“Me first,” said Sandokan. “You take the second rope, Tremal-Naik. Yanez, bring up the rear.”
“Bring up the rear? That’s no place for a future sovereign!” said the Portuguese.
“On the contrary. We’ve got to protect the future Rajah of Assam,” smiled Tremal-Naik. “Your life is too precious to risk.”
“Go to the devil, the both of you!”
The pirate and the Bengali laughed.
“He promises to be a hands-on ruler,” said Sandokan.
“Was there ever any doubt?” said Tremal-Naik.
“Enough from the both of you,” said Yanez. “Up, we don’t have time to waste.”
Sandokan and Tremal-Naik quickly climbed up the rope and disappeared into the darkness. They shook the ropes once they had gone through the window to signal the others to come up, then the rest of the crew followed in pairs while the Portuguese stood watch on the ground. The Malay and the Dyak, sitting astraddle the windowsill, had already doused the lamp to conceal their comrades’ climb.
“Anyone about?” asked Sandokan.
“No, sir.”
“There should be a passageway that leads into the temple,” said Tremal-Naik.
“Light a torch.”
The Malay, who had two tucked in his sash, quickly obeyed. Sandokan took it, crouched to his knees so that the flame would not be seen from the window, and scanned his surroundings. They were in a tiny room with a small bronze door that had been left slightly ajar.
“A stairwell?” he whispered.
He pushed against it, trying not to make a sound. The door opened onto a tiny landing; narrow winding steps led down into darkness.
“We’ll go look about while we wait for the others,” said Tremal-Naik.
“Allow me to go first, sir,” said Bindar, as he stepped down from the windowsill.
“Do you know the way?” asked Sandokan.
“Yes, sahib.”
“Very well, but take heed, we’ll be keeping our eyes on you.”
Bindar smiled, turned and walked into the darkness.
The steps were narrow, barely wide enough to allow two men to walk down side by side.
Sandokan and Tremal-Naik quickly descended the steps and soon found themselves in a steeply sloping corridor that appeared to lead towards the center of the temple. Their men joined them moments later.
“Is that all of you?” asked the pirate, stopping.
“And me as well,” said Yanez, stepping forward. “The ropes have been pulled up.”
The Tiger of Malaysia drew his scimitar, the blade glinting in the torchlight.
“Follow me,” he said determinedly.
They walked down the corridor, descended another set of steps and entered an immense hall. A large statute of Matsya, the great horned fish, stood upon a stone pedestal in the centre of the room.
The first of Vishnu’s ten avatars, Matsya warned mankind of a coming flood[6] that would engulf the world. He instructed King Satyavrata to summon the Seven Great Sages and gather all vital herbs, seeds and beasts in a large boat. When all had been readied, the great fish safely guided the vessel through the rising waters and up to the northern mountains where the king and his band of survivors remained until the waters receded.
Fearing there could be a Brahmin priest somewhere in that great hall, the small band of men stopped for a moment and listened, then, reassured by the silence, advanced resolutely toward the statue.
“If Kaksa Pharaum was telling the truth, there should be a ring somewhere in front of that fish,” said Yanez.
“If he lied to us, we’ll throw him into the river with a large stone about his neck,” replied Sandokan.
They were a couple of paces from the statue, when they heard the creak of a door opening behind them. Everyone froze for an instant, then the Dyaks and Malays quickly formed a circle around Sandokan, Yanez and Tremal-Naik, and leveled their rifles.
They stood there, stone still for several minutes, no one uttering a word, barely daring to breathe.
Yanez was the first to break the silence.
“It could have been the wind,” he said. “If that was a priest, he’d have sounded the alarm by now. What do you think, Bindar?”
“Something moved, somewhere. I don’t know what it could have been.”
“Let’s look for the ring,” said Sandokan. “If we’re attacked, we’ll fight.”
They drew nearer to the statute, walked around its large stone pedestal and spied a thick bronze ring beneath a carving of a shell: the Shaligram.
Yanez barely contained a cry of joy.
“One step closer to the throne,” he said. “As long as that stone is truly beneath our feet.”
“If it’s not, you can take the carving,” said Sandokan.
“I need the original,” said Yanez.
“I wish you’d tell me your plan.”
Instead of replying, the Portuguese turned to two Dyaks, the strongest men among them.
“Lift that for me please.”
The two Dyaks grabbed the ring and began to pull. The stone, about a metre square in size, came up with little struggle.
Sandokan and Yanez immediately peered into the opening and spied narrow steps that led down to a dark chamber.
“So far it seems Kaksa Pharaum told us the truth! Amazing what a bit of spice can do! I wager he eats alone from now on.”
Yanez took a torch from a Dyak, loaded a pistol and boldly descended into the chamber.
The others followed, one by one, their carbines slung over their shoulders. They went down eighteen or twenty steps and emerged into a large chamber which must have served as a temple thousands of years ago, judging by the statutes of Vishnu that had been roughly carved into the rock walls.
Yanez’s eyes immediately fell upon a block of stone capped by a small clay statue of a Brahmin dwarf.
“The stone must be hidden under there,” he said.
He kicked the statue off the pedestal; it shattered as it hit the ground. As his eyes turned to where it had stood, he gave a cry of joy. The statue’s base had concealed a hollow in the stone; a small ornate metal chest rested inside it.
“It’s here! It’s here!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “The crown of Assam is now Surama’s.”
He drew the small chest from its hiding place, found a button on one of its sides and pressed it. The lid sprang open and his eyes fell upon a small black petrified shell, the Shaligram, the sacred relic that contained a hair from Vishnu’s head.
Chapter 5
Tigers
SHALIGRAMS ARE SACRED holy stones found in the Gandaki River in the Himalayas. These fossilized spiral-shaped shells have special markings and come in many colours: white, red, blue, yellow, green but black is most common. Vishnu’s followers believe they wield great power; those fortunate enough to possess one keep it wrapped in white linen, wash it every morning in a copper vase, and pray to it daily. It is said that any water that touches the stone, when drunk, will cure disease and wash away all sins.
The Shaligram that was the pride of Assam was no mere common shell; it was a beautiful shade of black and far larger than an ordinary ammonite. Most importantly, ancient sacred texts proclaimed that it contained within it a single hair from Vishnu’s head, a unique relic, unmatched in all the world.
Why Yanez had such great need of it no one could say. Sandokan and Tremal-Naik could not begin to read his thoughts, but that did not prevent them from assisting their old friend. That devil of a man, who had outsmarted James Brooke and Suyodhana, could just as easily topple the rajah from his throne and crown his beloved Surama ruler of Assam.
Once assured he was indeed holding the precious shell that the temple’s priests had paraded amongst the jubilant crowds lining the main streets of Guwahati just twenty-four hours earlier, Yanez closed the chest, and turned to his companions.
“Time to go!” he said.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can take?” asked Sandokan, a no
te of irony in his voice. “I’ve heard the royal crown is stored in the temple above us.”
“A little premature,” smiled Yanez. “Come. We best go before one of the priests awakens. Check your carbines.”
All quickly checked their weapons then rushed up the narrow steps. But just as he drew near the top, Yanez, who had been at the head of his men stopped abruptly and cried out in anger:
“Curse that blasted Vishnu!”
“What is it, brother?” asked Sandokan, who was standing a step below him alongside Tremal-Naik.
“We’re sealed in! Someone’s put the stone back in place!”
“What!” exclaimed Tremal-Naik. “But how…”
“Saccaroa! What fools we were!” exclaimed Sandokan. “We should have left a couple of men to guard the entrance!”
“Could the block have fallen back into place by itself?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“Impossible,” replied the Portuguese, who had turned slightly pale. “Our men set it down four or five paces from the opening.”
Yanez, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik exchanged anxious looks. For a moment silence fell between those three brave men.
The Tiger of Malaysia was the first to break it.
“The two of you with me!” he said, gesturing to the two Dyaks who had pulled the stone from its place.
The three men climbed to the top of the narrow steps and pressed their hands against the stone.
“On my mark!” thundered Sandokan. “Push!”
They pushed with all their might, straining their muscles until sweat poured from their brows, but the stone did not budge. Something heavy must have been placed upon it to ensure they would not escape. Sandokan roared in anger.
“Trapped!” he hissed. “Now what?”
“Sahib,” said Bindar. “There’s another way out of here.”
“You’re certain of this?” asked Yanez.
“Yes, sahib,” said the Indian. “A few months ago I was hired to do some repair work in this temple. There’s a tunnel off this chamber that leads to the Brahmaputra.”
“The riverbank?”
“The river, sahib. We’ll have to make our way underwater.”
“We’re all good swimmers. You’re certain there’s no other way out?”
“None that I know of. It’ll be an easy march if the torches last the distance.”
“We brought two spares just in case.”
“Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
“We must go then, quickly. If the gurus summon the rajah’s guards, our little adventure will come to an end before it’s even begun.”
“There’s time, sahib; the palace is far from here.”
“Let’s go!”
The Indian took a torch from one of the Malays, walked to the far end of the large chamber, and stopped at a doorway that led into a wide passageway whose ceiling bore signs of recent repair.
“That’s the tunnel that leads to the Brahmaputra?” asked Yanez.
“Yes,” said Bindar. “Do you hear that, sahib?”
“A soft rumbling sound?”
“Yes, that’s the river. Come.”
Just as the Indian was about to step into the corridor, Tremal-Naik put up a restraining hand.
“What is it, sahib?” asked Bindar, surprised.
“There’s another doorway down there,” said the Bengali. “Another tunnel?”
“Yes.”
“Does it also lead to the river?”
“No,” replied the Indian, “It leads to certain death.”
“What?” exclaimed Sandokan and Yanez in unison, surprised by that reply.
“What do you mean?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“That tunnel leads to a large chamber where the rajah’s treasure is kept. It’s guarded by four tigers.”
“By Jupiter!” said Yanez, turning pale. “Are we in danger?”
“Only if someone lets them out.”
“We’ll battle them if need be,” said Sandokan. “Quickly, Bindar, lead us to the river.”
The small band of men set off into the tunnel at a run, looking back from time to time to ensure they were not being followed by the four formidable beasts that kept watch over the rajah’s treasure. The rumble of the Brahmaputra grew louder and louder with each step, assuring them that freedom lay ahead. Several minutes later they entered a second chamber, much smaller than the first, that had been carved into the rock. They could hear the river clearly now, the roar of rushing water filling the tiny space, its walls glimmered in the torchlight.
“Is this it?” Yanez asked Bindar, raising his voice.
“The river is just a few paces from us,” replied the Indian.
“How far will we have to swim underwater?”
“Fifty or sixty yards, sahib. There’s a well not far from here. We’ll dive into it and resurface on the river.”
Yanez quickly unfastened the red wool sash he wore about his waist, threaded it through the metal ring attached to the small chest’s lid and strapped the box to his back.
“Take us to the well,” he said.
Bindar was about to head down the last section of the tunnel, when he stopped suddenly, his eyes wide with terror.
“They’re coming!” he cried.
“Who?” asked Sandokan and Yanez.
“The tigers!”
“I don’t hear anything,” said the Portuguese.
“Look! Back there in the tunnel!”
All turned and leveled their carbines.
Eight small greenish specks were advancing towards them, shining sinisterly in the darkness.
“Those are tigers’ eyes,” Yanez said calmly. “I’d know them anywhere.”
“Drop to your knees!” commanded Sandokan as he drew his scimitar and a double-barreled pistol from his sash. “Yanez, check the well. Make sure our path is clear. Hurry!”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” replied the Portuguese. “Come, Bindar.”
Yanez rushed into the tunnel, the Indian lighting the way with his torch, the rumble of the river growing ever more deafening as they advanced. After about twenty paces they entered a small cavern; Bindar, shaking visibly, stopped before a large circular hole. Steps cut in the rock disappeared into dark gurgling waters below.
“This is where the priests come to bathe the Shaligram in the sacred waters of the river,” he said. “We’ll dive in from the base of those steps.”
Yanez frowned.
“By Jupiter!” he exclaimed. “The water is moving more quickly than I imagined. You’re certain we’ll make it out of here?”
“Absolutely. A few weeks ago, a young girl escaped through this very well.”
“A young girl?”
“She’d been abducted by the gurus and forced to train as a devadasi.”
“And she escaped unharmed?”
“I swear it upon Shiva, sahib.”
“You’ll jump in first. I want to be certain it’s as you say.”
“As you wish, sahib. We’ll reach the surface unharmed I assure you,” said Bindar.
“And if—”
Two rifle shots thundered up the tunnel, cutting off his words.
“The tigers!” he said. “Hurry!”
With Bindar following closely behind him, he rushed back into the chamber just as three more shots thundered into the darkness.
“Any luck?” asked the Portuguese, drawing his pistols.
“All bad,” replied Sandokan, standing behind the row of Malays and Dyaks who were kneeling alongside Tremal-Naik. “We’re just wasting bullets. Those beasts are extremely cautious.”
“They must smell our determination,” smiled the Portuguese. “Where are they?”
“In front of us, but they close their eyes so often, it’s hard to take aim,” said Sandokan.
“There’s no time to waste. It’s almost dawn; the rajah’s guards could enter the tunnels at any moment. We can escape through the well; if the tigers attack, we’ll fight.”
“To the wel
l, men!” shouted Sandokan.
The Malays and Dyaks sprang to their feet and quickly followed their captain into the tunnel, five men guarding their backs at all times, ready to fire at the first sight of the beasts.
“This is it,” said Yanez, pointing to the opening.
“The river is moving faster than I expected,” said Tremal-Naik.
“We’ll be fine,” said Yanez. “Bindar, you first!”
“Yes, sahib,” replied the Indian.
He walked down the steps and dove into the water as calmly as if he were going for an early morning swim.
“Now the rest of you, one by one, hurry!” cried the Portuguese.
A Malay went in first, then the others followed quickly behind him. The last of the pirates had just disappeared when a loud roar sounded from the tunnel’s entrance.
“The tigers!” shouted the Bengali.
“Scoundrels!” shouted Yanez. “They waited until they outnumbered us!”
Sandokan rushed forward, his scimitar raised and carbine leveled.
Two shots, which almost extinguished the torch that Bindar had planted in a crevice near the well, flashed through the darkness.
A large beast lunged towards the brave pirate, but before it could strike, Sandokan swung his scimitar and severed its neck with one blow.
“Not much of a fight,” said the formidable man. “I’d expected better.”
The beast had barely struck the ground when its three companions emerged from the mouth of the tunnel.
Tremal-Naik quickly leveled his carbine at the nearest one.
The tiger, catching that quick movement, leapt towards the hunter, but the Bengali was ready and brought it down with a single shot.
“Your turn, Yanez!” shouted Sandokan, leaping back. “I need to reload!”
“With pleasure,” said the Portuguese.
He had drawn both his pistols and put his kris between his teeth.
The two remaining tigers had dropped to the ground, growling menacingly as they crawled forward.
When they were just ten paces from him, Tremal-Naik fired two shots from his pistol, but the bullets missed by a hair and struck the cavern wall.
Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6) Page 5
