time I believed him sulking, but later I learned that he had good reason to distrust our hasty choice of evening entertainment. Hol borders the tropic jungle land of Qur and he suspected what lay at the foot of that ill-omened ramp.
Although Krand was united in the worship of On and had been so united for centuries, yet there still persisted in such primitive nations as Qur and Ru temples to the olden gods, those dark entities our people worshiped before they dragged themselves up out of the pit of the beast. I, myself, knew very little concerning these forbidden and now secret practices; in fact, few but the adepts did. And of those adepts Qur was the last stronghold.
A thin piping, so high in scale that our human ears could barely distinguish its notes, broke the silence. And with that piping came a low throbbing, as if air, dead and heavy with the weight of untold years, were pulsing out the measure of some unhuman rhythm.
Zacat hesitated suddenly, shuffling his feet and changing step. “Rhythm — hypnotic control,” he murmured. “Do not surrender to it”
Anatan, too, was constantly changing step, from stride to shuffle and back. Clumsily I began to follow their example. The ramp seemed to run down into the depths of Krand itself and there was no break in its smooth polished walls. The ever-glowing lights, placed at intervals in the roof above our heads, changed gradually in shade from warm gold to icy blue and then to a sort of misty gray. But still the strange shrill piping and the deep throbbing marked the measure of our steps while we hopped and shuffled to escape its binding spell. But Lania went onward unconcerned, without a backward glance.
At last we came out into a sort of anteroom floored and walled with dull gray. Lania lifted up her high voice in a wailing cry and at once a section of the wall moved inward exposing the darkness beyond.
“A precaution we must take.” Lania nodded toward the secret door. “Some of our enchantments are not for common eyes.”
Through the slit-like door the weird music came louder, sounds which seemed to have some strange life and being of their own. The Aholian passed within and we followed,but Zacat, always quick of wit, snapped loose his sheathed sword and placed it in the crack of the door so that it remained open a good two inches.
We were in utter blackness, a darkness so thick that it seemed a tangible veil. A hand touched mine and my fingers closed about Anatan’s gemmed wristlet. A moment later I heard Zacat’s heavy breathing at my right.
‘Wait and watch, soldiers.” There was faint subtle mockery in Lania’s voice.
The strange and broken rhythm was growing louder, menacing. “Move your fingers, your hands, in opposition to it,” whispered Anatan. I felt his wrist twist free from my grasp. Obediently I strove to carry out his suggestion.
Then, out of the darkness above us, came a single ray of light, green and yet gray. A light which seemed the corrupting emanation of something vilely and anciently dead. There was a scheming wary evil in that light. As we watched it, fascinated, winged shapes of gold swam into and through it, circling ever downward until at last they touched a black pavement, the blocks of which might have been hewn in the quarries of that Elder Race, they who held Krand before human foot touched its surface.
The great golden wings drooped, closed, and were gone as if their wearers no longer had any use for them. Then the fifteen shapes of living yellow began their dance. Wild and beautiful, yet full of an age-old meaning which was utterly evil, was that dance. Each pose of seductive invitation, each gliding step, seemed aimed to draw out of the depths of the watcher that darker part of him which is his heritage from the beasts.
When I sensed this, I fought with every ounce of strength within me to master those far in-dwelling thoughts and passions which the dancers recalled with their weaving spell. Before me I saw again the
Although Krand was united in the worship of On and had been so united for centuries, yet there still persisted in such primitive nations as Qur and Ru temples to the olden gods, those dark entities our people worshiped before they dragged themselves up out of the pit of the beast. I, myself, knew very little concerning these forbidden and now secret practices; in fact, few but the adepts did. And of those adepts Qur was the last stronghold.
A thin piping, so high in scale that our human ears could barely distinguish its notes, broke the silence. And with that piping came a low throbbing, as if air, dead and heavy with the weight of untold years, were pulsing out the measure of some unhuman rhythm.
Zacat hesitated suddenly, shuffling his feet and changing step. “Rhythm — hypnotic control,” he murmured. “Do not surrender to it”
Anatan, too, was constantly changing step, from stride to shuffle and back. Clumsily I began to follow their example. The ramp seemed to run down into the depths of Krand itself and there was no break in its smooth polished walls. The ever-glowing lights, placed at intervals in the roof above our heads, changed gradually in shade from warm gold to icy blue and then to a sort of misty gray. But still the strange shrill piping and the deep throbbing marked the measure of our steps while we hopped and shuffled to escape its binding spell. But Lania went onward unconcerned, without a backward glance.
At last we came out into a sort of anteroom floored and walled with dull gray. Lania lifted up her high voice in a wailing cry and at once a section of the wall moved inward exposing the darkness beyond.
“A precaution we must take.” Lania nodded toward the secret door. “Some of our enchantments are not for common eyes.”
Through the slit-like door the weird music came louder, sounds which seemed to have some strange life and being of their own. The Aholian passed within and we followed,but Zacat, always quick of wit, snapped loose his sheathed sword and placed it in the crack of the door so that it remained open a good two inches.
We were in utter blackness, a darkness so thick that it seemed a tangible veil. A hand touched mine and my fingers closed about Anatan’s gemmed wristlet. A moment later I heard Zacat’s heavy breathing at my right.
‘Wait and watch, soldiers.” There was faint subtle mockery in Lania’s voice.
The strange and broken rhythm was growing louder, menacing. “Move your fingers, your hands, in opposition to it,” whispered Anatan. I felt his wrist twist free from my grasp. Obediently I strove to carry out his suggestion.
Then, out of the darkness above us, came a single ray of light, green and yet gray. A light which seemed the corrupting emanation of something vilely and anciently dead. There was a scheming wary evil in that light. As we watched it, fascinated, winged shapes of gold swam into and through it, circling ever downward until at last they touched a black pavement, the blocks of which might have been hewn in the quarries of that Elder Race, they who held Krand before human foot touched its surface.
The great golden wings drooped, closed, and were gone as if their wearers no longer had any use for them. Then the fifteen shapes of living yellow began their dance. Wild and beautiful, yet full of an age-old meaning which was utterly evil, was that dance. Each pose of seductive invitation, each gliding step, seemed aimed to draw out of the depths of the watcher that darker part of him which is his heritage from the beasts.
When I sensed this, I fought with every ounce of strength within me to master those far in-dwelling thoughts and passions which the dancers recalled with their weaving spell. Before me I saw again the
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