Part 15 (1/2)
”But what is it, then? What lurks in this thicket?”
”Death!” he answered, his gaze still fixed on the brooding jade arches that shut out the sky.
Once out of the thicket, he took her hand and led her swiftly through the thinning trees, until they mounted a gra.s.sy slope, spa.r.s.ely treed, and emerged upon a low plateau, where the gra.s.s grew taller and the trees were few and scattered. And in the midst of that plateau rose a long broad structure of crumbling greenish stone.
They gazed in wonder. No legends named such a building on any island of Vilayet. They approached it warily, seeing that moss and lichen crawted over the stones, and the broken roof gaped to the sky. On all sides lay bits and shards of masonry, half hidden in the waving gra.s.s, giving the impression that once many buildings rose there, perhaps a whole town.
But now only the long hall-like structure rose against the sky, and its walls leaned drunkenly among the crawling vines.
Whatever doors had once guarded its portals had long rotted away. Conan and his companion stood in the broad entrance and stared inside.
Sunlight streamed in through gaps in the walls and roof, making the interior a dim weave of light and shadow. Grasping his sword firmly, Conan entered, with the slouching gait of a hunting panther, sunken head and noiseless feet. Olivia tiptoed after him.
Once within, Conan grunted in surprise, and Olivia stifled a scream.
”Look!Oh, look!”
”I see,” he answered. ”Nothing to fear. They are statues.”
”But how lifelike-and how evil!” she whispered, drawing close to him.
They stood in a great hall, whose floor was of polished stone, littered with dust and broken stones, which had fallen from the ceiling. Vines, growing between the stones, masked the apertures. The lofty roof, flat and un-domed, was upheld by thick columns, marching in rows down the sides of the walls. And in each s.p.a.ce between these columns stood a strange figure.
They were statues, apparently of iron, black and s.h.i.+ning as if continually polished. They were life-sized, depicting tall, lithely powerful men, with cruel, hawklike faces. They were naked, and every swell, depression and contour of joint and sinew was represented with incredible realism. But the most lifelike feature was their proud, intolerant faces. These features were not cast in the same mold. Each face possessed its own individual characteristics, though there was a tribal likeness between them all. There was none of the monotonous uniformity of decorative art, in the faces at least.
”They seem to be listening-and waiting!” whispered the girl uneasily.
Conan rang his hilt against one of the images.
”Iron,” he p.r.o.nounced. ”But Croml in what molds were they cast?”
He shook his head and shrugged his ma.s.sive shoulders in puzzlement.
Olivia glanced timidly about the great silent hall. Only the ivy-grown stones, the tendril-clasped pillars, with the dark figures brooding between them, met her gaze. She s.h.i.+fted uneasily and wished to be gone, but the images held a strange fascination for her companion. He examined them in detail and, barbarian-like, tried to break off their limbs. But their material resisted his best efforts. He could neither disfigure nor dislodge from its niche a single image. At last he desisted, swearing in his wonder.
”What manner of men were these copied from?” he inquired of the world at large. ”These figures are black, yet they are not like Negroes. I have never seen their like.”
”Let us go into the sunlight,” urged Olivia, and he nodded, with a baffled glance at the brooding shapes along the walls.
So they pa.s.sed out of the dusky hall into the clear blaze of the summer sun. She was surprised to note its position in the sky; they had spent more time in the ruins than she had guessed.
”Let us take to the boat again,” she suggested. ”I am afraid here. It is a strange, evil place. We do not know when we may be attacked by whatever cast the rock.”
”I think we're safe as long as we're not under the trees,” he answered.
”Come.”
The plateau, whose sides fell away toward the wooded sh.o.r.es on the east, west, and south, sloped upward toward the north to abut on a tangle of rocky cliffs, the highest point of the island. Thither Conan took his way, suiting his long stride to his companion's gait. From time to time his glance rested inscrutably upon her, and she was aware of it.
They reached the northern extremity of the plateau and stood gazing up the steep pitch of the cliffs. Trees grew thickly along the rim of the plateau east and west of the cliffs, and clung to the precipitous incline. Conan glanced at these trees suspiciously, but he began the ascent, helping his companion on the climb. The slope was not sheer and was broken by ledges and boulders. The Cimmerian, born in a hill country, could have run up it like a cat, but Olivia found the going difficult. Again and again she felt herself lifted lightly off her feet and over some obstacle that would have taxed her strength to surmount, and her wonder grew at the sheer physical power of the man. She no longer found his touch repugnant. There was a promise of protection in his iron clasp.
At last they stood on the ultimate pinnacle, their hair stirring in the sea wind. From their feet, the cliffs fell away sheerly three or four hundred feet to a narrow tangle of woodlands bordering the beach.