They wondered if they should have named the giant subhuman Anubis instead of Djehuti. Anubis was the jackal-headed god who conducted the dead in the Underworld to the Double Palace of Osiris, the Judger, the Weigher of Souls. Still, Djehuti was the spokesman of the gods and the keeper of their records. Sometimes, he took the shape of a dog-headed ape. Considering their companion's features and his hairiness, he did look like that avatar of Djehuti.
Note: These two aspects of Thoth (Djehuti) indicate that there may have been a fusion of two different gods in early times.
This world did have some similarities to the Other World. Now that they were in the Abode of Osiris, the similarities were even more striking. The Riverworld could be that country between the world of the living and the dead vaguely described by the Priests. The priests had told confusing, contradictory stories. Only the gods knew the full truth.
Whatever the truth was, it would soon be found. The tower didn't look like their picture of the Double Hall of Justice, but perhaps the gods had changed things. The Riverworld was a place of constant change, a reflection of the state of mind of the gods themselves.
Akhenaten turned the wheel so that the orange tower was bisected by the vertical line splitting the screen. At times, just to reassure himself that he had control of the speed, he would squeeze the bulb fixed to the right side of the steering wheel. The boat's speed would increase or decrease according to the force of the squeezing.
The boat headed straight through the choppy, fog-shrouded sea for the tower at a speed frightening to its passengers. Within two hours the image on the screen had become enormous. Then the image burst into a flame which covered the entire screen, and Akhenaten let the boat proceed very slowly. He punched a button, and they all cried out in fright and wonder as two round objects on the prow of the boat shot forth two bright beams of light.
Ahead lay a vast bulk-the tower.
Akhenaten punched a button indicated by the diagram. Slowly, a large, round door, a port, swung open from what had been a smooth, seamless surface. Light sprang into being. Inside was a wide hall, its walls of the same grey metal.
Akehnaten brought the boat alongside the entrance. Some of the crew grabbed the threshold. The Pharaoh pressed the button which shut off the invisible power that moved the boat. He stepped onto the side of the boat, which was just below the threshold. After jumping inside the hall, he took the ropes attached to the inside of the hull and secured them around hooks set into the hall. Apprehensively, silently, the others followed him.
All, that is, except for Paheri. The terror was now almost unendurable. His teeth clicked uncontrollably. His knees shook. His heart beat in his frozen flesh like a frightened bird's wings. His mind moved sluggishly, like winter mud flowing down a hillside warmed by the sun.
He was too weak to get up from the seat and step into the corridor. He was sure that if he could go on, he'd face his judge and be found wanting.
I'll say one thing for Paheri. Two. He did have a conscience, and he wasn't afraid to admit to Tom Rider that he'd been a coward. That takes courage.
Akhenaten, as if he had nothing to fear from The One God, walked steadily toward the end of the corridor. The others were bunched behind him at a dozen paces. One looked back and was surprised that Paheri was still in the boat. He gestured for him to come on. Paheri shook his head and hung oh to the gunwale.
Then, without a single cry from anyone, those in the corridor slumped to their knees, fell forward on their hands; tried to rise, failed, and sagged onto their faces. They lay as still and limp as putty models.
The door swung slowly shut. It closed silently, leaving no evidence that there was a door, not even a thin seamline, and Paheri was alone in the dark fog and the cold sea.
Paheri wasted no time in getting the boat turned around. It moved at its former speed, but now there was no signal on the scope, no bright image, to direct it. He could not find the cave, and so he went up and down the base of the cliff until he gave up trying to locate the cave. Finally, he directed it alongside the cliff until he came to the archway through which the sea rams into the mountains. He got through the long and giant cave there, but when he came to the great cataract, he could find no place to beach the boat. It was carried over the falls. Paheri remembered the bellowing of the waters, being turned over and over, and then... unconsciousness.
When he awoke from his translation, he was lying naked in the dark fog under the overhang of a grails tone. His grail-a new one, of course-and a pile of cloths lay by him. Presently he heard voices. The dim figures of people coming to place their grails on the stone approached. He was safe and sound-except for the terrible memory of the hall of the gods.
Tom Rider was translated to Paheri's area after he'd been killed by some fanatical medieval Christians. He became a soldier, met Paheri, who was in the same squad, and heard his story. Rider worked up to a captaincy and then he was killed again. He awoke the next day in an area where Fanington lived.
Several months later they went up-River together in a dugout. Then they settled down for a while to build the Rattle Dazzle.
What's my reaction to all this? Well, Paheri's story makes me want to go see for myself if it's true or not. If he wasn't making it up, and Tom says Paheri was as stolid and as unimaginative as a wooden cigarstore Indian, then this world, unlike Earth, may have answers to the Big Questions, a mirror to the Ultimate Reality.
Towerward ho!
40
(Frigate's letter continued)
There's more to the story than what Rider told me. I chanced to overhear Frisco and Tex several days ago. They were in the main cabin, and the hatch was open. I had sat down, my back against the cabin, and had lit up a cigar. (Yes, for the nonce, I've fallen into the clutches of Ole Devil Nicotine.) I really wasn't paying much attention to their voices, since I was occupied with thoughts resulting from a conversation with Nur el-Musafir.
Then I heard the captain, who has a loud voice, say, "Yes, but how do we know he isn't using us for some reason of his own? Some reason beneficial to him but not so good for us? And how do we know we can get into the tower? That Egyptian couldn't. Is there another entrance? If there is, why didn't he tell us? He did say he'd tell us more about the tower later on. But that was sixteen years ago! Sixteen! We ain't seen him since!
"I mean, you ain't seen him. Of course, I never did see him. Anyway, maybe something happened to him. Maybe he got caught. Or maybe he doesn't need us anymore!"
Rider said something I couldn't catch. Farrington said, "Sure, but you know what I think? I think he didn't have the slightest idea those Egyptians got to the tower. Or that one got away. At least, not when he talked to you."
Rider said something. Farrington replied, "The tunnel and the rope and the boats and probably the path must have been prepared for us. But others got there first."
The wind strengthened then, and I couldn't hear anything for a minute or two. I moved closer to the companionway well. Farrington said, "You really think some of them, one, anyway, might be on this ship? Well, it's possible, Tex, but so what if it is?
"Why weren't we told who the others were so we could recognize each other and get together? When are we going to be told? Where do we all meet? At River's end? What if we get there and nobody shows up? Do we wait a hundred years or so there? What if..."