But the royalty of Ur, unwilling to contaminate their blood with that of outsiders, gradually restricted "foreigners," and in time, to keep the blood pure, royalty married royalty. Over generations, this practice resulted in genetic deficiencies. Insanity.
In the last few years, even though the King was mad he realized that for the line to continue, for Ur to regain its glory, he must reach outside of his kingdom, bring in slaves, women for his harem. Women who could bear him children. In this way, he hoped to freshen the blood of his line.
And there was another reason- the god Ebopa, The Stick That Walks. Legend said that Ebopa had come up from the center of the earth through catacombs beneath the city and that the Urs trapped him there for all time. It was the Urs' belief that as long as Ebopa could not return to the center of the earth, his powers would bring the city great fortune. Several times a year, for more years than Nyama knew, there had been sacrifices to the god. And for a time, all had been good.
But in the last thirty years, crops had not yielded as well as before. Game was not as plentiful. Many children were born with defects. Great metal birds were seer flying overhead more and more often. The Urs had seen them now and then over the years, buzzing along, supported on their silver wings, but now there were more and more of them. Bigger birds. Flying higher, leaving trails of smoke. Jean decided Nyama meant planes, but the Urs did not understand this. They thought they were winged messengers from the god Ebopa, and Ebopa's message was not a merry one. It was angry.
Therefore, it was decided Ebopa was mad and must have more glory. There were more sacrifices to the god both direct and indirect. Like the Romans with their bread and circuses, this became standard. And each new Kurvandi had to search more diligently for sacrifices. Jean, Nyama, the safari bearers, the people Jean had seen in the line for beheading, were the most recent.
It was not a question Jean wanted to ask, but she could not help herself. "How are we to die?"
"It could be many ways. One way is beheading, but if they planned to do that, they would have already. That is the common way. Since we have been placed here, I believe we are being saved. We may be prepared for the crocodiles."
"They feed prisoners to crocodiles?"
"Yes. The crocodiles that live in the water around the city. But that is not bad enough. No. They very carefully prepare the sacrifices. They hold them down and take a big war club, and slowly, they break the bones in the arms and legs. Break them up small."
"Oh, God," Jean said. "How horrible."
"That is only the beginning. They are doing that to prepare the meat."
"For the crocodiles!"
"The crocodiles are white, and therefore sacred. They must have prepared meat. Easy to chew. To prepare it, the meat is tenderized by breaking the bones. Then, they bury the sacrifices in a pool of mud and water to the chin. But they do not let the sacrifices die. They leave them until the water softens the flesh. When the sacrifices are near death, they pull them out and tie ropes to their feet, lower them off the drawbridge, just above the water. When the sacred crocodiles come, they drop the sacrifices into the water."
"And they will do this to us?" Jean said.
"Unless Kurvandi is saving us for something special."
"I presume the harem is out at this point?" Jean said.
"To be one of Kurvandi's wives is a fate worse than death," Nyama said.
"I'd prefer to be the judge of that," Jean said. "This harem business is beginning to have an unexpected appeal."
"If it is not the crocodiles," Nyama said, "then it will be the arena, or . .. Ebopa. At least, if it is Ebopa, it is quick."
"Thank Ebopa for small favors," Jean said.
Hunt came to a fork in the tunnel. The tunnel they were traveling ran up against a cavern wall. There were unused torches jutting out of sockets drilled in the rock, and all along the wall were paintings. They were recent paintings of the thing Hunt had seen earlier.
Jad-bal-ja growled softly.
"I know," Hunt said. "I'm nervous too."
Hunt moved toward the tunnel on the left. He stared into the darkness. He went back to the decorated wall and took down a torch and dipped it into one of the blazing gutters and waved it first at the tunnel on the right, then the left.
"Which way?" he said to the lion.
Jad-bal-ja turned his head from side to side.
Hunt said, "Yeah, me too."
Hunt used the torch to poke into the left tunnel. He checked first to see if this tunnel was outfitted with gutters of oil. It was not. The tunnel was wide and Hunt could see that after a few feet there was a drop-off. But there was also some kind of wooden framework lying at the edge of the chasm. Hunt moved forward, and Jad-bal-ja, growling softly, followed.
"Yeah, me too," Hunt said in response to Jad-bal-ja's growl.
Hunt held the torch so that he could examine the wooden framework. He recognized what it was immediately. A pile of narrow sections for a bridge. It was made of a light wood and appeared newly fashioned.
Near the edge of the drop-off there were notches in the dirt. Hunt concluded the supports of the bridge were supposed to fit into it. He held his torch high. The light was not good, but across the way, some forty feet, he could see where the bridge was supposed to fit into two deep grooves.
Examining the bridge closer, Hunt saw the bridge sections were hooked together and that they folded out into one long section with sleeves that fit over the crude hinges and made the bridge solid. He found a place in the rocks to lodge the torch, and working by its light he began to fold out the bridge and slide the sleeves over the pegged hinges. Soon he had a single length of bridge just over forty feet long.
When he was finished, he doubted his ability to pick up the bridge, extend it over the gap, but he soon discovered two long poles. They were over fifty feet long, and if you stuck the tips of these into the far ends of the bridge where leather loops were provided, it was easy to lift the back end of the bridge, and by standing all the way at its front, it could be boosted across and lowered into the slots provided. The slots on this side of the chasm were even easier to fit.
"There," Hunt said. "Damn clever of whoever, don't you think, lion?"
Jad-bal-ja purred. He had watched all of this carefully. He did not know what to make of the ways of men, but of one thing he was certain. Jad-bal-ja did not like where the bridge led.
"I don't know anything to do but cross," Hunt said, talking to the lion as if he were a favored companion. "This doesn't work, we try the other tunnel."
Hunt took a deep breath and stepped onto the thatched flooring of the bridge. It vibrated slightly.
"Don't care for that," Hunt said, but he kept going. When he was halfway across, Jad-bal-ja followed, treading as lightly as a house cat.
When they reached the other side of the bridge, a cool wind drafted through the cavern, and with it came stench, followed by a sound. The same frightening sound Hunt had heard earlier. Once again, he felt a nameless dread that crawled about in his brain like a clutch of spiders.
Jad-bal-ja growled softly.
"I know," Hunt said. For a moment, Hunt considered traveling back across the bridge, pulling it up so that whatever was down here couldn't cross. Hunt determined that was what this bridge business was all about anyway. There was something trapped down here by design, and that something was most unpleasant.
The sound died away. Perhaps, it- whatever it was- was not yet aware of them. Hunt took some comfort in the possibility. With torch and spear held tight, he chose a direction away from the sound, and he and Jad-bal-ja went that way, ever alert to whatever might lurk at their backs.