He wheeled his deest around and looked at the balcony of the Great Temple. It was shuttered and silent. Turning his mount again, he looked at the men who carried the coins.
"All right," he said. "Let's put it where it belongs! Put it in a pile! Heap it up in the middle of the Square of Holy Light. Let's show the people what the devil Earthmen have done—and what they can do no longer!"
They began to drop their loops in the spot at the middle of the Square, a circular slab of obsidian that marked the center of the Square of Holy Light.
Loop after loop of coins jingled into the heap as the men threw them from their shoulders. Several of the copper wires broke, and the coins scattered, jingling and rolling over the pavement, while those outside the ring of mounted men watched in awe as the pile grew.
"Keep your hands off those coins!" Kris shouted. "The man who tries to take so much as a single weight will die!"
He signaled to the mounted men who blocked the streets, and the oversized peych-knives came out of their sheaths and were held high, their polished steel gleaming in the afternoon light.
It was an unnecessary precaution. The pile of coins was not touched. No one would dare, not with all eyes upon the Square.
And still there was no sign from the Great Temple.
Kris caught sight of Dran peDran and signaled him to come over beneath the balcony. Dran trotted his deest over to his leader.
"Does you want something, captain?"
Kris pointed at the tower of the Great Temple, where the huge gong hung. "You're a good topman, Dran. Think you can climb up there and hit that gong?"
Dran looked startled for a moment, then grinned. "I does it, captain." He turned his deest and headed for the wall.
Kris watched as the agile little seaman stood up on the back of his deest and leaped toward the same carved figures that Kris had climbed a few hours before. But Dran didn't stop at the balcony; he clambered on upward to the roof and then worked his way up the steeple to the great gong.
He reached his goal and waved cheerfully to Kris. Kris returned the gesture, and the little Bronze Islander picked up the heavy mallet that stood near the giant metal disk.
The reverberating note rang out deeply across Gelusar, and the crowd became hushed. It was as though, Kris reflected, the gong itself had some tremendous power of its own over the people of Nidor.
"Again!" called Kris, and again the sound rang out, echoing in the still, humid air.
II it had an effect on the people of Nidor, it also had an effect on the Priesthood. The shutters of the balcony moved slowly apart, and Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd stood there, looking old and extremely tired.
Kris rose in his stirrups, facing the old priest, and bowed his head. Then he looked up again at the balcony.
"Honored and Ancient Grandfather," he said ringingly, "There is the money which the Earthmen—-stole!" He waved at the great heap of metal in the middle of the Square.
"We have driven the demons off," Kris said. "I, and the people of Nidor, have rid the land forever of the agents of the Great Darkness."
The old priest could do nothing but stare at the heap of cobalt in the middle of the Square of Holy Light. It seemed to be the only thing in the world for the aged man.
"I see," he said hollowly, still staring at the heap of coin. His voice was so soft that Kris could barely hear it.
"Return the money to the Bank of Dimay," Kris said. "Our savings and our world are safe again. May we have your blessing, Grandfather?"
The Inn of the Purple Deest became Kris' Gelusar headquarters. He established himself there, and began to send feelers into the Holy City, gauging the reaction of the people to the sudden destruction of the School.
The word was good. He was becoming known as Kris peKym the Exorcist, and, faced with the overwhelming proof afforded by the discovered cobalt, the reputation of both the School and the Earthmen had dwindled to nothing overnight.
On the third day after the burning of the School, the now-famed Hundred Men rode to the Great Temple with Kris at their head. They arrayed themselves around the square while their captain dismounted and walked alone into the Holiest Temple of the Great Light.
Kris pushed open the giant doors and stepped into the dimness of the Temple. He was alone. There were no other worshipers in the huge auditorium. He stood at the door for a moment, feeling dwarfed by the building's vastness. Then he strode somberly down the aisle between the empty seats, walking toward the Altar of the Great Light.
It was near the Hour of Midmeal, the only time of day when the Great Light could actually be seen as a single entity. At that time, the Great Light became a dimly-outlined spot of fire directly overhead. During the morning and the afternoon, the Great Light spread all over the sky; the eternal cloud layer that covered Nidor glowed with His radiance. But near midmeal, His effulgence burned through the sky and illuminated the land beneath.
His Light was focused through the huge lens in the roof of the Temple, creating a glowing ball of light on the top of the altar.
During the hour, the focus of the light moved slowly across the altar. Kris felt oddly alone in the huge, high-ceilinged room. He paused as he neared the altar, watched the shimmering image of the Great Light. Have I done right? he asked of the glowing image on the altar. There was no answer.
Kris bowed before the image on the altar and then seated himself in the front row of seats, those usually reserved for the Priesthood. Kneeling in prayer, he waited for the midday ceremonies to begin.
Kris had his eyes on the altar when the priest and his acolytes came in, and he didn't move his gaze. But he watched them with his peripheral vision as the File of Sixteen came from the sacristy to the altar.
He could see that the priest who led the File had glanced out over the auditorium, but it was difficult to read his expression. Was he surprised because there was no one else in the Temple, or was he surprised that there was anyone there at all?
Kris forced the conjecture from his mind and concentrated on the blaze at the altar. In his hand, he held the Book of Liturgy, which dictated the service for the day.
The File of Sixteen arranged themselves before the altar. Each of the sixteen acolytes was arrayed in a different robe; their color and designs represented the traditional patterns of each one of the Sixteen Clans of Nidor. Kris felt a glow of pride as he recognized the red and yellow-green check of the Clan Yorgen at the left of the priest.
Each of the Clans was represented —the Yorgen, the Brajjyd, the Dmorno, the Shavill, the Hebylla, the Sesom, the Nitha, the Vyless, the ...
He could enumerate every one of them, right down the row. He had thought that the religious training of his childhood had faded completely during his years at sea, but he realized that old Kym, his father, and Elta, his mother, had pounded more into his brain than he had thought.
After a moment of silent prayer, the priest said, "O Great and Holy Light, we pray that the offering we bring to you this midday will be acceptable in Your sight."
He turned and faced the auditorium. He seemed not to notice that Kris peKym was the only worshiper in the building.
Kris had given careful orders to the Hundred Men. They were not to force anyone away from the Great Temple; they were simply to tell those who came that Kris peKym was inside and wished to be alone. So far, no one had entered, and now it was too late. The service had begun.
The priest was a young man, Kris noticed. He could not have been ordained for more than a year or so, if that. His voice was strong as he gazed out at the empty auditorium and said, "We have gathered here to perform the Holy Sacrifice to Him Who rules our lives and our destinies."