Chapter Four: THE HALL OF PRIEST-KINGS
As I followed the man who called himself Parp down the stone passage the portal behind me closed.I remember one last glimpse of the Sardar Range, the path I had climbed, the cold, blue sky and two snowy larls, one chained on either side of the entrance.
My host did not speak but led the way with a merry stride, an almost constant curl of smoke from his little round pipe encircling his bald pate and muttonchop whiskers and drifting back down the passage.
The passage was lit with energy bulbs, of the sort which I had encountered in the tunnel of Marlenus which led beneath the walls of Ar.There was nothing in the lighting of the passage, or its construction, to suggest that the Priest-Kings' Caste of Builders, if they had one, was any more advanced than that of the men below the mountains.Too, the passage was devoid of ornament, lacking the mosaics and tapestries with which the beauty-loving Goreans below the mountains are wont to glorify the places of their own habitation.The Priest-Kings, as far as I could tell, had no art.Perhaps they would regard it as a useless excrescence detracting from the more sobre values of life, such as, I supposed, study, meditation and the manipulation of the lives of men.
I noted that the passage which I trod was well worn.It had been polished by the sandals of countless men and women who had walked before where I now walked, perhaps thousands of years ago, perhaps yesterday, perhaps this morning.
Then we came to a large hall.It was plain, but in its sheer size it possessed a severe, lofty grandeur.
At the entrance to this room, or chamber, I stopped, overcome with a certain sense of awe.
I found myself on the brink of entering what appeared to be a great and perfect dome, having a diameter I am sure of at least a thousand yards.I was pleased to see that its top was a sparkling curvature of some transparent substance, perhaps a special glass or plastic, for no glass or plastic with which I was familiar would be likely to withstand the stresses generated by such a structure.Beyond the dome I could see the welcome blue sky.
'Come, come, Cabot,' remonstrated Parp.
I followed him.
In this great dome there was nothing save that at its very centre there was a high dais and on this dais there was a large throne carved from a single block of stone.
It seemed to take us a long time to reach the dais.Our footsteps echoed hollowly across the great stone floor.At last we arrived.
'Wait here,' said Parp, who pointed to an area outside a tiled ring which surrounded the dais.
I did not stand precisely where he asked but several feet away, but I did remain outside the tiled ring.
Parp puffed his way up the nine steps of the dais and climbed onto the stone throne.He was a strange contrast to the sever regality of the majestic seat on which he perched.His sandaled feet did not reach the floor, and he made a slight grimace as he settled himself on the throne.
'Frankly,' said Parp, 'I think we made a mistake in sacrificing certain creature comforts in the Sardar.'He tried to find some position that would satisfy him.'For example, a cushion would not be out of place on such a throne, do you think, Cabot?'
'On such a throne it would be out of place,' I said.
'Ah yes,' sighed Parp, 'I suppose so.'
Then, smartly, Parp cracked his pipe a few times against the side of the throne, scattering ashes and unsmoked tobacco about on the floor of the dais.
I regarded him without moving.
Then he bagan to fumble with the wallet which was slung from his belt, and removed a plastic envelope.I watched him closely, following every move.A frown crossed my face as I saw him take a pinch of tobacco from the bag and refill his pipe.Then he fumbled about a bit more and emerged with a narrow cylindrical, silverish obect.For an instant it seemed to point at me.
I lifted my shield.
'Please, Cabot!' said Parp, with something of impatience, and used the silverish object to light his pipe.
I felt foolish.
Parp began to puff away contentedly on a new supply of tobacco.He had to turn slightly on the throne to look at me, as I had not chosen to stand directly where he had suggested.
'I do wish you would be more cooperative,' he said.
Tapping the floor with the butt of my spear, I finally stood where he had directed.
Parp chuckled and puffed away.
I did not speak and he smoked one pipe.Then he cleaned it as before, knocking it against the side of the throne, and refilled it.He lit it again with the small, silverish object, and leaned back against the throne.He gazed up at the dome, so hihh above, and watched the smoke curl slowly upward.
'Did you have a good trip to the Sardar?' asked Parp.
'Where is my father?' I asked.'What of the city of Ko-ro-ba?'My voice choked.'What of the girl Talena, who was my Free Companion?'
'I hope you had a good trip,' said Parp.
Then I began to feel rage creeping like hot, red vines through my blood.
Parp did not seem concerned.
'Not everyone has a good trip,' said Parp.
My hand clenched on the spear.
I began to feel the hatred of all the years I had nursed against the Priest-Kings now uncontrollably, slowly, violently growing in my body, wild, fierce, those foliating scarlet vines of my fury that now seemed to encircle me, to enfold me, to engulf me, swelling, steaming, now writhing aflame about my body and before my eyes in the turbulent, burned air that separated me from the creature Parp and I cried, 'Tell me what I want to know!'
'The primary difficulty besetting the traveler in the Sardar,' continued Parp, 'is probably the general harshness of the environment - for example, the inclemencies of the weather, particularly in the winter.'
I lifted the spear and my eyes which must have been terrible in the apertures of my helmet were fixed on the heart of the man who sat upon the throne.
'Tell me!' I cried.
'The larls also,' Parp went on, 'are a not unformidable obstacle.'
I cried with rage and strode forward to loose my spear but I wept and retained the weapon.I could not do murder.
Parp puffed away, smiling.'That was wise of you,' he said.
I looked at him sullenly, my rage abated.I felt helpless.
'You could not have injured me, you know,' said Parp.
I looked at him with wonder.
'No,' he said.'Go ahead, if you wish, cast your spear.'
I took the weapon and tossed it toward the foot of the dais. There was a sudden splintering burst of heat and I fell back, staggering.I shook my head to drive out the scarlet stars that seemed to race before my eyes.
At the foot of the dais there was a bit of soot and some droplets of melted bronze.
'You see,' said Parp, 'it would not have reached me.'
I now understood the purpose of the tiled circle which surrounded the throne.
I removed my helmet and threw my shield to the floor.
'I am your prisoner,' I said.
'Nonsense,' said Parp, 'you are my guest.'
'I shall keep my sword,' I said.'If you want it, you must take it from me.'
Parp laughed merrily, his small round frame shaking on the heavy throne.'I assure you,' he said, 'I have no use for it.'He looked at me, chuckling. 'Nor have you,' he added.
'Where are the others?' I asked.
'What others?' asked he.
'The other Priest-Kings,' I said.
'I am afraid,' said Parp, 'that I am the Priest-Kings.All of them.'
'But you said before "We are waiting",' I protested.
'Did I?' asked Parp.
'Yes,' I said.
'Then it was merely a manner of speaking.'
'I see,' I said.
Parp seemed troubled.He seemed distracted.
He glanced up at the dome.It was getting late.He seemed a bit nervous.His hands fumbled more with the pipe; a bit of tobacco spilled.
'Will you speak to me of my father, of my city, and of my love?' I asked.