various supplications for the sun to rise once again, a ritual they had carried out for over three thousand years. A ritual that always made the sun rise.
“Without us—without the Great Amun,” Killov screamed into the mike as the words blasted out over the ears of the assembled nomad fighters, making them tremble, “there would be no sun. It would not rise. There would be only eternal night. And all would be cast into darkness, cast into a frozen death more horrible than the most terrible nightmares. Bow to Amun!”
“Bow to Amun!” the assembled priests screamed out as they formed a large circle around the Man-God and raised their staffs once again, as if supplicating the sun. And the burning orb rose higher, smoothly riding the morning breezes into the purple sky.
“Without Amun —you are worse than dogs, worse than ants, worse than lifeless sand,” Killov screamed again, and the bowing masses pushed their faces even deeper into the desert, praying that the Great One should not catch their eye, should not single them out for his wrath.
“Yea, look up into the sky,” Killov commanded. “Look up, up. See that sun follow the commands of Amun, see it rise to give warmth and life to the Sudan, to Chad, to Egypt, to the Earth itself.”
“See it rise!” the assembled priests echoed out.
“And see this,” Killov went on, as he raised his glowing red cylinder-crystal—the Qu’ul levitation-stick—and pointed it at three rock slabs each the size of a truck. “Raise your heads,” the Man-God commanded the sprawled masses, and slowly, scarcely daring to, they lifted their heads a fraction of an inch at a time and raised their tightly squeezed eyelids. They weren’t sure whether they dared look straight at the Man-God or disobey his orders. But they decided that it was better to obey, to overcome their terror and watch, as He commanded.
“Behold the power of Amun,” Killov croaked out as he quickly popped down another Orbitol pill, one of the drugs the priests had been supplying him with. He had been up for days now, planning his campaigns, planning this event which would solidify a warrior army around him. But he was growing tired again. The Orbitol slammed into his sagging nervous system like a rocket and his eyes popped open, his heart quickened as if he was in a sprint. “See the power.” He pointed the levitator-cylinder at the three clustered slabs of granite.
They rose up side by side smoothly, about ten feet apart, as the warriors cried out in awe. Killov, after his initial destruction of the Great Sphinx, had learned the art of the anti-grav device well. He had practiced with it night and day, wanting to be its master, wanting to be able to use it to fit his own designs. And he had learned well.
The three slabs, each big enough to crush a house, rose up and hovered over his head about fifty feet up. They began spinning each in a different direction like immense rectangular records on a turntable, not wobbling or shaking a bit. The desert warriors, if they had been frightened before, were positively shaking with fear now. Most of them had not seen the rock-flying powers of the Man-God, though they had heard about them. Some had scoffed at such a power. They didn’t now. Tears flowed from their eyes to be this close to the Ka Amun and witness his miracles.
“Bring out the prisoners, the traitors,” Killov screamed, and from a circle of priests in elaborate jewel-hatted garb were dragged out a dozen men all screaming hysterically. Their hands and feet were chained together.
“These men have betrayed the Sun God, have betrayed Kil-Lov—son of Amun,” Killov bellowed. “They believed they could challenge my power.” He laughed, a cackle that echoed through the hills and made even the priests of Amun shudder inside. The frantic, innocent prisoners were dragged forward to the center of the rock garden, where Killov stood. They were placed side by side, spread-eagled out along a flat rock
“Without us—without the Great Amun,” Killov screamed into the mike as the words blasted out over the ears of the assembled nomad fighters, making them tremble, “there would be no sun. It would not rise. There would be only eternal night. And all would be cast into darkness, cast into a frozen death more horrible than the most terrible nightmares. Bow to Amun!”
“Bow to Amun!” the assembled priests screamed out as they formed a large circle around the Man-God and raised their staffs once again, as if supplicating the sun. And the burning orb rose higher, smoothly riding the morning breezes into the purple sky.
“Without Amun —you are worse than dogs, worse than ants, worse than lifeless sand,” Killov screamed again, and the bowing masses pushed their faces even deeper into the desert, praying that the Great One should not catch their eye, should not single them out for his wrath.
“Yea, look up into the sky,” Killov commanded. “Look up, up. See that sun follow the commands of Amun, see it rise to give warmth and life to the Sudan, to Chad, to Egypt, to the Earth itself.”
“See it rise!” the assembled priests echoed out.
“And see this,” Killov went on, as he raised his glowing red cylinder-crystal—the Qu’ul levitation-stick—and pointed it at three rock slabs each the size of a truck. “Raise your heads,” the Man-God commanded the sprawled masses, and slowly, scarcely daring to, they lifted their heads a fraction of an inch at a time and raised their tightly squeezed eyelids. They weren’t sure whether they dared look straight at the Man-God or disobey his orders. But they decided that it was better to obey, to overcome their terror and watch, as He commanded.
“Behold the power of Amun,” Killov croaked out as he quickly popped down another Orbitol pill, one of the drugs the priests had been supplying him with. He had been up for days now, planning his campaigns, planning this event which would solidify a warrior army around him. But he was growing tired again. The Orbitol slammed into his sagging nervous system like a rocket and his eyes popped open, his heart quickened as if he was in a sprint. “See the power.” He pointed the levitator-cylinder at the three clustered slabs of granite.
They rose up side by side smoothly, about ten feet apart, as the warriors cried out in awe. Killov, after his initial destruction of the Great Sphinx, had learned the art of the anti-grav device well. He had practiced with it night and day, wanting to be its master, wanting to be able to use it to fit his own designs. And he had learned well.
The three slabs, each big enough to crush a house, rose up and hovered over his head about fifty feet up. They began spinning each in a different direction like immense rectangular records on a turntable, not wobbling or shaking a bit. The desert warriors, if they had been frightened before, were positively shaking with fear now. Most of them had not seen the rock-flying powers of the Man-God, though they had heard about them. Some had scoffed at such a power. They didn’t now. Tears flowed from their eyes to be this close to the Ka Amun and witness his miracles.
“Bring out the prisoners, the traitors,” Killov screamed, and from a circle of priests in elaborate jewel-hatted garb were dragged out a dozen men all screaming hysterically. Their hands and feet were chained together.
“These men have betrayed the Sun God, have betrayed Kil-Lov—son of Amun,” Killov bellowed. “They believed they could challenge my power.” He laughed, a cackle that echoed through the hills and made even the priests of Amun shudder inside. The frantic, innocent prisoners were dragged forward to the center of the rock garden, where Killov stood. They were placed side by side, spread-eagled out along a flat rock
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