"True enough—perhaps that meeting may be deferred…"
Lur frowned and stared at me, but Tibur snapped at the bait, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"No—there is one that may not be kept waiting. But after—perhaps…"
His laughter shook the table. The others joined in it. The scar–face grinned. By Zarda, but this is not to be borne! Careful, Dwayanu, thus you tricked them in the olden days—and thus you shall trick them now. I drained my goblet, and another. I joined them in their laughter—as though I wondered why they laughed. But I sealed their faces in my memory. We rode over the causeway with Lur at my right and a close half–circle of her picked women covering us.
Ahead of us went Tibur and the Back–breaker with a dozen of Tibur's strongest. Behind us came the troop with the yellow pennons, and behind them another troop of the Witch–woman's guards.
I rode with just the proper touch of dejection. Now and then the Smith and his familiars looked back at me. And I would hear their laughter. The Witch–woman rode as silently as I. She glanced at me askance, and when that happened I dropped my head a little lower.
The black citadel loomed ahead of us. We entered the city. By that time the puzzlement in Lur's eyes had changed almost to contempt, the laughter of the Smith become derisive.
The streets were crowded with the people of Karak. And now I sighed, and seemed to strive to arouse myself from my dejection, but still rode listlessly. And Lur bit her lip, and drew close to me, frowning.
"Have you tricked me, Yellow–hair? You go like a dog already beaten!"
I turned my head from her that she might not see my face. By Luka, but it was hard to stifle my own laughter!
There were whisperings, murmurings, among the crowd. There were no shouts, no greetings. Everywhere were the soldiers, sworded and armed with the hammers, spears and pikes ready. There were archers. The High–priest was taking no chances.
Nor was I.
It was no intention of mine to precipitate a massacre. None to give Tibur slightest excuse to do away with me, turn spears and arrow storm upon me. Lur had thought my danger not on my way to the temple, but when within it. I knew the truth was the exact opposite.
So it was no conquering hero, no redeemer, no splendid warrior from the past who rode through Karak that day. It was a man not sure of himself—or better, too sure of what was in store for him. The people who had waited and watched for Dwayanu felt that—and murmured, or were silent. That well pleased the Smith. And it well pleased me, who by now was as eager to meet Khalk'ru as any bridegroom his bride. And was taking no risks of being stopped by sword or hammer, spear or arrow before I could.
And ever the frown on the face of the Witch–woman grew darker, and stronger the contempt and fury in her eyes.
We skirted the citadel, and took a broad road leading back to the cliffs. We galloped along this, pennons flying, drums rolling. We came to a gigantic doorway in the cliff—many times had I gone through such a door as that! I dismounted, hesitatingly. Half–reluctantly, I let myself be led through it by Tibur and Lur and into a small rock–hewn chamber.
They left me, without a word. I glanced about. Here were the chests that held the sacrificial garments, the font of purification, the vessels for the anointing of the evoker of Khalk'ru.
The door opened. I looked into the face of Yodin.
There was vindictive triumph in it, and I knew he had met the Smith and Witch–woman, and that they had told him how I had ridden. As a victim to the Sacrifice! Well, Lur could tell him honestly what he hoped was the truth. If she had the thought to betray me—had betrayed me—she now believed me liar and braggart with quite as good reason as Tibur and the others. If she had not betrayed me, I had backed her lie to Yodin.
Twelve lesser priests filed in behind him, dressed in the sacred robes. The High–priest wore the yellow smock with the tentacles entwined round him. The ring of Khalk'ru shone on his thumb.
"The Greater–than–Gods awaits your prayer, Dwayanu," he said. "But first you must undergo purification."
I nodded. They busied themselves with the necessary rites. I submitted to them awkwardly, like one not familiar with them, but as one who plainly wished to be thought so. The malice in Yodin's eyes increased.
The rites were finished. Yodin took a smock like his own from a chest and draped it on me. I waited.
"Your ring," he reminded me, sardonically. "Have you forgotten you must wear the ring!"
I fumbled at the chain around my neck, opened the locket and slipped the ring over my thumb. The lesser priests passed from the chamber with their drums. I followed, the High–priest beside me. I heard the clang of a hammer striking a great anvil. And knew it for the voice of Tubalka, the oldest god, who had taught man to wed fire and metal. Tubalka's recognition of, his salutation and his homage to—Khalk'ru!
The olden exaltation, the ecstasy of dark power, was pouring through me. Hard it was not to betray it. We came out of the passage and into the temple.
Hai! But they had done well by the Greater–than–Gods in this far shrine! Vaster temple I had never beheld in Ayjirland. Cut from the mountain's heart, as all Khalk'ru's abodes must be, the huge pillars which bordered the amphitheatre struck up to a ceiling lost in darkness. There were cressets of twisted metal and out of them sprang smooth spirals of wan yellow flame. They burned steadily and soundlessly; by their wan light I could see the pillars marching, marching away as though into the void itself.
Faces were staring up at me from the amphitheatre—hundreds of them. Women's faces under pennons and bannerets broidered with devices of clans whose men had fought beside and behind me in many a bloody battle. Gods—how few the men were here! They stared up at me, these women faces…women–nobles, women–knights, women–soldiers… They stared up at me by the hundreds…blue eyes ruthless…nor was there pity nor any softness of woman in their faces…warriors they were…Good! Then not as women but as warriors would I treat them.
And now I saw that archers were posted on the borders of the amphitheatre, bows in readiness, arrows at rest but poised, and the bow–strings lined toward me.
Tibur's doings? Or the priest's—watchful lest I should attempt escape? I had no liking for that, but there was no help for it. Luka, Lovely Goddess—turn your wheel so no arrow flies before I begin the ritual!
I turned and looked for the mystic screen which was Khalk'ru's doorway from the Void. It was a full hundred paces away from me, so broad and deep was the platform of rock. Here the cavern had been shaped into a funnel. The mystic screen was a gigantic disk, a score of times the height of a tall man. Not the square of lucent yellow through which, in the temples of the Mother–land, Khalk'ru had become corporeal. For the first time I felt a doubt—was this Being the same? Was there other reason for the High–priest's malignant confidence than his disbelief in me?
But there in the yellow field floated the symbol of the Greater–than–Gods; his vast black body lay as though suspended in a bubble–ocean of yellow space; his tentacles spread like monstrous rays of black stars and his dreadful eyes brooded on the temple as though, as always, they saw all and saw nothing. The symbol was unchanged. The tide of conscious, dark power in my mind, checked for that instant, resumed its upward flow.
And now I saw between me and the screen a semi–circle of women. Young they were, scarce blossomed out of girlhood—but already in fruit. Twelve of them I counted, each standing in the shallow hollowed cup of sacrifice, the golden girdles of the sacrifice around their waists. Over white shoulders, over young breasts, fell the veils of their ruddy hair, and through those veils they looked at me with blue eyes in which horror lurked. Yet though they could not hide that horror in their eyes from me who was so close, they hid it from those who watched us from beyond. They stood within the cups, erect, proudly, defiant. Ai! but they were brave—those women of Karak! I felt the olden pity for them; stirring of the olden revolt.