Her face contorted, Nirvor sprang to the door. She flung it open. From the great chamber beyond welled a deep-throated roar.
She cried a command. Beast-men poured into the room, seized Mason. Too sick with repugnance to speak, he fought desperately until weight of numbers bore him down, the foul odor of the beast-men strong in his nostrils.
Nirvor stood above him, a statue of living evil. Then she said, “You are proud of your humanity, Kent Mason? You may have cause to regret it. For now you come to the Court of the Beasts!”
THE huge chamber was filled with surging multitudes of the beast-men. On a low dais before the statue of Selene, Mason saw, were three bound figures. Alasa, Murdach, and Erech. Mason was dragged to the dais, flung down upon it. Two beast-men held him motionless.
Nirvor stood beside him, a slim hand lifted. She cried something in the gutteral language of the monsters. They roared a response.
“The verdict is death,” the priestess said mockingly to Mason. “First—the girl. Prepare her, my people!”
She nodded, and a beast-man lifted the slim figure of Alasa, carried her into the midst of the horde. Shaggy, bestial figures closed around her. A scream broke from the girl.
Mason had a glimpse of rough hands loosening the cords, ripping the cloak roughly from Alasa. The girl was thrust upright, stood for a second staring wildly around, her bronze hair falling about her white shoulders. She cried out, held out imploring hands toward Mason. She took a few steps toward him—
The pack closed in, brutal hands mauling the girl’s body. Cursing, Mason struggled with his captors. They held him motionless; their binding arms tightened, shutting off his breath. Gasping and sweating, Mason forced himself to relax.
Nirvor screamed a command. The beast-men drew back slowly. One of them threw Alasa’s body over his shoulder and loped toward the dais. The priestess pointed up.
A pulley hung from the roof, thongs dangling from it. The beast-man, in obedience to Nirvor’s words, bound Alasa’s wrists tightly to the hanging ropes and then turned to a windlass near by. He turned it. Slowly Alasa was lifted till she swung by her hands, her hair falling like a veil over her face and breasts. Up and up, till her feet no longer touched the floor . . .
At last Nirvor nodded. The beast-man drew back. Alasa hung perhaps ten feet above their heads, a vision of tortured loveliness.
The priestess snarled at Mason, “She is human. But soon it will be difficult to be sure of that!”
Nirvor touched a lever. A grinding of machinery came from above. Staring up, Mason saw an arm of the image of Selene swing slowly down. God! Was Alasa to be crushed to death between the metal hands of the idol?
No, that could not be it, or both arms would be moving. The left arm of Selene halted about three feet from Alasa’s dangling form. From the hand billowed a jet of white cloud—and the girl screamed in utter agony!
Steam! Live, boiling steam, hot enough to sear flesh from bone! Again Mason fought with his captors—and again they subdued him.
The hissing from above stopped. The steam had been on for only moments, but already Alasa’s white body was flushed to a deep pink.
The image’s arm swung back, lifted. The other arm descended slowly, with a ponderous creaking of gears. No steam issued from the metal palm, but Alasa’s form writhed in pain, while a blast of chill air blew over Mason.
THE torture of boiling steam, alternated with currents of icy, frigid air! This would be no quick death for Alasa, but a lingering hell of torment unendurable. She was sobbing softly, low moans of pain that made Mason feel sick and giddy.
“Nirvor!” he said urgently. “For God’s sake, stop it! I’ll do anything—”
“You are too late,” the priestess whispered. In her jet eyes was torture-lust; on her face was stamped the cruelty of the beast. Her heritage, the leopard stigmata, was ruling now.
“Too late, Kent Mason! She shall die, and the others—but more quickly than you. Not for many moons shall you perish, and before you do you shall know the deepest pits of pain . . .”
Erech snarled a lurid oath. “Ma-zhon! Cannot you get free? These cursed ropes are too strong for me!”
Murdach’s thin face was a pale, grimy mask of hopelessness. “They’ve destroyed the time-ship,” he called. “Greddar Klon wrecked it.”
Nirvor touched the lever again; once more the arm of the goddess began its slow descent. But before the live steam could jet forth there came an interruption. Into the chamber, through the open bronze doors, drifted a shimmering, transparent ovoid.
The time-ship of the Master! And within it—Greddar Klon!
CHAPTER XIV
VENGEANCE IN CORINOOR
THE ovoid dropped beside the dais. Greddar Klon flung open the port, stood there, his cold eyes roving over the scene. He said harshly, “You take strange liberties, Nirvor.”
As though sensing peril, black leopard and white slunk on to the dais, ranging themselves on either side of the priestess.
Nirvor said, “These captives are of no value.”
“I am the judge of that! This man—” Greddar Klon pointed at Mason—“I told you to leave alone.”
“I caught him with Li Keng, in the hiding place of the Invincible Power—”
“You found it?” Mason read eagerness in the Master’s eyes. And so he spoke quickly, breaking in before Nirvor could answer.
“She lost it for you, Greddar Klon! She burst in on us with her leopards and beast-men, and Li Keng destroyed himself and the treasure rather than let it fall into Nirvor’s hands.”
“Is this true?” The Master glanced at the priestess.
“True—aye! As far as it goes. But ask him why he was seeking the Invincible Power. Ask him that!”
“I was seeking it for you,” Mason said smoothly. “Li Keng set me free from my cell, told me he would not give the secret to you or Nirvor. I convinced him that I could guard the Power safely. I planned to secure it and give it to you, Greddar Klon, so you could know what my aid is worth.”
“He lies!” the priestess spat. “He lies!”
“Set him free,” Greddar Klon said. No one moved for a while. Then the Master’s hand lifted, in it a metal tube. A beam of light flicked out, touched one of the beast-men that held Mason. The creature bellowed in agony, clawed at its chest—and dropped. It was dead.
The other beast-man waited for no more; he fled into the throng. The two leopards moved forward, guarding Nirvor with their bodies, green eyes baleful.
Mason swiftly turned to the windlass. He lowered Alasa to the dais, freed her wrists. Then he unbound Erech and Murdach.
Nirvor watched him, her lips a thin white line. Abruptly she turned on Greddar Klon, snarled, “I say this man lies! And I say he shall die—and the others.”
The Master said in English, a language Mason did not realize he knew, “Come with me into the ship. Leave the others. Nirvor means to attack—and the beast-men will follow her.”
Mason hesitated. His gaze went to the time-ship. Their own vessel had been destroyed, Murdach had said. Well—how could this situation be best turned to advantage?
Suddenly Mason knew. It would be a long chance, a desperate one, but the only one possible. With a sudden movement he sprang down from the dais and was at Greddar Klon’s side.
His motion caused chaos. The priestess thrust out her arms, screamed a command. The leopards shot forward, snarling. The beast-men surged closer, and Greddar Klon hastily leaped into the ship. Mason followed him. The port slammed shut.
Through the transparent wall Mason could see Erech thrust Alasa behind him, guarding the girl with his body. Murdach was not in sight. Mason looked around.
He blessed the hours he had spent mastering the time-ship’s controls. This vessel was identical in construction.
Greddar Klon was at the controls. He touched a button. The ship lifted, hung a dozen feet above the floor, out of reach of the beast-men.
Mason saw the lever he had been searching for. He sidled close to it. B
riefly he felt an impulse to depend on his muscles to overcome Greddar Klon, but he knew that the Master’s atomic mesh armor was impregnable. No, it must be this way—or failure.
Mason pulled the lever.
THERE was a sudden tension in the air within the ship, a gentle breeze that brushed Mason’s face. Greddar Klon turned. For the first time Mason saw emotion on that tiny, mask-like face. Bewilderment, apprehension, rage twisted the slitted mouth. The dwarf took a step forward.
And paused, gasping.
The air pressure was changing.
Mason had adjusted the atmospheric controls within the vessel, and now compressed air was pumping into the ship at dangerous speed. He had considered exhausting the air, creating a vacuum, but he knew that increased pressure would be far more harmful to Greddar Klon. And to himself, also! Already an intolerable weight was pressing in his eyes and ears; he found it almost impossible to breathe. The atmospheric pressure bore down on his chest, expelling air with a rush. It was incredibly difficult to draw another breath.
Greddar Klon’s tiny mouth was wide as he gasped for air. He clutched at his belt, brought up the ray-tube. A searing yellow beam darted out at Mason. He twisted aside.
The ray swung toward him. Blood pumped painfully in his temples, and he felt blinding agony as the pressure began to collapse his capillaries and veins. The face of the Master seemed oddly distorted as Mason’s eyeballs were crushed out of shape.
The ray seared his shoulder. Greddar Klon staggered forward. And then what Mason had been waiting for happened.
The huge cranium of Greddar Klon—burst!
Burst and spattered and hung in tatters like a smashed egg, the great brain, scarcely protected by a boneless membrane, crushed by the tremendous atmospheric pressure. The dwarfed body tottered and fell. With every movement agony, Mason managed to lift an arm, turn off the air pump. He reversed it, felt a breath of relief, was once more able to see.
Although Mason knew that sudden decrease of pressure could cause caisson disease—the “bends”—he nevertheless sent the air pumping out as swiftly as he dared. Peering down through the transparent floor of the vessel, he saw the beast-men staring up, saw Nirvor near the dais, the leopards beside her. On the dais, unharmed, were Alasa, Murdach, and Erech.
Mason drove the ship down. Taking a chance, he swung open the door, and for a second felt sick and dizzy with the atmospheric change. But already beast-men were plunging toward him.
He whirled, scooped up the ray-tube from where it had fallen from Greddar Klon’s fingers. Murdach and the others ran forward. Beast-men cut them off.
Mason burned them down with the heat-ray. A heavy weight landed on his back; he went down, the tube flying from his hand. Iron fingers dug into his neck.
Mason reached up and back, felt furry flesh under his hands. He bent forward suddenly, and the beast-man, taken by surprise, went hurtling down. His back hit the marble floor with a sickening crack. He lay still.
Mason looked around. Erech and Alasa were beside him, the girl’s nude body still flushed with the steam-torture. Murdach was running toward them, gripping the ray-tube Mason had lost.
The silver priestess stood on the edge of the dais, shrieking rage. Murdach turned, saw her.
He lifted the heat-ray. From the tube a yellow beam flashed out.
And Nirvor, the beast-woman, priestess of Selene in Corinoor, stood frozen for a brief second, and then dropped down silently and lay dead upon the marble.
The black leopard screamed, a cry that turned Mason a little sick, for he knew the relationship between Nirvor and the leopard. The beast charged straight for Murdach.
He killed it with the heat-ray.
Then he turned and came running toward the ship, scrambling with the others through the open port, slamming it shut, lifting the vessel into the air as a white fury raved and snarled against the transparent walls—the leopard Valesta. The beast-men surged in in a mad charge that was insane with rage. Half-involuntarily Mason touched the controls, sent the ship into time. The fantastic scene outside was hidden by a curtain of darkness.
The black veil lifted. They hung once more in the temple of Selene—but it was empty now. The bronze gates were ajar, and through them a pale, chill radiance crept wanly. Nor were there torches burning in the temple.
ITwas dark—and cold, cold!
Age had dropped down upon it.
“We are in the future,” Murdach whispered, with a glance at the dials. “A jump of ten years—”
That hell of battle that had raged a moment ago was, in reality, ten years in the past, Mason knew. Silently he brought the ship down. At his feet was the mangled body of Greddar Klon, and he put this outside the ship, without looking at the ruined head and face.
“We cannot stay here long,” Murdach said. “The solar radiation has waned. I think life will not exist long on the Earth, save in the globes of refuge. It will be a hundred years and more before the Sun regains its former brightness and the Sleepers awaken. But let us see what ten years has done to Corinoor.”
“Is it safe?” Alasa whispered.
“Safe enough,” Murdach told her. He led the way out of the ship.
Gloom shadowed the great temple. The jungle had encroached with weeds and fungi and grasses; one of the arms of the statue of Selene had fallen. It was utterly silent.
Alasa came into the circle of Mason’s arm. She was shivering.
Murdach said, “One moment. I have something to tell you.”
Mason turned. Murdach was standing beside the port of the ship, a dozen feet away. He held the heat-ray in his hand.
His red hair looked black in the shadow. “Don’t come any nearer,” he went on. “I do not wish to kill you. I prefer to leave you here, alive.”
Unbelievingly Mason took a step forward. Murdach’s hand steadied. The ray-tube was aimed at his middle.
“Stop where you are!” the other said warningly. “I mean it!”
“Murdach!” Alasa gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Doing? I’m doing what Greddar Klon planned. You never knew why I didn’t wish to return to my own time. I’m an outlaw there, a hunted criminal. I tried to overthrow the rulers, and escaped only by flight across the desert, where the time trap caught me. Oh, you’ve aided me, the three of you—aided me in overcoming Greddar Klon. But now that he’s dead, it will be possible for me to do as he intended—conquer a time-sector and rule it!”
“You dog!” Erech roared, pale eyes blazing. “You foul traitor!”
“Say what you like—but come no nearer, or you’ll die. The Master’s plan shall be carried through as he intended, with this difference—I’ll take his place. As for you three, I shall be merciful. I’ll leave you here. Perhaps you will live for a time. Perhaps the decreased solar radiation will kill you soon.”
Mason felt Alasa’s slim, nude body shrink against his. His throat felt dry and tight. To fail now, through Murdach’s betrayal, after their struggle! The idea was insupportable.
Mason glanced at Erech, caught a look of understanding in the Sumerian’s eye. They would attack at the same time. Murdach would certainly kill one of them, but perhaps the other—
Murdach realized their intention. His jaw tightened. He lifted the ray-tube as Mason’s muscles tensed.
And then—out from the shadows charged the impossible! A white, roaring thunderbolt that crashed down on Murdach and sent the man toppling back, struggling vainly against the creature. Instantly Mason knew.
Valesta, the white leopard! For ten years she had lurked in the temple, watching and waiting for the man who had slain the silver priestess. And now, after a decade, he had returned to the fangs and claws of vengeance.
The heat ray blazed out. Flesh ribboned under tearing talons. From Murdach came a shrill, agonized cry that screamed up and up uneudurably, and ended suddenly in a choking, wordless sound that was sheer horror.
Then it was over. Man and leopard lay still and silent—
Unm
oving—dead!
MASON felt a queer sense of unreality as he closed the port of the time-ship after he followed the others aboard. He glanced out at the vast, gloomy temple of Selene, sagging into dark ruin. There was an overwhelming awe upon him as he thought of the countless lives that had existed in dead Corinoor, the incredible multitude of people that would dwell upon Earth until the last man gasped out his breath in the chill twilight of a heatless, light-less planet.
He shuddered involuntarily. Alasa moved close, her golden eyes tender. Mason, glancing down, felt his depression leave him.
“Alasa,” he said softly. “What now?”
“We can return—” The girl’s voice was hesitant.
“Return—bah!” Erech grunted. “I am tired of Al Bekr, Ma-zhon. Also I am tired of my world. This world of yours, now—I should like to see it. And I should like to be with you. But—” He hesitated, an odd look in the pale eyes. “But I serve you, Alasa. If you wish me to go back to Al Bekr—why, I shall keep faith. But, by El-lil, Ma-zhon is a man to cleave to!”
“I think you are right,” the girl said. “But what does Mason think of this?”
For answer Mason took a step forward, gripped the Sumerian’s brown hands. “We have fought well together,” he said, “and we would have died together. All that I have is yours, Erech. If you come with me, I do not think you’ll regret it.”
“And I?” Alasa broke in. Mason turned.
“You will go back to Al Bekr, I suppose,” he said, a dull ache in his throat at the thought of losing the girl. “I know how to work the time-ship. I can—”
“Oh, Kent—you fool!” Alasa murmured. “We too have fought together and would have died together. My people are safe in Al Bekr now. Nothing draws me back there. But—would you let me join you and Erech?”
For answer Mason took Alasa into his arms. “Let you! It’s the only thing I want. But I didn’t dare ask—”
The girl gave a little chuckle as she leaned her bronze curls against Mason’s shoulder. “I would not have let you escape me, Kent. Never fear that!”
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