“What’s this city?” Drake asked. “Is it some kind of an optical illusion?” He glared angrily and helplessly at the bland little man. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it,” he snapped heatedly.
“But of course I can see it,” Humai murmured. He smiled again and his eyes almost disappeared in soft folds of flesh. “It’s a very lovely city, isn’t it? I’m sure you will learn to enjoy its many attractions.”
“What do you mean?” Drake demanded.
Humai then shrugged his soft round shoulders and squinted comically at Drake.
“Allow me,” he murmured, “to welcome you in the name of the Caliph Zinidad to his royal palace. I am sure the Caliph will wish to express his welcome personally in the near future. Particularly,” Humai said, smiling directly at Sharon, “will he wish to — ah — welcome the charming young lady.”
“What kind of nonsense are you talking?” Drake snapped. “Who is this Zinidad you’re babbling about?”
“Zinidad,” Humai said, “is the Caliph of Bagdad. A most charming person — ah — under certain circumstances.”
Drake stepped closer to Humai, his hands knotting into capable looking fists.
“Listen, my fat friend,” he said. “I’m just about out of patience. I’m tired of listening to your attempts at comedy. If you can explain what in the name of Heaven has happened, do so, but stop chattering about the Caliph of Bagdad.”
“But he is a most important person,” Humai said, smiling. He shrugged and stepped back a pace, dropping his hand to the handle of the door that had opened to the garden. “But since you do not beliefs me,” he said mildly, “I will say no more.”
Drake automatically glanced at the door and when he did he received another shock. The door was of massive construction and, even in the pale moonlight he could see that its surface was ornately gilded with a substance that gleamed like gold. It reached dozens of feet above him and was topped by a wide arch whose wings reached fully thirty feet on either side of its apex.
Sharon was staring at the monstrous door with amazed, stunned eyes. “Drake,” she cried. “Look!”
She pointed to the immense palace whose turrets and ramparts were visible beyond the great arched gate. The palace was a sprawling mass of weird architecture with odd wings and abutments seemingly thrown in without design or any attempt at order or unity. Ghostly moonlight shone on the alabaster walls of the palace transforming it to a shimmering creation of strange beauty. Windows gaped from the white walls like dark, unfriendly eyes.
“You are gazing upon the palace of the Caliph,” Humai said. “I hope you find it pleasing, for you will be seeing it many times in the years to come.”
As he finished speaking he tapped lightly on the great door. Almost instantly it began to swing open, ponderously, slowly.
“You will come with me,” Humai said gently.
“I’ll be damned if we will,” Drake said grimly.
“I am afraid I must insist,” Humai said.
“Go to hell,” Drake said calmly. “I don’t know who you are or what your game is, but I don’t like it. We’re staying right here until we find out what this thing is all about.”
Humai sighed gently, almost sadly.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
He clapped his hands together and the immense gate swung back rapidly; a splash of light fell across them from within. Heavy footsteps were heard.
Sharon moved close to Drake.
“What is it?” she whispered. “I’m frightened, Drake.”
He put his arm about her slim shoulders and drew her to his side.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said.
When the gate had swung open they were facing a wide, high arched corridor; and down this corridor, coming toward them at a purposeful march, was a company of brawny, half-clad soldiers. The advancing group of men wore loose trousers and gaudy sashes into which were stuck gleaming, curved scimitars. In their hands were torches that cast an eerie guttering illumination against the burnished wall of the great hallway.
Sharon shrank against Drake as the company came to a halt before Humai. The soldiers — eight in number — were giants, almost eight feet in height, with great deep chests and Herculean shoulders. Muscles rippled like sinewy ropes beneath their smooth black hides.
One of the company bowed to Humai and murmured something inaudible to Drake. The rest of the great creatures stood in attitudes of submissive attention. It was an incongruous spectacle; the huge soldiers standing like great dumb animals before the small figure of Humai, waiting motionlessly for his orders.
Humai turned from the leader of the guards to Drake, still smiling agreeably.
“These soldiers are part of the personal bodyguard of the Caliph. They will escort you to him now.” He waggled his round head seriously. “I advise you to go quietly.”
Drake shoved Sharon behind him and stepped forward, his knees bent slightly, his hands clenched.
Humai murmured something under his breath to the great black who stood beside him and the creature started for Drake. Drake feinted to one side, palling the black off balance, then he lunged for Humai. He wanted to get his hands on the little man’s throat — for just a few seconds!
But the black was faster than his great bulk indicated. He wheeled like a panther and his huge arm whipped out, catching Drake about the waist.
He felt his feet leave the floor as the black jerked him into the air and held him there struggling helplessly.
Another of the guards caught Sharon’s arms behind her back. She fought wildly, but he held her as if she were a child, his big round face stonily impassive.
Humai clucked his tongue and regarded Drake solemnly.
“You see?” he said, shrugging. “You wouldn’t listen to me.”
Drake stopped fighting against the inexorable grip of the giant black. His captor then set him down but his great hands still pinioned Drake’s arms.
Humai spoke to the soldiers again and they came to attention, formed two columns and marched down the corridor, carrying Drake and Sharon along as if they were two dolls.
Humai followed, his eyes twinkling in the round, white expanse of his face.
The trip was like a nightmarish kaleidoscope to Drake. Their giant captors escorted them down the wide, high corridor, through vast palatial rooms that were adorned with golden statues and intricate fountains which threw lacy sprays of scented water high into the air, into other seemingly endless corridors and at last brought them to a stop before a mighty golden door, flanked on either side by gaudily uniformed sentries.
Humai spoke in a low voice to the sentries and one of them stepped forward and swung back the great golden door. The giant black guards moved forward again and Drake and Sharon were led into a huge, brilliantly lighted room with a vast domed ceiling.
The walls were dyed a deep crimson but the floor was of purest marble, white as a summer cloud and shot through with streaks of blue that were like delicate veins.
Within the room, reclining on silken couches, were dozens of richly clad men smoking from long ivory-stemmed pipes and drinking from glasses containing a dark liquid that filled the incense-laden air with spicy fragrance.
The black guards marched steadily toward the center of this magnificent room, glancing neither to the right nor the left.
In the middle of the vast hall was a raised dais; a throne of gleaming gold, jewel-encrusted and topped by a brilliant canopy of figured silk. On either side of the throne slim black boys stood waving great feathered fans that stirred the heavy languorous air with a sluggish motion. Steps covered with soft, luxurious carpets led to the dais, and on one of these steps were several slim girls, clad only in soft curled slippers and wisps of silk buckled about their white waists, lying in poses of voluptuous abandonment.