Niamh ascended the stairs with trepidation and lingered, hesitantly, upon the threshold of the Temple, peering within. She could discern nothing of the interior, whose depths were hidden from her searching gaze by densest gloom.
She resolved to enter and discover what lay within. The isle seemed uninhabited, singularly deserted by wildlife of any kind. In all her exploration of the jungle she had yet to come upon the slightest trace of any beast. The creatures known to her were the tree-dwelling dragon lizards, the winged moths and dragonflies of the vast, sky-tall forest; and such creatures would be unlikely to dwell here in the jungles of the isle. But she sensed a curious tranquility about the jungle, a mood of peacefulness which enveloped the isle; she felt somehow that whatever the hidden dangers the place held, she had nothing to fear from predators.
She stepped within and was swallowed up in the fathomless darkness. Within the next few moments, however, her eyes adjusted and gradually, objects began to be visible in the black depths of the Temple. She wandered the length of a stone-paved hall, staring up at monstrous idols which grinned or beckoned or menaced; they lifted numerous hands whose claws, fingers, paws or pincers clasped stony artifacts which doubtless represented the attributes of power of these unknown divinities.
Some of these were stone flowers, skulls, wheels and keys; others seemed to represent stylized thunderbolts, swords, axes and other weapons of curious design. The stone gods sat enthroned, or squatted tailor-fashion, or were coiled about the tops of pedestals. Far above her head, twisting marble columns rose to support a lofty dome which had survived the depredations of time in a remarkable state of preservation.
The utter stillness of the Temple, which was broken only by the shuddering echoes of her sandals as they scraped upon the tesselated pavement, together with the ominous darkness of the vast hall, were awesome to the girl. Her skin crept to the rustle of echoes. She fancied that the glaring stone eyes of the row of monstrous and deformed godlings followed her timid progress with sentient, knowing gaze. The fixed and glaring orbs seemed to gloat down upon her, as if they knew some terrible and tremendous secret whose existence she did not guess.
By now it became obvious to the Princess that she would find no weapons in the mysterious Temple of the Ancient Ones; and nothing with which to defend her from the beasts of the jungle, if any were there, or against the black madman, Ralidux.
Whatever furniture, tools or utensils the vast pile of masonry had once contained had either lapsed to dust with the passage of innumerable ages, or had been carried off by the Ancient Ones themselves. They had deserted this island, giving over their stone shrine to the dominion of the jungle.
She resolved to retrace her steps, hoping to see the open, wholesome sunlight once again. The darkness, the shuddering silence, and the brooding monstrosities of hideous stone were beginning to prey upon her nerves. She found herself starting nervously at every sound, even though she knew it to be only the echo of her own footsteps. She caught herself peering over her shoulder, looking behind her into the menacing gloom in wary apprehension. Her skin crept upon her bare forearms; her firm adolescent breasts rose and fell with the quickness of her breath, while her heart thudded against her ribs.
She felt the icy breath of fear against the back of her neck. But every time she turned quickly to look behind her—nothing was to be seen.
She was afraid; but there was nothing here to be afraid of. Or, at least, there was nothing which she could see or hear. Was it some unknown or dormant sense within her, somehow detecting the approach of danger, which strove to alarm her to flight? She did not know; but suddenly the quiet jungle, the open air and streaming sunlight beyond the dark portal seemed very desirable to her. She wished mightily to be gone from this place of cold stone, dead silence and pervasive, haunted gloom.
Just then, she caught a glimpse of a peculiar structure the gloom had previously concealed from her. It must be the secret altar of the mysterious shrine; the shadowy abode of the nameless god whom the Ancient Ones had worshipped here, long ages ago.
It was a very strange altar; naught but a flight of circular steps leading to a dais. In the center of that dais a deep well was sunken; before that well, two stone pillars had been raised, with stone rings at their tops. Looking at this strange sight, Niamh shivered suddenly; it was almost as if the unknown builders had raised those pillars before the well so that a human sacrifice could be bound between the pillars, the wrists chained to the two stone rings.
She ascended the stone steps to the top of the dais to investigate this weird altar; her former fears were forgotten in the impulse of curiosity.
The pillars were sculpted to represent leering, goggle-eyed faces, one atop the other. She noticed without really comprehending it, that the cavern eyes of these frightful faces were fixed to stare down at something in the depths of the well.
Cautious of a misstep, the Princess of Phaolon approached the rim of the well and peered down. She could see nothing of whatever lay concealed in the darkness at the bottom of the well, but she did not believe it held water. The odor which arose from below was a sour, musky stench, very different from the putrid smell of scummed, stagnant water.
As she turned to go, her sandal accidentally dislodged a bit of broken stone from the very brink. This fragment fell into the well. She lingered warily, but there came to her ears no sound of a splash when the rock reached bottom.
A moment later, there came to her ears a most peculiar sussurration. A hiss, like that of escaping gas. This was followed by a dry rasping, as if some moving thing was scraping against the stone sides of the well… as if something was crawling or gliding swiftly up the throat of the well…
Truly frightened now, the girl sprang down the steps and ran on light feet down the length of the domed and pillared hall, towards the distant doorway and the sane freedom and sunlight beyond.
The silent, motionless row of carven gods or devils watched her go, and smiled to themselves their timeless, graven smiles.
At the threshold she paused momentarily in her flight, and turned to look behind. Never could she recall what had impelled her to take that final backwards look.
As she stared back into the darkness, her eyes widened until the whites could be clearly seen all around the pupils.
The pallidly golden tint of her skin whitened with stark terror. The hairs stiffened and lifted on the nape of her neck, as the hackles of a beast rise when it senses danger.
Her features became strained and contorted into a mask of horror. She shoved her knuckles against her lips, as if trying to stifle the scream that rose from within her.
Then she shrieked—a desperate, wailing cry of unbelieving horror. She turned to flee from the pursuit of the monstrous thing she had glimpsed moving behind her in the darkness of the ancient building…
Chapter 8.
NAKED FANGS
The Goddess Arjala lay helplessly pinned against the greensward, clasped in the powerful arms of the ebon princeling from the Flying City. His weird quicksilver eyes flamed with unholy lust as he covered her upturned face with panting kisses.
The Goddess writhed in his arms, resisting him with every ounce of strength her lithe body possessed. But it was useless, she realized with growing horror. He was far stronger than she, and the impulse of his tumultuous desire was irresistible. No matter how strenuously she strove to fight him off, the black immortal would overcome her.