“Artem, who do you think he is?”
“I couldn’t care less and don’t want to think about him,” Artem replied gloomily.
“Oh, stop that, Artem dear. I’m serious.”
“I’m also quite serious.”
“Oh, come off it! It seems to me that he’s related to the chieftain.”
“What gave you that idea? You’re always thinking things up!”
“Have a closer look, Artem! He resembles the chieftain, but the old man is likable… and the young one is disgusting.”
“Hm… all right, I’ll have a look later. It’s rather rude to do it now.”
On all sides of Artem and his friends rode silent warriors with stern faces. They were holding long spears with stylized metal representations of lions, panthers and spread eagles. The Scythians were holding them solemnly above their chieftain’s head. Most of the spears were topped with resting panthers but some were clawing or tearing their prey with their fangs. All were fierce and had short muzzles.
These panthers and eagles probably serve as battle standards for them, Artem thought. He was about to take his gaze elsewhere when an indistinct but insistent thought stirred in the depths of his mind. It sometimes happens that a person notices something and subconsciously registers the observation but cannot say what it is. However, when this memory comes back, it distracts and disturbs as though persistently demanding to be analyzed and transferred to the consciousness. Either one such memory of all of them together was making Artem irksome, reminding him of something familiar.
“Artem, look over there! Diana’s scared them again!” Lida burst into a loud laugh.
“Where?”
“Over there, in front of us!”
Two riders were indeed fighting for control of their horses which reared and pranced, frightened by the dog.
Suddenly Artem struck his forehead with his hand, the gesture of someone upon whom an idea has dawned.
“My friends! Ivan Semenovich! That’s what it is: I know now! I understand at last!”
“What do you know?”
“What have you understood, Artem dear?”
“I know what the word poskina means! And understand why all of them fear our Diana so much!”
“Why?”
“Because she looks exactly like their representations of panthers or whatever they are. And the word means ‘panther’ or whatever they call these ferocious creatures!”
“What panthers you’re talking about? And how do you know the word means ‘panther’?”
“Have a look at the images on the spears!”
“Oh, that really is so! Artem dear, you’re so smart!”
There was indeed some truth behind Artem’s reasoning. A boxer dog just like Diana might well have been the model for their panthers. The same short muzzle, the same fangs! No wonder the Scythians feared Diana! She was evidently a living incarnation of the sacred panther! That was why no one dared even to approach the dog, much less touch her or, God forbid, make her angry.
“I believe you’re right, my young friend,” Dmitro Borisovich said. “You’ve really got an observing eye! You keep proving it all the time! You made excellent suggestions when we were examining the parchment and the box, and then on our way through the cave… Panther… panther… most interesting! Pos-kina… If we accept that kina is a distorted Greek word for ‘dog,’ here it could mean ‘any dog-like creature,’ and in combination with pos it would give us the meaning of ‘panther.’ And yet it’s not quite clear — we know the Scythians had domesticated dogs. So why should they be so frightened by our Diana? She does resemble a panther somewhat, it must be admitted… and yet… it’s strange!”
The archeologist, absorbed in his own thoughts, continued muttering something under his breath long after Artem had stopped listening to him. Artem was beaming with satisfaction: he had managed to solve the mystery, his mind was free from a nagging riddle; everything had fallen into place. But was everything really clear now?…
Meanwhile they had reached a kibitka, which was much bigger than the other ones. It was standing a little apart, resting on a six-wheeled wagon. There was a huge representation of an eagle with wings spread wide on top of it. The fabric of the tent was dyed red; the flaps were turned back.
“This must be where the chieftain lives,” the archeologist said, sounding very interested. “Aha, this really is the place!”
The chieftain dismounted with the bent young Scythian’s assistance. Before he entered the kibitka, he once again invited the strangers to follow him with sweeping gesture of his hand. Then he disappeared into the kibitka, his companions filing in after him. Only the misshapen Scythian remained behind. He bowed before the strangers, bending his head respectfully, and said something solemnly. As he was doing this, he looked at Lida from the corner of his eye. A smile, like a shadow, passed over his lips so fleetingly, that only Artem noticed it.
“I don’t like him,” the young man said in a low voice.
“Neither do I,” replied Lida.
“Now, my friends, we must go in. To tell the truth, I’m dying to see with my own eyes what’s inside this big kibitka,” Dmitro Borisovich broke in. “Just think — we are going to get to know how the ancient Scythians lived! Only in a dream could one hope for such a thing!”
“But maybe we are dreaming, Dmitro Borisovich!” the geologist said, laughing. “How else could all this phantasmagoria we’re going through be explained?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the archeologist replied drily. “All I can say is that I’d be very glad if I could go on dreaming like this for as long as possible to see as much as we can!”
Ivan Semenovich glanced at Lida and Artem archly and shrugged in surrender: it was impossible to win an argument against Dmitro Borisovich when it concerned the ancient Scythians.
They entered the kibitka single file.
Inside, it was round and conical, with the light coming in through a big opening overhead. The floor was covered with thick, richly-decorated multi-colored carpets; small cushions were strewn along the walls. The same type of cushions were lying on top of the two large chests secured with large bronze studs and bound in wide bronze strips.
The chieftain was already seated on a soft rug. Without his gold helmet he appeared less stern than before. Or maybe his severity had gone because now he was smiling; his movements were light and devoid of the solemnity and marked dignity he had displayed when he was riding at the head of his warriors.
A younger Scythian with a small curly beard was standing by his side. It was the man with the single gold badge on his helmet to whom the chieftain had talked in a gentle voice. Artem felt at once that he shared the chieftain’s liking for this man. The open, energetic face with a small dark mustache and beard, clear eyes and a tall forehead — all his features inspired affinity. Artem stole a glance at Lida: what was her reaction toward this man? But Lida was occupied with herself.
Seeing a small shiny bronze plate with ornaments all around it attached to a pole standing in the center of the kibitka and extending into the hole above, she was quick to realize what purpose it served. It was clear that this piece of polished bronze was used as a mirror. And Lida was taking advantage of the opportunity to fix her hair.
“Oh, you’re beautiful enough without all that fuss,” Artem said a little mockingly. “Don’t you think so?”
Lida flushed. The chieftain also noticed that the girl was sprucing herself up before the bronze mirror. He laughed and said a few words to the young Scythian. This embarrassed Lida totally, and she stepped aside, closer to the explorers.