LITMIR.BIZ

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was a chorus of assent — from the Council, I thought.

      “I will take the tall one named — Larree.” It was the priestess’s voice. “After the three tal, you may have him, Lugur, to do with as you will.”

      “No!” it was Lugur’s voice again, but with a rasp of anger. “All must die.”

      “He shall die,” again Yolara. “But I would that first he see Lakla pass — and that she know what is to happen to him.”

      “No!” I started — for this was Marakinoff. “Now is no time, Yolara, for one’s own desires. This is my counsel. At the end of the three tal Lakla will come for our answer. Your men will be in ambush and they will slay her and her escort quickly with the Keth. But not till that is done must the three be slain — and then quickly. With Lakla dead we shall go forth to the Silent Ones — and I promise you that I will find the way to destroy them!”

      “It is well!” It was Lugur.

      “It IS well, Yolara.” It was a woman’s voice, and I knew it for that old one of ravaged beauty. “Cast from your mind whatever is in it for this stranger — either of love or hatred. In this the Council is with Lugur and the man of wisdom.”

      There was a silence. Then came the priestess’s voice, sullen but — beaten.

      “It is well!”

      “Let the three be taken now by Rador to the temple and given to the High Priest Sator”— thus Lugur —“until what we have planned comes to pass.”

      Rador gripped the base of the globe; abruptly it ceased its spinning. He turned to us as though to speak and even as he did so its bell note sounded peremptorily and on it the colour films began to creep at their accustomed pace.

      “I hear,” the green dwarf whispered. “They shall be taken there at once.” The globe grew silent. He stepped toward us.

      “You have heard,” he turned to us.

      “Not on your life, Rador,” said Larry. “Nothing doing!” And then in the Murian’s own tongue. “We follow Lakla, Rador. And YOU lead the way.” He thrust the pistol close to the green dwarf’s side.

      Rador did not move.

      “Of what use, Larree?” he said, quietly. “Me you can slay — but in the end you will be taken. Life is not held so dear in Muria that my men out there or those others who can come quickly will let you by — even though you slay many. And in the end they will overpower you.”

      There was a trace of irresolution in O’Keefe’s face.

      “And,” added Rador, “if I let you go I dance with the Shining One — or worse!”

      O’Keefe’s pistol hand dropped.

      “You’re a good sport, Rador, and far be it from me to get you in bad,” he said. “Take us to the temple — when we get there — well, your responsibility ends, doesn’t it?”

      The green dwarf nodded; on his face a curious expression — was it relief? Or was it emotion higher than this?

      He turned curtly.

      “Follow,” he said. We passed out of that gay little pavilion that had come to be home to us even in this alien place. The guards stood at attention.

      “You, Sattoya, stand by the globe,” he ordered one of them. “Should the Afyo Maie ask, say that I am on my way with the strangers even as she has commanded.”

      We passed through the lines to the corial standing like a great shell at the end of the runway leading into the green road.

      “Wait you here,” he said curtly to the driver. The green dwarf ascended to his seat, sought the lever and we swept on — on and out upon the glistening obsidian.

      Then Rador faced us and laughed.

      “Larree,” he cried, “I love you for that spirit of yours! And did you think that Rador would carry to the temple prison a man who would take the chances of torment upon his own shoulders to save him? Or you, Goodwin, who saved him from the rotting death? For what did I take the corial or lift the veil of silence that I might hear what threatened you —”

      He swept the corial to the left, away from the temple approach.

      “I am done with Lugur and with Yolara and the Shining One!” cried Rador. “My hand is for you three and for Lakla and those to whom she is handmaiden!”

      The shell leaped forward; seemed to fly.

      1. A tal in Muria is the equivalent of thirty hours of earth surface time. — W. T. G.

      Chapter XXII.

       The Casting of the Shadow

       Table of Contents

      Now we were racing down toward that last span whose ancientness had set it apart from all the other soaring arches. The shell’s speed slackened; we approached warily.

      “We pass there?” asked O’Keefe.

      The green dwarf nodded, pointing to the right where the bridge ended in a broad platform held high upon two gigantic piers, between which ran a spur from the glistening road. Platform and bridge were swarming with men-at-arms; they crowded the parapets, looking down upon us curiously but with no evidence of hostility. Rador drew a deep breath of relief.

      “We don’t have to break our way through, then?” There was disappointment in the Irishman’s voice.

      “No use, Larree!” Smiling, Rador stopped the corial just beneath the arch and beside one of the piers. “Now, listen well. They have had no warning, hence does Yolara still think us on the way to the temple. This is the gateway of the Portal — and the gateway is closed by the Shadow. Once I commanded here and I know its laws. This must I do — by craft persuade Serku, the keeper of the gateway, to lift the Shadow; or raise it myself. And that will be hard and it may well be that in the struggle life will be stripped of us all. Yet is it better to die fighting than to dance with the Shining One!”

      He swept the shell around the pier. Opened a wide plaza paved with the volcanic glass, but black as that down which we had sped from the chamber of the Moon Pool. It shone like a mirrored lakelet of jet; on each side of it arose what at first glance seemed towering bulwarks of the same ebon obsidian; at second, revealed themselves as structures hewn and set in place by men; polished faces pierced by dozens of high, narrow windows.

      Down each facade a stairway fell, broken by small landings on which a door opened; they dropped to a broad ledge of greyish stone edging the lip of this midnight pool and upon it also fell two wide flights from either side of the bridge platform. Along all four stairways the guards were ranged; and here and there against the ledge stood the shells — in a curiously comforting resemblance to parked motors in our own world.

      The sombre walls bulked high; curved and ended in two obelisked pillars from which, like a tremendous curtain, stretched a barrier of that tenebrous gloom which, though weightless as shadow itself, I now knew to be as impenetrable as the veil between life and death. In this murk, unlike all others I had seen, I sensed movement, a quivering, a tremor constant and rhythmic; not to be seen, yet caught by some subtle sense; as though through it beat a swift pulse of — black light.

      The green dwarf turned the corial slowly to the edge at the right; crept cautiously on toward where, not more than a hundred feet from the barrier, a low, wide entrance opened in the fort. Guarding its threshold stood two guards, armed with broadswords, double-handed, terminating in a wide lunette mouthed with murderous fangs. These they raised in salute and through the portal strode a dwarf huge as Rador, dressed as he and carrying only the poniard that was the badge of office of Muria’s captainry.

      The

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