With every step I ventured deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of aeon-lost and time-forgotten mysteries. A fragment of a verse by Clark Ashton Smith came to my memory:
... search, in cryptic galleries, The void sarcophagi, the broken urns Of many a vanished avatar; Or haunt the gloom of crumbling pylons vast In temples that enshrine the shadowy past.
Were these dim colonnades and glyphic walls and megalithic temples the work of the long-lost Khmer kings? I knew the remains of Angkor Vat were among the most curious and baffling ruins on earth, and that science has for many years sought to solve the enigma of their antiquity. But I knew, as well, that the vast stone wreckage of Angkor lay far to the north of this place, in the jungles north of the Tonle Sap, on the right banks of the river Siem Reap, a tributary of which fed into the great lake at Cambodia's heart. Never had I heard of any mysterious ruined cities this far south―unless ....
Could this stone city be long-lost, legendary Arangkor itself, the primal city from which the mighty line of the Khmer kings had sprung in mythic aeons before the beginning of time? I knew something of the weird epic literature of this mystery-haunted corner of oldest Asia; science had never found the lost and secret city wherein the first of the Khmer kings had arisen to rule the dawn age. Could this shadowy city of moonlight and silence be the fabulous and antique Arangkor? Why, even the Khmer themselves had forgotten the whereabouts of the cradle of their own race .
... long-lost and legended Arangkor, Thou age-forgotten City of the Dawn, Wherein doth stand the Gate Between The Worlds, Handwork of ancient Gods whose very names Are long since silence on the lips of men ....
Dim and tall, a column of throbbing radiance thrust above the lost city into the star-gemmed sky.
Enthralled in the crumbling mystery of lost Arangkor (as in my heart I somehow knew this forgotten city to be), I had forgotten the beacon of pulsing light that had caught my attention in the jungle, and which had called me to the stone gates of the ruined metropolis like a beckoning finger of lambent light.
Now, as I glimpsed it above the conical towers, I remembered how I had come here to investigate that light. And instantly caution awoke within me. I had, for some unknown length of time, been prowling the rubbish-choked avenues and squares of the dead city, careless of the noise my boots made, not thinking it possible that ruins of such evident neglect and antiquity could be inhabited.
But now I froze, cursing my carelessness. That throbbing beam of mysterious light was no natural phenomenon, surely. Some stranger shared the lonely streets of the dead city with me, and it was yet to be determined if he were friend or foe!
I went forward more cautiously now, watching every step, my machete in my hand like a sword.
The pillar of pulsing luminance rose from the very center of lost Arangkor. As I made my way towards that glowing beacon, I puzzled over its cause and purpose. Straight up into the midnight sky it blazed, that ray of pale light that throbbed and flickered and throbbed. Looking up, I saw the yellow spark of distant Jupiter directly overhead. I thought nothing of this at the time.
I came at last into a great stone-paved plaza at the very heart of the deserted city.
Stone colossi squatted in a vast ring about that which lay at the center of this plaza. Tailor-fashion they sat, raising many arms, hands clutching meaningless attributes, skulls, keys, flowers, wheels, swords, and stylized thunderbolts. Heavy stone faces glared inward to the unknown thing at the center of the circle of gods: some howled, some smiled, some wept, some leered, and some looked down at the source of the column of radiance with the placid and immobile features of a Buddha.
Nowhere could I see a sign of life, although my eyes searched the shadows that clung about the bases of the circle of stone gods.
I went forward between two of the stone titans and looked at last upon the source of the mysterious light. A gasp broke from my lips.
In the very center of the great plaza, encircled by the towering carven gods, lay―a well!
Wide was the mouth of this well; a man could fall therein with ease; and that it descended to a very great depth I did not question. Sunk deep in the stone pave was this curious well, and its margin was a thick lip of some pallid translucent stone that reminded me of milky jade, although were that lucent substance truly jade, the mineral must have been the most gigantic piece of worked jade known to archaeology. Fifteen feet across from side to side the mouth of the great well stretched, and the lip of the well was ten feet broad, set flush with the stone floor of the plaza. The imagination reels, imagining the boulder that had yielded up so huge a single slab of the semiprecious mineral. A very mountain of jade would have been required! For I could see no jointure in all that flawless circle of milky stone: incredible, almost impossible, but it was all o f one piece.
Up from the mouth of the jade well the mighty beam of radiance shone. Fifteen feet across, the throbbing pillar of luminance sprang into the night sky, pointing, as it seemed, at the distant spark of Jupiter.
The column of light had only the faintest suggestion of color. Dull white, a cold hue as of moonbeams, the colossal ray rose up from the bottom of the world to fling a shining spear against the citadels of the stars.
Rhythmically, a wave of sparkling gold ascended the luminous shaft of that beam of pallid radiance. A mist of gold-dust, a calyx of powdered gold, a tissue of flickering, gemmy golden sparks―I blinked in fascination and awe at the mysterious phenomenon. The ripples of gold light were what gave the illusion that the shaft of light dimmed and grew brighter, dimmed and again grew brighter. The secret of the throbbing rhythm I had glimpsed from afar was solved―one mystery, at least!
For when the wave of sparkling gold particles went gliding up the dim shaft of the beam, the beam seemed brighter through the added brilliance of the fiery mist.
But what were those rising flakes of golden fire? What unseen and unimaginable lamp deep in the bowels of the planet thrust forth this shining beacon against the stars? And why?
Incautiously, I stepped forward to investigate this luminous enigma.
As I stepped out on the shimmering ring of milky jade, I lost my footing. For the lucent substance was as slick as oiled glass!
I fell headlong, my machete flying, the knapsack slipping from my shoulders to thud against the sleekstone.
And now I saw something I had not noticed earlier. The broad ring of milky, luminous stone was ever so slightly concave.
The jade lip of this mysterious well sloped inward towards the mouth, and I was helplessly sliding into the throbbing beam of light that speared up against the midnight sky!
My palms struck out but slid futilely, unable to stay my progress. Frantically I groped for a handhold, but there was none that I could find or feel.
Feet first, I slid into the golden, pulsing glory of the ray
Strange―strange beyond words―is the uncanny experience I must next relate.
My vague, distorted memories of that flashing and timeless moment are blurred and meaningless.
For months I have pondered over the sensory record stamped in my mind. At length I believe I have pieced together some explanation of what followed as I slid down the sloping mouth of that mysterious well, straight into the throbbing beam of luminance. Perhaps my imagination has contributed something to the account I must give you now; perhaps remembered fragments from a hundred science fiction stories I have read have gone into the crucible of memory, and result in the following description of that which cannot adequately be described. If so, so be it! But here, as accurately as I can picture the experience in the inadequate medium of written words, is what seemed to occur.