The Arthur Leo Zagat Science Fiction Megapack

by Arthur Leo Zagat

  Here he turned, and pointed a claw-like finger at the astounded explorer.

  “You—you are the very man; brave, intelligent, resourceful, and possessed of a knowledge of science. Cast your lot with me—become my second in command—adopt the worship of the true Lord, Shaitan, and you shall reign with me, and alone, after me. No despot of old ever had the sway that shall be mine—and yours! What say you?”

  This astonishing speech had convinced Dunton that he was dealing with a fanatic. He must be careful in his replies, so as not to arouse his fury. Besides, a glimmer of hope awoke in his breast.

  “What you say interests me immensely, and it is also very flattering. But you have told me very little—just what is your scheme for conquering the earth, and who is Shaitan, whom you worship? Before I come to a decision, I must know more.”

  The old lama nodded his head approvingly. “Quite right, and spoken like a wise man. I shall start from the very beginning, so that you may understand all. I am not afraid to reveal my plans to you. Either you join me or”—he paused significantly, “Or you go where your knowledge will be of no value to you.”

  He paused, then continued. “Know then, that almost a thousand years ago, in the land of Persia, when the religion of the false Mohammed ruled the earth, my ancestor, Hassan ibn Sabbah, founded the society of Hashishin, or Assassins. He pretended to follow Mohammed but in reality he formed his society to worship the only true Lord, Shaitan—known to you as Satan.

  “Uncounted ages before, Shaitan ruled the world, and Evil—the precious principle of Evil—flourished triumphant. Then the traitorous God—incarnation of the womanish Good—by low stratagems overthrew the rightful Lord. Since then Shaitan has languished in darkness; only our company kept his worship alive through the ages. But tomorrow the minds of the people shall turn to the Evil once again, and Shaitan shall once more come into his own.

  “My ancestor, Hassan,” he continued, “Was the Supreme Chieftain. He was the Sheik-al-Jabal—known to you Westerners as the ‘Old Man of the Mountains.’ By means of hashish, he enrolled a band of young men—the Fedais—from whom the blindest obedience was exacted. On them the religion of Islam was enforced, to the scorn of our initiate. By secret assassination, by cord and steel, those blind tools spread the power of Shaitan unwittingly.

  “For several hundred years, the Society grew and flourished, until the fatal day when Hulagu, the Tatar, accursed be his name, smote down our brethren by the thousands, and destroyed their mountain citadel, Alamut.”

  Dunton listened in absorption. He had heard of that strange ancient sect of the Assassins.

  “Fortunately, a few of the Initiate, headed by Hassan, the youthful son of Rukneddin, the then Sheik, managed to cut their way through the ring of their enemies. For years the devoted band wandered over the face of the earth—outcasts—their hands against the world, and the world’s against them. Faithfully they kept alive the holy spark of Shaitan, in a world given over to false Gods.

  “After many years of traveling in strange lands, the Hashishin came to the roof of the world—this high mountain region of Tibet, so like their former fastness in the mountains of Persia. Here they decided to halt, and found anew the society.

  “In this very valley they settled. Conforming to ancient practice, outwardly they adopted the prevalent faith of Buddhism and Lamaism, while secretly practicing the holy rites of Shaitan. Through magical means, a ring of prohibition was placed about this valley, that no one has ever penetrated.”

  He smiled an evil smile. “They worked in secret, and utilized the prevalent beliefs for their own ends. About the year 1400, our then Sheik-al-Jabal, seized the power in Tibet for a sect he organized under the name of Geluba. To this day, Lamaism is insidiously impregnated with our doctrines, and so unknowingly the Tibetans do honor to Lord Shaitan.”

  CHAPTER III

  NEW WONDERS

  By this time the explorer was listening with growing fascination. Was this mad old priest telling the truth or not? Was there in reality this Devil’s Cult, and was it about to spread its pernicious tentacles over the world?

  Triumphantly the old priest continued his marvelous tale.

  “From the very beginning, the Hashishin had determined to bring the world once more to the altars of Shaitan, and to that they bent all their energies. Magic in all its aspects was studied by the Initiate, until now we are adepts at the Black Art. The marvels of the Hindu Fakirs are but child’s play to what we can do. My entrance to this cell was but an elementary example of our art.

  “Early in my youth, I devoted myself to a close study of the processes of Nature, for through the subjugation of natural forces, rather than through magical processes, did I foresee our chance to bring the world to the worship and gospel of Evil.

  “Years of study and experimenting, and the secrets of Nature unrolled before me. I discovered, among other things, how to control and direct the minds of men, to the uttermost ends of the earth.” He interrupted himself. “But you shall see for yourself.”

  With that he clapped his hands. A door slid open silently in a hitherto unbroken wall. Immediately two guards stepped into the cell, and salaamed deeply before the old lama. Powerful brutes they were, features decidedly Mongoloid, with close cropped bullet heads, wicked looking scimitars dangling from the girdles of their maroon colored robes.

  A few staccato commands in Tibetan and the guards salaamed again, then placed themselves on either side of the American. “Follow me,” beckoned the priest, and glided through the door. Dunton was pushed after him into a long narrow passageway, through which a soft yellowish glow was diffused, though he could discern no source of the illumination. But what was more surprising—the passage was not level—on the contrary, it slanted upwards steeply at a grade of over forty-five degrees for about fifty feet; then spiraled sharply out of sight.

  Dunton stared in wonderment. Only with the greatest exertion could they climb that steep slope. “Are we to go that way?” he asked.

  “Yes” answered the High Priest, smiling at his captive’s puzzled look. “Just another of my inventions. Watch!”

  With that, he pressed a button inconspicuously, imbedded in the wall. A faint moaning sound filled the corridor, like the noise of wind in trees. It grew in intensity to a high pitched whine; and suddenly, the American felt himself lifted off his feet. An invisible force was propelling him up through the winding passageway. In front of him soared the lama, and on either side floated a guard. Around and around they spiraled almost interminably. At about two hundred feet up, the whine ceased abruptly, and they were deposited once more on the solid floor. “This must be the top of the tower,” thought Dunton.

  Above them a door opened noiselessly and a white brilliance flooding the hall caused him to blink for a moment. Then the group rose, again lifted by the mysterious force into a vast circular domed chamber.

  The vault of the dome, he saw was fifty feet in height. On its concave surface was painted the huge form of Shaitan—dark, forbidding, goat horned and goat bearded; cloven hoofs protruded from a richly emblazoned robe, and a huge forked tail wound its way over the face of the dome. He was seated on a golden throne; in one hand he grasped firmly a writhing three-headed serpent, each head bearing a golden crown; from the other hand, with outstretched palm downward, jagged lightnings darted and gleamed.

  Below his cloven feet were depicted a multitude of figures, human in form and semblance, yet with a hideous aura of evil about them. The indescribable horror of what he saw depicted there, utterly unnerved Dunton. “Good God, can such monstrous things be?” He shuddered, not daring to look again.

  * * * *

  When he had somewhat regained his composure, he looked about him. At one side was a huge instrument board, covered with switches, metallic buttons, and tiny lights, flashing intermittently—red, yellow, blue and orange. Next to it was a huge white screen, of the type used in motion picture projection. In front of it, a platform that moved and swayed, was imb
edded in the floor. At the far end of the dome, a lacquered partition cut off from observation a sizable area. From within could be heard a confused hum, faint crackles; and the peculiar odor of ozone pervaded the air.

  The place was a hive of activity. Men, garmented in the red robes of Tibetan lamas, were streaming in and out of the door leading through the lacquer wall; low voiced orders were given in a tongue unknown to the explorer. Though their dress was Tibetan, these men had not the characteristic Mongol features of the native Tibetans or of his escorting guards. Their faces resembled in aquilinity and high breeding those of the old High Priest. Dunton puzzled over it for a moment. Then the solution came to him. These were Persians, far from their native mountains—relics of an ancient race.

  “See you this tower,” gloated the lama to Dunton, “It is from here that the world and the nations thereof will be conquered!”

  Dunton stared at him skeptically. He had seen enough to convince him of the power of these Hashishin, but this was too fantastic, too unbelievable.

  “But how?” he queried, “So far you have not shown me anything. All I see here is just what I could find in any well appointed electrical laboratory. When you boast of subduing the world from this place, that is asking me to believe too much. You will have to explain considerably.”

  The old man laughed harshly.

  “You doubt my power? It would be well for you to believe and bow your head. Hearken—!”

  The deep tones of a gong interrupted him. As the brazen reverberations died away, the lamas ceased their labors. The priest nodded his head.

  “Ah, yes—it is the time for the grand ceremonial.” He turned to Dunton. “Tonight we celebrate the Nativity of our Lord Shaitan. You shall witness it. Then you will believe in His omnipotence, and in our powers as the servants of His Most Evil Spirit.”

  “Take him back to his chamber,” he commanded the guards, “And when the ritual commences, bring him into the Garden of Paradise to view the holy rites; but see you guard him closely. If he escapes, your lives shall pay for it Go!”

  Once more the guards ranged themselves on either side of Dunton, and moved him to the door of the spiral passageway. One pressed a button, and the three were lifted from the floor, floating swiftly down the twisting corridor back to the oriental chamber. There the explorer was unceremoniously deposited, the walls closed, and he was alone again.

  The astounding events of the past hours, together with the even more astounding tale of the Priest of the Devil, whirled through his exhausted mind in a nightmare. And that maiden—was she real too, or some hypnotic vision? He lay back on his cushions to try to straighten out his maze of thoughts—but somehow his mind returned continually to the girl.

  Minutes later, a sound roused him, a panel slid open, and there appeared again the girl of his thoughts. There was no doubt about it—she was real, living flesh and blood, bearing food on the crystal tray. Dunton forgot the lama and his strange story—his eyes feasted on her beautiful form. She was even more lovely than at her first appearance.

  She felt his gaze upon her, and a rosy flush came to her cheeks. Timidly she looked at him. Was there pity in that glance, was that a tear starting from the blue of her eye? He started forward. Hastily she set down the tray and like a startled fawn, fled from the room. The tapestry swung back into position, and the too ardent explorer was brought up against the blank wall.

  * * * *

  Absently he ate the strange foods on the tray. The warm emotions he was experiencing left no room for any other sensations. Who was this white maiden, so English in appearance; what was she doing in this hellish place? How explain the mystery of her presence? And again there occurred to him the vague familiarity of her adorable countenance—somewhere he had seen features resembling hers—a crude likeness, as it were.

  But the explorer was soon aroused from his romantic thoughts. Again the two guards stood before him. In his absorption he had not seen or heard their entry. Obediently, he followed them through an aperture that had not been disclosed before. For some time they stumbled through a long, low, dark tunnel, dripping with moisture.

  A breath of warm, perfumed air caressed Dunton’s cheek, and the next moment he was out in the open. Involuntarily, a cry of delight broke from him. The Garden of Paradise! A veritable Eden! Never in all his adventurous career had he seen anything to compare with the luxuriousness, the indescribable glories of this spot. No wonder the original Fedai—band of sworn assassins—met death gladly, if this was their foretaste of the Paradise to come!

  Before him stretched a vast garden, bathed in a golden glow, its source unseen. It was night, and the velvet black sky was studded with brilliants. Patterned clusters of rare and exotic blooms grew in profusion, yielding soft perfumes. And closely intermingled, was the familiarly drowsy incense of hashish. Strange, soft music tinkled and strummed from invisible musicians—Oriental and sensuous—conjuring visions of harem beauties.

  Finely carved tables were scattered around, bearing heaped fruits—dishes of luscious dates, ripe red pomegranates, golden oranges, and bursting tender figs, flanked by crystal goblets filled with amber liquor. Long low divans were near each table, gorgeously damasked, and strewn with silken scarves and cushions.

  On the divans lolled a multitude of men, clad in immaculate white robes. Dunton walked down a flower lined path toward the reclining figures, closely followed by the maroon guards. As he approached the banqueters, they turned lusterless, disinterested eyes on him; then returned lazily to their feasting.

  The first glimpse, however, was sufficient to bring Dunton up short with an exclamation of amazement. Of all the surprising sights he had witnessed in this crowded day and night, this was the strangest. These men were not Tibetans, they were not Orientals—they were Caucasians! Here reposed a tall, ruddy faced Englishman; next him sat a bearded Frenchman; on the other side sprawled an olive skinned Italian. All about was a polyglot assemblage—all the races of the earth were represented in this Tibetan garden—Russians, Germans, big boned Swedes, slant-eyed Chinamen, grave Arabs, swarthy Malays, giant Nubians, and even—several unmistakable Americans!

  What lent an air of utter unreality to the scene, was the dullness of their eyes, the pallor of their faces, the set looks of automatons. Though they were feasting, there was no sound of revelry or merriment; they ate in silence with stiff mechanical movements; no one spoke to his neighbor, or seemed aware of his presence. There was something sinister about these men. Dunton shivered as though a cold blast had struck his heart. A pall of evil—some mighty enchantment—seemed laid on this company, and for a moment the adventurer was afraid—horribly afraid!

  He had no time to investigate further. His warders prodded him, motioning for him to proceed. Down scented paths they moved. A figure darted across an intersecting path. His heart gave a quick leap as he recognized the girl of his dreams. She favored him with a side glance that thrilled him and then disappeared down a shaded lane.

  Dunton found himself now on a level grassy area, about a hundred yards across. On one side squatted a row of red-clad lamas, on the other an orange hued row, and facing him from the farther end was stiffly drawn up a platoon of maroon guards, scimitars flashing in their hands. From behind Dunton, came slowly, desultorily, the band of banqueters, who ranged themselves irregularly to complete the fourth side of the open square. Dunton was pushed into a front row, where he was compelled to seat himself, guarded as before.

  CHAPTER IV

  THE DANCE OF EVIL

  For a while there was silence—even the strains of distant music ceased. A hush of anticipation settled on the assembled throng—even the ranks of the polyglots rustled with faintly aroused interest.

  The thick silence was shattered by an ear-splitting blast, then a wailing rushing sound of strange tonalities, unlike anything Dunton had ever heard before. Then through an opening in the farther end of the square, marched slowly and solemnly a weird procession. Ten demons garbed in short blood-red gowns,
distorted masks covering their faces, representing monkeys, jackals, vultures and pigs; wooden helmets surmounted by red flags on their heads; wristlets, anklets and necklaces of tiny human bones. In one hand each carried a trumpet made of a hollow human thigh bone, on which they blew concerted blasts. In the other, each brandished the purbu, a dagger-like weapon. From each girdle hung an apron of tanned human skin.

  Dunton’s flesh prickled with horror, but he could not remove his eyes from the diabolic scene. He watched with a sickening fascination.

  The demons marched into the center of the square, where they halted in line, blowing a final blast on their frightful trumpets.

  There followed them a group of graveyard ghouls, dressed as skeletons; eight monkey masks, clad in red and armed with bows, accompanied by eight devil’s wives. They carried tiny drums, made of human skulls, over which were spread human skins. The drum sticks were small snakes, immobile when used to strike the drums, at other times they arched and wriggled rhythmically in the air.

  The groups ranged themselves in serried rows on the fields, and commenced a high-pitched blood-curdling chant to the accompaniment of the trumpets and drums.

  The chant rose to a wail as six masked demons stepped slowly into the field bearing on their shoulders a silken shield. Seated cross-legged thereon was the figure of a girl, robed in purest white, hands outstretched, head thrown back.

  Dunton jumped to his feet in incredulous horror. The girl again! Here among these fiends! With a shout he sprang forward. Flaming anger blurred his vision. He had only one idea—to scatter those loathsome demons and rescue her. After that, he neither knew nor cared what would happen.