seek my throne?” Bright laughter bubbled in his woman-voice. “Let the Dark One choose!”
A black-robed priest knelt before him on the platform, offered him with bowed head something long and bent and black. It was a stick of ancient ebony, Theseus saw, curved on one side and flattened on the other, longer than the pink arm of Minos. It was polished to the gleam of glass.
Minos took the boomerang,with a firm and easy grasp. His preliminary swing was strong and free. His pink face smiled like a happy child’s, and his blue eyes sparkled warmly. Yet the careful swiftness of his motions convinced Theseus that the eighth test was going to be a very real one.
“O Dark One,” he called softly. “Choose!”
With a long and powerful sweep of the round pink arm, he threw the boomerang. Unable to move,Theseus stood on the black emblem of the double ax, watching with defiant level eyes.
For one heartbeat, he knew that it was hurtling straight toward his head. Straight. It was going to hit him. Then, abruptly, making a savage
whi-whi-whi
, it flashed past his head. Another incredible miss!
But a boomerang returns.
Theseus still could not turn his head. But, watching thefaces of the thousandsbefore him, he saw them follow the spinning weapon beyond him, up, back. He heard the hissing whistle of it again.
Heard it, once more, pass him!
It lifted a little puff of white sand before him, danced away like a graceful, live thing, dropped and lay still. Theseus looked up at the rosy face of Minos. It held the same dimpled smile. He waited for a slave to replace the white robe about hisshoulders, bounced back into the dark-curtained box.
Horns shrilled again, and the herald croaked:
“The Northman has mounted eight steps toward the throne. Through Minos himself, the Dark One indicates favor. There remains the ninth test. The Northman will learn the final will of the Dark One, through Daedalus the wizard, who is his high priest, his hand, and his voice.”
The heart of Theseuswas beginning to skip. The blazing white sand spun about him, until he felt that he was floating in a sea of white searing fire. His fatigue was gone. His body was a dead and distant thing; the itch and sting of the flies on his wounds had ceased to matter.
Dimly, he tried to remember what was happening. He had a dim, vague hope that he might escape this final danger, but he couldn’t recall whathe must do next. He watched Daedalus through a screen of unreality.
The warlock came out of the curtained box, and shed his own black robe. If Minos had looked amazingly young, Daedalus was very old—and yet incredibly strong. His body was dark, hairy, shrunken, gnarled like some ancient tree.
Beneath stringy black hair, his face was creased into wrinkles no few centuries could have wrought.It was waxen, hollow, skeletal His eyes were deeply sunken, black, flaming with a sinister power. Lean dark claws of fingers raked through his stringy black beard.
While the horns whined again, black-robed priests brought the warlock a leather-thonged sling and a bright, heavy little copper ball. Staring at the ball with those flaming hollow eyes, Daedalus muttered over it, fitted it at lastto the socket of the sling.
The sling spun about his head. Hard muscles knotted and quivered, jerking his lean twisted frame swiftly and more swiftly. He was like a dwarfed mountain oak, Theseus thought, battered and shaken in a savage wind. The slingbecame a blurred wheel of motion. The leather thongs murmured, sighed, screamed.
Theseus found strength again to test his unseen fetters. Theyheld him. But they made no difference now, he thought. For no man could hope to dodge that screaming shot.
It came—whined harmlessly by!
The invisible bonds were abruptly loosed. Theseus pitched to bare knees on the baking white sand, and the whole arena rocked. He saw the baleful malice that twisted the gnarled, evil face of Daedalus, saw him limp angrily back into the dark-curtained
A black-robed priest knelt before him on the platform, offered him with bowed head something long and bent and black. It was a stick of ancient ebony, Theseus saw, curved on one side and flattened on the other, longer than the pink arm of Minos. It was polished to the gleam of glass.
Minos took the boomerang,with a firm and easy grasp. His preliminary swing was strong and free. His pink face smiled like a happy child’s, and his blue eyes sparkled warmly. Yet the careful swiftness of his motions convinced Theseus that the eighth test was going to be a very real one.
“O Dark One,” he called softly. “Choose!”
With a long and powerful sweep of the round pink arm, he threw the boomerang. Unable to move,Theseus stood on the black emblem of the double ax, watching with defiant level eyes.
For one heartbeat, he knew that it was hurtling straight toward his head. Straight. It was going to hit him. Then, abruptly, making a savage
whi-whi-whi
, it flashed past his head. Another incredible miss!
But a boomerang returns.
Theseus still could not turn his head. But, watching thefaces of the thousandsbefore him, he saw them follow the spinning weapon beyond him, up, back. He heard the hissing whistle of it again.
Heard it, once more, pass him!
It lifted a little puff of white sand before him, danced away like a graceful, live thing, dropped and lay still. Theseus looked up at the rosy face of Minos. It held the same dimpled smile. He waited for a slave to replace the white robe about hisshoulders, bounced back into the dark-curtained box.
Horns shrilled again, and the herald croaked:
“The Northman has mounted eight steps toward the throne. Through Minos himself, the Dark One indicates favor. There remains the ninth test. The Northman will learn the final will of the Dark One, through Daedalus the wizard, who is his high priest, his hand, and his voice.”
The heart of Theseuswas beginning to skip. The blazing white sand spun about him, until he felt that he was floating in a sea of white searing fire. His fatigue was gone. His body was a dead and distant thing; the itch and sting of the flies on his wounds had ceased to matter.
Dimly, he tried to remember what was happening. He had a dim, vague hope that he might escape this final danger, but he couldn’t recall whathe must do next. He watched Daedalus through a screen of unreality.
The warlock came out of the curtained box, and shed his own black robe. If Minos had looked amazingly young, Daedalus was very old—and yet incredibly strong. His body was dark, hairy, shrunken, gnarled like some ancient tree.
Beneath stringy black hair, his face was creased into wrinkles no few centuries could have wrought.It was waxen, hollow, skeletal His eyes were deeply sunken, black, flaming with a sinister power. Lean dark claws of fingers raked through his stringy black beard.
While the horns whined again, black-robed priests brought the warlock a leather-thonged sling and a bright, heavy little copper ball. Staring at the ball with those flaming hollow eyes, Daedalus muttered over it, fitted it at lastto the socket of the sling.
The sling spun about his head. Hard muscles knotted and quivered, jerking his lean twisted frame swiftly and more swiftly. He was like a dwarfed mountain oak, Theseus thought, battered and shaken in a savage wind. The slingbecame a blurred wheel of motion. The leather thongs murmured, sighed, screamed.
Theseus found strength again to test his unseen fetters. Theyheld him. But they made no difference now, he thought. For no man could hope to dodge that screaming shot.
It came—whined harmlessly by!
The invisible bonds were abruptly loosed. Theseus pitched to bare knees on the baking white sand, and the whole arena rocked. He saw the baleful malice that twisted the gnarled, evil face of Daedalus, saw him limp angrily back into the dark-curtained
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