite insolently.
He raised his arms as though to strike her. Her hand swept to her bosom. Larry's pistol probbed him rudely enough.
"No rough stuff now, kid!" said O'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 tiers 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 Olaf.
"Bring him," she said. "What you have done, and what may come from what you have done, I know not." She laughed. "But compared to what I think that will be, this man is but a straw in a torrent. So 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 Olaf 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 fled.
Yolara pressed; the portal opened. We stepped upon the car; Yolara took the lever; the walls flashed by—and dazed, troubled, I, at least, more than half-incredulous as to the reality of it all, we sped through the faintly luminous corridor to the house of the priestess.
And as we sped I, too, wondered what it was that Olaf had done, and what was to come of it.
But one thing I wondered about no more. Sick at heart and soul, the truth had come to me. No more need to search for Throckmartin. 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 Olaf Huldricksson's wife.