2 A Goddess Awakens
The Cimmerian at first made no attempt to fight the current that wassweeping him through lightless night. He kept himself afloat, grippingbetween his teeth the sword, which he had not relinquished, even in hisfall, and did not even seek to guess to what doom he was being borne.But suddenly a beam of light lanced the darkness ahead of him. He sawthe surging, seething black surface of the water, in turmoil as ifdisturbed by some monster of the deep, and he saw the sheer stone wallsof the channel curved up to a vault overhead. On each side ran a narrowledge, just below the arching roof, but they were far out of his reach.At one point this roof had been broken, probably fallen in, and thelight was streaming through the aperture. Beyond that shaft of light wasutter blackness, and panic assailed the Cimmerian as he saw he would beswept on past that spot of light, and into the unknown blackness again.
Then he saw something else: bronze ladders extended from the ledges tothe water's surface at regular intervals, and there was one just aheadof him. Instantly he struck out for it, fighting the current that wouldhave held him to the middle of the stream. It dragged at him as withtangible, animate slimy hands, but he buffeted the rushing surge withthe strength of desperation and now drew closer and closer inshore,fighting furiously for every inch. Now he was even with the ladder andwith a fierce, gasping plunge he gripped the bottom rung and hung on,breathless.
A few seconds later he struggled up out of the seething water, trustinghis weight dubiously to the corroded rungs. They sagged and bent, butthey held, and he clambered up onto the narrow ledge which ran along thewall scarcely a man's length below the curving roof. The tall Cimmerianwas forced to bend his head as he stood up. A heavy bronze door showedin the stone at a point even with the head of the ladder, but it did notgive to Conan's efforts. He transferred his sword from his teeth to itsscabbard, spitting blood--for the edge had cut his lips in that fiercefight with the river--and turned his attention to the broken roof.
He could reach his arms up through the crevice and grip the edge, andcareful testing told him it would bear his weight. An instant later hehad drawn himself up through the hole, and found himself in a widechamber, in a state of extreme disrepair. Most of the roof had fallenin, as well as a great section of the floor, which was laid over thevault of a subterranean river. Broken arches opened into other chambersand corridors, and Conan believed he was still in the great palace. Hewondered uneasily how many chambers in that palace had underground waterdirectly under them, and when the ancient flags or tiles might give wayagain and precipitate him back into the current from which he had justcrawled.
And he wondered just how much of an accident that fall had been. Hadthose rotten flags simply chanced to give way beneath his weight, or wasthere a more sinister explanation? One thing at least was obvious: hewas not the only living thing in that palace. That gong had not soundedof its own accord, whether the noise had been meant to lure him to hisdeath, or not. The silence of the palace became suddenly sinister,fraught with crawling menace.
Could it be someone on the same mission as himself? A sudden thoughtoccurred to him, at the memory of the mysterious Bit-Yakin. Was it notpossible that this man had found the Teeth of Gwahlur in his longresidence in Alkmeenon--that his servants had taken them with them whenthey departed? The possibility that he might be following awill-o'-the-wisp infuriated the Cimmerian.
Choosing a corridor which he believed led back toward the part of thepalace he had first entered, he hurried along it, stepping gingerly ashe thought of that black river that seethed and foamed somewhere belowhis feet.
His speculations recurrently revolved about the oracle chamber and itscryptic occupant. Somewhere in that vicinity must be the clue to themystery of the treasure, if indeed it still remained in its immemorialhiding-place.
The great palace lay silent as ever, disturbed only by the swift passingof his sandaled feet. The chambers and halls he traversed were crumblinginto ruin, but as he advanced the ravages of decay became less apparent.He wondered briefly for what purpose the ladders had been suspended fromthe ledges over the subterranean river, but dismissed the matter with ashrug. He was little interested in speculating over unremunerativeproblems of antiquity.
He was not sure just where the oracle chamber lay, from where he was,but presently he emerged into a corridor which led back into the greatthrone-room under one of the arches. He had reached a decision; it wasuseless for him to wander aimlessly about the palace, seeking the hoard.He would conceal himself somewhere here, wait until the Keshani priestscame, and then, after they had gone through the farce of consulting theoracle, he would follow them to the hiding-place of the gems, to whichhe was certain they would go. Perhaps they would take only a few of thejewels with them. He would content himself with the rest.
Drawn by a morbid fascination, he re-entered the oracle chamber andstared down again at the motionless figure of the princess who wasworshipped as a goddess, entranced by her frigid beauty. What crypticsecret was locked in that marvelously molded form?
He started violently. The breath sucked through his teeth, the shorthairs prickled at the back of his scalp. The body still lay as he hadfirst seen it, silent, motionless, in breast-plates of jeweled gold,gilded sandals and silken shirt. But now there was a subtle difference.The lissom limbs were not rigid, a peach-bloom touched the cheeks, thelips were red--
With a panicky curse Conan ripped out his sword.
'Crom! She's alive!'
At his words the long dark lashes lifted; the eyes opened and gaped upat him inscrutably, dark, lustrous, mystical. He glared in frozenspeechlessness.
She sat up with a supple ease, still holding his ensorceled stare.
He licked his dry lips and found voice.
'You--are--are you Yelaya?' he stammered.
'I am Yelaya!' The voice was rich and musical, and he stared with newwonder. 'Do not fear. I will not harm you if you do my bidding.'
'How can a dead woman come to life after all these centuries?' hedemanded, as if skeptical of what his senses told him. A curious gleamwas beginning to smolder in his eyes.
She lifted her arms in a mystical gesture.
'I am a goddess. A thousand years ago there descended upon me the curseof the greater gods, the gods of darkness beyond the borders of light.The mortal in me died; the goddess in me could never die. Here I havelain for so many centuries, to awaken each night at sunset and hold mycourt as of yore, with specters drawn from the shadows of the past. Man,if you would not view that which will blast your soul for ever, gethence quickly! I command you! Go!' The voice became imperious, and herslender arm lifted and pointed.
Conan, his eyes burning slits, slowly sheathed his sword, but he did notobey her order. He stepped closer, as if impelled by a powerfulfascination--without the slightest warning he grabbed her up in abear-like grasp. She screamed a very ungoddess-like scream, and therewas a sound of ripping silk, as with one ruthless wrench he tore off herskirt.
'Goddess! Ha!' His bark was full of angry contempt. He ignored thefrantic writhings of his captive. 'I thought it was strange that aprincess of Alkmeenon would speak with a Corinthian accent! As soon asI'd gathered my wits I knew I'd seen you somewhere. You're Muriela,Zargheba's Corinthian dancing-girl. This crescent-shaped birthmark onyour hip proves it. I saw it once when Zargheba was whipping you.Goddess! Bah!' He smacked the betraying hip contemptuously andresoundingly with his open hand, and the girl yelped piteously.
All her imperiousness had gone out of her. She was no longer a mysticalfigure of antiquity, but a terrified and humiliated dancing-girl, suchas can be bought at almost any Shemitish market-place. She lifted up hervoice and wept unashamedly. Her captor glared down at her with angrytriumph.
'Goddess! Ha! So you were one of the veiled women Zargheba brought toKeshia with him. Did you think you could fool me, you little idiot? Ayear ago I saw you in Akbitana with that swine, Zargheba, and I don'tforget faces--or women's figures. I think I'll--'
Squirming about in his
grasp she threw her slender arms about hismassive neck in an abandon of terror; tears coursed down her cheeks, andher sobs quivered with a note of hysteria.
'Oh, please don't hurt me! Don't! I had to do it! Zargheba brought mehere to act as the oracle!'
'Why, you sacrilegious little hussy!' rumbled Conan. 'Do you not fearthe gods? Crom! is there no honesty anywhere?'
'Oh, please!' she begged, quivering with abject fright. 'I couldn'tdisobey Zargheba. Oh, what shall I do? I shall be cursed by theseheathen gods!'
'What do you think the priests will do to you if they find out you're animpostor?' he demanded.
At the thought her legs refused to support her, and she collapsed in ashuddering heap, clasping Conan's knees and mingling incoherent pleasfor mercy and protection with piteous protestations of her innocence ofany malign intention. It was a vivid change from her
Jewels of Gwahlur Page 4
