Doc, who had recovered consciousness during the past half an hour, and who had watched the boy’s labor with sympathetic eyes, uttering encouraging noises from time to time, now lifted his head and stared up. Distant echoes sounded above them, coming from the shaft over their heads, and the stair. The echoes of footsteps descending.
“They’re coming already,” the old man observed.
“I guess so,” muttered Ryker somberly. “You go hide yourself now, Kiki. No, not back there—among those stalagmites on the opposite side of the pit. Hurry, now, before they see you.”
The boy scampered off, and Ryker and the Israeli were alone again. But not for very long.
The party that entered the cavern was largely the same as had brought Ryker and Doc Herzog to be chained to the stone spears. Missing were a few of Valarda’s supporters; present were very many more of Thoh’s faction.
Thoh himself now walked proudly, features molded in an expression of haughty disdain. Only the eager, febrile glitter in his eyes revealed how deliciously Lord Thoh—Prince Thoh—revelled in his newly acquired power. It was obviously the culmination of a dream he had long nurtured in secret.
And now it was Valarda’s turn to play the humble captive, bound and helpless, soon to face the judgment of her god. The Priestess held her head high, and her expression was proud and unafraid, but she was pale as death and the shadow of dread haunted her golden eyes.
The guards were uneasy and looked harried and crestfallen. Their captain, a man called Hartha, no longer led them. Apparently, he had remained loyal to his Priestess, or Prince Thoh considered him likely to prove disloyal to the new regime. Taking his place at the head of the guards was a grinning rascal named Sastro whom Ryker remembered having seen in Thoh’s retinue on an earlier occasion.
Valarda had been stripped of her plumed coronal and most of her gems, but she did not seem to have been used by rough hands nor offered any indignities, insofar as was apparent from her appearance or demeanor.
They chained her to the third spear, tugging the chains taut so that her arms were forced above her head. She endured this without a word of complaint, without permitting a sound to escape her lips. Ryker growled and glowered. If looks could kill, the smirking prince would have been struck dead on the spot.
“We have brought you some feminine companionship to lighten the boredom of your wait, Outworlder,” Thoh smiled. He was well aware of Ryker’s smoldering rage, and it amused him. A chained lion, however ferocious, can be safely taunted. And Ryker was still chained.
“You may face the judgment of your god before we do,” remarked the old Israeli with tranquil relish. The prince glanced at him, surprised. Doc Herzog grinned, and added, “The enemy is at your gates, already. Or maybe even inside the City by this time. Your reign is likely to be a short one, so enjoy it while it lasts!”
Thoh paled to the lips at this impertinence from so unexpected a source, and half raised his hand as if to strike the old man in the face. Then he thought better of it, and turned a glance of pure venom upon the proud, silent figure of Valarda.
“It was this witch’s doing,” he snarled. And his features, distorted by the intensity of his rage, lost for a moment their smooth, effeminate prettiness, and became vicious. “If she had given me the men I wanted, and let me ride forth against the invaders, to use against them the weaponry our ancestors used once, long ago, against their ancestors—”
“Probably wouldn’t have done you much good,” growled Ryker. “Your folks lost that war too, I understand.”
Thoh looked him up and down, his face cold and heavy. Then he spat deliberately between Ryker’s feet. Ryker looked him straight in the eye and grinned. There was no humor in it but a baring of white teeth, as a wolf grins before it bites. Thoh took an involuntary step backwards, then bit his lip, hating himself for momentarily letting his weakness show.
He stepped forward and struck Ryker across the face—once—twice—three times—slapping Ryker’s head back against the stone of the spear to which he was chained. Ryker held the grin steady, although a trickle of red blood ran down his chin from a cut on his mouth. Thoh flushed and stepped back, panting.
“The God will judge us all,” remarked Valarda in a serene, untroubled voice. “Those who kept the Vow and those who would break it.”
“The god you worship sleeps,” said Thoh shortly. “Not since the time of our grandsires has He awakened from His slumbers. You may expect little help from that quarter, My Lady! No … here you will remain while the world grows old … you will hang in those chains until your tongue swells with thirst and your belly shrinks with hunger, and you go mad and die raving … raving to a god who cannot even hear you, and who will never wake again.”
At that moment there was an interruption.
One of the lords who stood near Thoh uttered an exclamation, pointing beyond them, across the pit.
Thoh turned, and all eyes looked in that direction. Ryker, too, looked—then froze with horror.
Upon the far side of the pit a small, slight figure came into view. A young lad, naked and dust-stained and desperate. He stood upon the very brink of the pit, staring down to unguessable depths. The expression on his face was terrible to see.
” Kiki! Don’ t!” Ryker yelled hoarsely. The boy did not even raise his head to look in his direction.
“I must,” he panted. “I must do the very best I can.”
Valarda stared at him, unbelieving. Her lips parted, and she strove to speak, but fear had paralyzed her tongue and she could utter no sound.
“Why, it is the little imp,” muttered Thoh distractedly. “However did he get here—and what is he about?”
“He’s going to jump!” said Sastro. Thoh looked at him questioningly.
“Whatever for?”
Then Kiki raised his thin arms above his tousled head and cried out—
“For my Lady! For her! O, God of my people—awaken!”
And hurled himself over the brink, and fell.
Ryker shut his eyes, feeling sick. Valarda choked back a sob and let her head fall forward so that her long hair hid her face. And the old Israeli said something in a low voice. It was in Hebrew and none of them could understand that tongue, but it sounded like a prayer.
The others looked at one another. Thoh seemed curiously effected. He bit his lip, eyes hooded, brooding upon the pit where the young boy had fallen to his death. His expression was unreadable.
And then there came another interruption.
From the shadows, Zarouk strode forth, grinning, a long sword naked in his hand. Behind him others moved, muttering, their hands heavy with steel. It would seem that the invaders had followed Prince Thoh and his retinue, descending the great stair in silence, careful to conceal their presence.
Zarouk looked at Thoh, then at Ryker and Valarda. He grinned hugely and waved his sword in a mocking salute. His desert raiders crowded close behind him, eyeing Thoh’s guards belligerently, eager for the kill.
One rush, and victory would be theirs. And they knew it.
The next surprise, however, was that of Thoh. For he shrugged back his heavy cloak, and showed the desert men his hands. They were tender and soft, those hands, and there were too many jeweled rings upon their fingers, but now they bore something else.
Ryker’s guns. The guns that Valarda had stolen from him when he had slept his drugged sleep, there on the isthmus when she had deserted him.
Ryker had forgotten all about them. He knew they must be somewhere here in Zhiam, but he had not thought about them.
Evidently, Prince Thoh had.