the protuberances.
“Something transmuted the living rock into liquid metal. I’m entering this as a prime candidate for the Queen of Sheba’s gold mines, AKA what history commonly mislabels King Solomon’s mines.”
“Or the inspiration for hell.” Conrad was pointing to a metal-splattered petro-form, just like the pile of anthropomorphic stones they had seen at the bottom of the gorge. “Maybe what transmutes this black ore into gold also transmutes humans.”
That would be unfortunate, Hank thought. But it could explain a lot about the Queen of Sheba.
Hank and Conrad unclipped from their rappelling rigs and set out on foot to search the cavern. The walls were far beyond the reach of their puny lights, and all Hank could hear besides their steps was something like a whisper in the still air. It almost felt like the crater itself was breathing.
“Over here,” Conrad’s voice called out, breaking the silence.
“Keep it down,” Hank told him when he found him by a cavern wall. The wall was blackened with some sort of dank substance, sticky and decaying, refusing to reflect almost any light at all.
Conrad lowered his voice and said, “I’ve been in a lot of tombs and caves in my time, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Hank looked closely at the blackened goo that coated everything down here. It wasn’t oil or soot. It was something else, and it was trickling down the walls and seeping up from the rock floor.
“Eureka, Hank.” Conrad’s light hit on something further down the wall—a temple façade carved right into the rock.
Hank followed the wall to two thick and brooding pillars. The pillars held up a massive arch, through which he could see a small rotunda and two tunnels that presumably led to the mines.
“Your Pillars of Creation, Conrad?”
“No,” Conrad said, bathing the ebony columns with light. “These have no inscriptions. But maybe we’ll find them down below. I think we’ve found your ingress to the Queen of Sheba’s mines.”
Hank noticed huge gold hinges along the sides of the arch. “You see this, Conrad? I think there were doors here once.”
“Giant doors.” Conrad pointed his light to a massive bronze bolt on the ground just beyond the pillars. “Look at the size of that thing. It’s as thick as a tree. Must have been used to the lock the doors, to keep people out of the mines.”
Bending down, Hank wrapped both hands around the bolt as best he could and tried to lift it. But it wouldn’t budge. “This thing weighs a ton. I can only imagine the doors.” Hank then stood up and looked at the big bolt slider hole in the wall. An epiphany hit him, and it wasn’t a terribly pleasant one.
The doors that once stood here weren’t designed to keep something out. They were here to keep something in.
Conrad had already passed under the archway into the small rotunda beyond, and Hank decided to keep his epiphany to himself for now as they confronted the choice of two tunnels before them.
“Lady or the tiger, Hank?”
Hank looked at the tunnel to their left. It was a jagged crack, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. The tunnel to their right, on the other hand, was wide and smooth, the dirt packed with fresh bootprints.
The choice had been made for them.
“They beat us to the mines, Conrad.”
“The Queen of Sheba’s miners, or your friends Smith and Chen from Strategic Explorations?”
“Probably both. They’ll be waiting. It’s going to be ugly. Check your weapons.”
“Wait,” Conrad told him, and pointed his light up at a carving above the tunnel. “Hebrew inscriptions.”
“Can you read them, or do we need your girlfriend Sister Serghetti?”
“I don’t need her for this.” Conrad frowned. “It’s from Solomon, King of Israel.”
“What does it say?”
Conrad read it aloud. “Let us search out and examine ourselves, and turn back to the Lord.”
Hank saw something wrong on Conrad’s face. “What is
“Something transmuted the living rock into liquid metal. I’m entering this as a prime candidate for the Queen of Sheba’s gold mines, AKA what history commonly mislabels King Solomon’s mines.”
“Or the inspiration for hell.” Conrad was pointing to a metal-splattered petro-form, just like the pile of anthropomorphic stones they had seen at the bottom of the gorge. “Maybe what transmutes this black ore into gold also transmutes humans.”
That would be unfortunate, Hank thought. But it could explain a lot about the Queen of Sheba.
Hank and Conrad unclipped from their rappelling rigs and set out on foot to search the cavern. The walls were far beyond the reach of their puny lights, and all Hank could hear besides their steps was something like a whisper in the still air. It almost felt like the crater itself was breathing.
“Over here,” Conrad’s voice called out, breaking the silence.
“Keep it down,” Hank told him when he found him by a cavern wall. The wall was blackened with some sort of dank substance, sticky and decaying, refusing to reflect almost any light at all.
Conrad lowered his voice and said, “I’ve been in a lot of tombs and caves in my time, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Hank looked closely at the blackened goo that coated everything down here. It wasn’t oil or soot. It was something else, and it was trickling down the walls and seeping up from the rock floor.
“Eureka, Hank.” Conrad’s light hit on something further down the wall—a temple façade carved right into the rock.
Hank followed the wall to two thick and brooding pillars. The pillars held up a massive arch, through which he could see a small rotunda and two tunnels that presumably led to the mines.
“Your Pillars of Creation, Conrad?”
“No,” Conrad said, bathing the ebony columns with light. “These have no inscriptions. But maybe we’ll find them down below. I think we’ve found your ingress to the Queen of Sheba’s mines.”
Hank noticed huge gold hinges along the sides of the arch. “You see this, Conrad? I think there were doors here once.”
“Giant doors.” Conrad pointed his light to a massive bronze bolt on the ground just beyond the pillars. “Look at the size of that thing. It’s as thick as a tree. Must have been used to the lock the doors, to keep people out of the mines.”
Bending down, Hank wrapped both hands around the bolt as best he could and tried to lift it. But it wouldn’t budge. “This thing weighs a ton. I can only imagine the doors.” Hank then stood up and looked at the big bolt slider hole in the wall. An epiphany hit him, and it wasn’t a terribly pleasant one.
The doors that once stood here weren’t designed to keep something out. They were here to keep something in.
Conrad had already passed under the archway into the small rotunda beyond, and Hank decided to keep his epiphany to himself for now as they confronted the choice of two tunnels before them.
“Lady or the tiger, Hank?”
Hank looked at the tunnel to their left. It was a jagged crack, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. The tunnel to their right, on the other hand, was wide and smooth, the dirt packed with fresh bootprints.
The choice had been made for them.
“They beat us to the mines, Conrad.”
“The Queen of Sheba’s miners, or your friends Smith and Chen from Strategic Explorations?”
“Probably both. They’ll be waiting. It’s going to be ugly. Check your weapons.”
“Wait,” Conrad told him, and pointed his light up at a carving above the tunnel. “Hebrew inscriptions.”
“Can you read them, or do we need your girlfriend Sister Serghetti?”
“I don’t need her for this.” Conrad frowned. “It’s from Solomon, King of Israel.”
“What does it say?”
Conrad read it aloud. “Let us search out and examine ourselves, and turn back to the Lord.”
Hank saw something wrong on Conrad’s face. “What is
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