But ere long he could see well enough to make his way down the narrow passage to a side branch where coded markings would direct him to his easiest route. Valkar had spent many hours studying the code wherewith the secret labyrinth was marked, and he could find his way through the winding maze with ease.
It was quite different here inside the secret passages by day. By night the narrow tunnels are drenched in impenetrable gloom, and without a candle or some other means of illumination it is almost impossible to find your way. But during the daylight hours a sufficient amount of light leaks into the passages through cracks and crannies in the walls to spread a dim, vague illuminance by which, if one goes with care, one can make one’s way without great difficulty.
Before long Valkar found the right passage and followed it to its end, striding as swiftly as he dared in the half-gloom.
He came at length to a spyhole and slid its covering aside to peer through the small aperture at a scene of astounding magnificence.
The temple of the devil-god of the Chac Yuul lay before him.
Before the conquest by the Black Legion, the Ku
Thad had used the immense hall for a throne room. But now a hideous stone idol stood on the topmost tier of a vast flight of low, broad marble steps where once the Kings of Shondakor had sat in state.
The idol was very old, black with age, and grimy with the stain of splattered blood―for the horror of human sacrifice was not unknown to the savage warriors of the Black Legion.*
Half again as tall as a man, the stone image squatted atop the uppermost tier, its legs folded tailor-fashion beneath it, its bulging paunch sagging down in an obscene fashion.
Five arms the idol lifted to its sides and each clawlike stone hand grasped a weapon of war. As for the sixth hand, it was empty, and held out over the top steps as if clutching for human prey.
The face of the god Hoom was indescribably hideous, screwed into a leer of malice, with glaring eyes under scowling brows, and bared fangs. Curling horns sprouted from its bald pate, between the sharp, pointed ears.
A grisly necklace of human skulls dangled about its thick throat.
Such was the demon-god of the Chac Yuul.
Such was the grim divinity whereof Ool the Uncanny was high priest!
On the broad steps below the place where black Hoom squatted, leering and monstrous like some bloated and gigantic toad, a glittering assembly awaited the coming of the priest.
Arkola was there, magnificent in black velvet, his strong face grim and unsmiling. There, too, were the lords of the council and the high chieftains of the horde, in their barbaric finery.
Light streamed through tall tapering windows to flash in mirror-polished shields and burnished helms, to twinkle from the jewels in sword hilt and girdle and the gems that flashed about the throats of the Chac Yuul women.
A step or two below the idol stood Darloona. She was superb in a long gown of golden satin sprinkled with small diamonds, but for all her beauty and the splendor of her gown, Valkar could see the tension and fear in her pale, set features, and in the way her hands gripped and twisted at a small scrap of handkerchief.
Vaspian smirked and lolled at her side, resplendent in silken robes, a gilt coronet upon his brows. From time to time he leaned to whisper in Darloona’s ear, and at the way her face tightened with distaste, Valkar could guess the message of his leering whisper, and his hand gripped his sword hilt until the knuckles whitened.
The bell had long since rung the hour, but it seemed that this splendid company yet awaited the coming of Ool. A murmur arose from the throng, as the Chac Yuul whispered. What was keeping the fat little wizard-priest?
Valkar, from his hidden place, searched the audience with a narrow gaze, but not for Ool the Uncanny. He wondered if Jandar was in the crowd, and although he searched for him carefully, he saw him not. For the hundredth time, he wondered what calamity could have prevented his comrade from attending their vital meeting.
Now a stir and rustle went through the throng.
Valkar peered about and saw that at last Ool the Uncanny had entered the hall. The fat little man was muffled in thick robes of a dull, drab hue, and the cowl of that robe was drawn, concealing his face. Head down, hands tucked into his capacious sleeves, the little wizard stumbled across the top of the flight of steps from an entrance on the far side. He was aware of his lateness and had hurried, for be was breathing heavily. Valkar wondered what could have detained him―and again wondered what had become of Jandar.
Now Ool descended the topmost steps to stand between the Prince and the Princess, with the great stone idol towering up behind him.
And now Valkar could delay no longer. With or without Jandar he must act swiftly now, before the nuptials were sealed and Darloona was wed to the man she loathed.
Valkar touched the hidden spring and the panel slid aside.
With a leap he attained the dais whereupon the idol stood. Ripping out his sword, the Prince sprang down the steps, catching a swift glance at the expression of astonishment that crossed the faces of Prince Vaspian and Darloona at his unexpected appearance. Ool still had his back turned and saw nothing.
Daylight flashed on the blade of his rapier as Valkar lifted the sword and sent its point hurtling to cut down Ool from behind before he could speak the doom-fraught words which would seal the marriage. Ool turned and looked Valkar directly in the eyes! And Darloona screamed!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE MIND WIZARD OF KUUR
Cold chills went down my back as I stared at the fat little wizard-priest who lounged in the doorway of the Pits.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted. It was an inane thing to say and it made him laugh, a thin, titter of malicious humor that had no mirth in it.
“Why, I am here for our long-delayed little talk,” he purred, slitted eyes agleam with mischief. “I told you we would speak together at a later time―and this is it.”
He paused, surveying the corpse that lay sprawled in congealing gore amidst the tumbled rushes. His eyes lifted to the bare cutlass I held, and again that mirthless titter fell from his fat smiling lips.
“You are a man of action, I see, O Jandar! Alas, you would not lift cold steel against a fat old man, who hath naught wherewith to defend himself?” The purring voice trailed off on a questioning note. I hefted the heavy sword, feeling foolish. Koja and Lukor were watching all this without comprehension.
For some reason the fat little priest gave me pause. I should have simply run by him, but for some reason which I cannot quite explain this seemed not the thing to do. It was, I think, a matter of presence.
Whatever else he may have been, Ool the Uncanny was not a man you could easily ignore!
Now he came waddling into the square stone room, hands tucked within capacious sleeves. He wore his usual thick robes of drab hue. His sandals slapped and whispered against the stone pave.
His sharp glance took in the tall somber arthropod and the keen-eyed, white-headed little Swordmaster behind me.
“A warrior lord of the Yathoon people, and a master-swordsman from the City in the Clouds,” mused Ool thoughtfully. “How in the name of thirty devils could an ordinary mercenary from Soraba know such as these―so much that he commits mutiny, aye, and murder, too, in the freeing of them! ‘Tis a puzzle, indeed: a mystery … there is much about you O Jandar, that savors of the mysterious.”
Lukor cleared his throat, a little impatient bark of sound.
“I believe you said something about a bell, lad? Why do we stand here talking, when the lass is about to wed that fool of a Prince?” he demanded.