"Hm-m." Sampson was silent, baffled. Garth's mind swung back to that
ever-present question. Had he killed Doc Willard? Very soon, now, he
might know the answer.
But that was important only to him. The vital point was the black
notebook Doc had with him.
After a time Captain Brown stirred and sat up. Then the others. The men
were a little panicky, but the presence of Brown and Sampson calmed
them.
Garth, relieved of guard duty, had fallen asleep almost instantly.
He woke at dawn. Red twilight filtered down from above. The others were
lying motionless in their blankets. Sampson's big body was huddled at
the base of a tree.
Wearily Garth got up and went over to the giant. "Sampson!" he called.
"Wake up! We've got a job--"
He stopped. Sampson's eyes were open, fixed and blank, and his dark
cheeks had a significant ruddy flush.
The Noctoli poison--!
Garth stepped back, white to the lips. A sudden, horrible sense of
loneliness pressed down on him. In the jungle things seemed to move,
closing in menacingly.
He was alone now.
Alone--with twelve helpless companions to guard!
Somehow--somehow!--he had to get them through. One more day, and they
would be at their goal. They could not stay here, that was certain.
Garth searched Sampson's pack till he found a half-empty whiskey
bottle. He poured the burning stuff down his throat, though it rocked
him back on his heels. But he needed artificial stimulation; it was the
only thing that could keep him going now.
It helped. Garth took Sampson's gun and stuck it in his belt. If his
own jammed or ran out of ammunition, today, it would be unfortunate.
One more day.
_One more day!_
Somehow, he got Sampson, Brown and the others lined up. They would
march when he gave the word. The hypnotic trance of the Noctoli pollen
had turned them into robots.
Garth put Paula directly behind him. The sight of her wan, drawn face
made him feel a little frightened, though not for himself. He was
remembering Moira, who had died on Earth years ago.
Eleven men and a girl--and he was the only one who could save them.
Garth made sure that the packs were in place on the men's shoulders. He
took another drink, pulled out one of the guns, and gave the command to
march.
Like automatons the line followed him.
If the day before had been hell, this was double-distilled hell.
Within an hour, Garth's nerves were scraped raw. He had to be
constantly alert. The wrenching strain of watching for camouflaged
menace made his eyes ache. When movement came, he had to be ready.
Ready to squeeze the trigger....
He had to have eyes in the back of his head. For Sampson, at the tail
of the procession, was as helpless as the others.
Liquor kept Garth going. Without it, he would have collapsed. By noon
he was forced to call a halt, his eyes throbbing with the strain. But
even then he could not relax. Danger waited everywhere.
He never remembered what happened that afternoon. He must have acted
automatically, through blind instinct. But he got them through,
somehow....
It was like awakening from deep sleep. Garth was abruptly conscious
that he was marching forward, his head moving rhythmically, his eyes
searching the jungle. The red twilight was almost gone.
He whirled, to see Paula directly behind him, unharmed. The others were
strung out in single file--all of them, with Sampson's red head at the
end. None was missing.
Garth shivered. His body was aching like fire. A quick glance showed
him that his clothes were ribboned, his skin scratched raw, a long
slash along his ribs. It had been treated with antiseptic, he saw,
though he did not remember administering first aid, nor what had caused
the wound.
What had wakened him? He peered through the gloom, making out a dark
bulk, regular in outline, ahead and to his left. A few paces further
gave him the answer. It was a building, of black stone or metal, no
more than twelve feet high, and with an archway gaping in the nearest
side.
Somehow it struck a chord of memory. They must be near their goal. No
savages had built this structure. The Ancient Race?
The Zarno--they might be near by. It would not do to encounter them
now, while the men were in their Noctoli trance. And here, in the
Forest, they were without cover, at the mercy of the Zarno should they
appear.
Garth reconnoitered quietly, leading the others, for he dared not leave
them alone. The black building seemed untenanted. He could vaguely make
out a flight of steps leading down into darkness, and, more important
than that, the threshold itself was thick with dust and mould.
The--temple--was empty.
Which made it a good place to hide. Garth was beginning to realize he
could not keep going much longer, at least without collapsing. But soon
after dark the others would recover from their trance.
He stepped warily across the threshold, into the gloom of the temple.
Simultaneously the flooring sank almost imperceptibly beneath his feet,
and a deep, brazen bell-note boomed out, hushed with distance, as
though it came from underground.
Indecision held Garth motionless for a moment. That clang was a signal
of some sort--a warning against trespassers? A warning to _whom_?
* * * * *
He was answered quickly. A low cry came, harsh and oddly familiar. It
was the first of many. Garth, hesitating on the threshold, uncertain
which way the danger lay, instinctively reached out his arm and dragged
Paula close. She came obediently to his side, her eyes seeing nothing.
The others--they stood like frozen statues.
Something flashed amid the underbrush. The scarlet tangle of vines and
leaves was torn aside, and a figure leaped into view.
A figure, man-like--yet not human!
At first glance it seemed to be a man in armor, more than six feet
tall, and proportionately broad. Its body gleamed with reflected light.
Neckless, its head was a hairless, shining ball whose only features
were two oval, jet-black eyes. They were uncannily menacing.
A statue come to life! For the creature's body was obviously not
flesh--it was hard, rough and shiny as translucent glass. Silicate life!
Sprung from a silicon chemical base, as Earth life comes from
carbon--but sentient, intelligent, and dangerous!
Others like it raced into view, pausing as they saw Garth and his
companions. The first stepped forward. He had no mouth, but a circular
diaphragm below and between his eyes vibrated rapidly, forming
recognizable words.
"_Al-khron ghanro ssel 'ri--_"
It was the Ancient Tongue, which Garth had learned five years before,
and never forgotten. It came back to him easily now. He was beginning
to remember other things, too. These creatures--he had seen them
before. The Zarno--
"We come in peace." He raised one hand, his nerves jolting, waiting for
the answer. Presently it came.
"You are not a god. The others with you are not gods. We are the Zarno;
we destroy. We guard the house of the gods till they return."
Another of the silicate creatures pushed forward. "Do you not know this
being, Kharn? Eight _ystods_ ago he came here with another like him. Do
you remember?"
Kharn nodded slowly. "That is true. We did not slay them then, for we
thought they were messengers from the gods. They pretended to be--we
were not sure. This one escaped. The other went into the Darkness."
The other? Doc Willard? Garth felt his throat tighten.
"The--Darkness? What is that?"
"The place from which only the gods return," Kharn said slowly.
Did he mean--death? Before Garth could ask, the second Zarno spoke.
"They must be taken and sacrificed, Kharn."
Garth took out his gun. "Wait," he said sharply, as the Zarno moved
forward. "We have weapons. We can destroy you."
"You do not speak the truth. Only the gods can destroy us. Ages ago
they came here and built their temple and taught us to be wise. When
they left us, we stayed on, to guard the sacred places."
Garth's mouth felt dry. "We _are_ messengers from the gods--" he
declared.
"It is not true." Kharn began to walk forward. "Take them!"
Garth knew he had lost.
* * * * *
It was like a nightmare, the steady, relentless approach of the
monstrous beings. Garth held his gun leveled. His arm tightened around
Paula's shoulders.
"Keep back," he commanded, conscious of the uselessness of the words.
Instead, Kharn and the others walked on. The creature's shining arm
lifted, clamped on Garth's shoulder. He fired.
Kharn did not seem to feel the bullet, though it had not missed. Garth
squeezed the trigger again. The pistol jolted against his palm.
The Zarno were--invulnerable!
Garth fought, nevertheless. He could see the silicate men lifting his
companions like sacks of meal, hoisting them to gleaming shoulders, and
carrying them, unresisting, through the forest. Paula was torn from
his grasp. Cursing, he struck out at Kharn's impassive, inhuman face
with the revolver-butt. Useless! Nothing could harm these creatures of
living stone.
Ignoring his struggles, Kharn prisoned Garth's arms and lifted him.
Helpless, Garth was carried after the others. He forced himself to
relax. A fury of impotent rage flooded him.
He battled it down. Better wait. A chance might come later; just now,
there was none. Wait--
Through the forest they went, a score of the silicate creatures,
striding like armored giants in the darkening red glow. Not far. A
pillar of black metal loomed before them soon, broken by an archway.
Two of the monsters guarded it. For a moment Garth mistook the monolith
for one of the ebony trees; then he realized his error as they crossed
the threshold and began to descend a spiral ramp.
Now there was light, a cool, silvery radiance that seemed to come
from the walls. Kharn's footsteps thumped hollow, tirelessly. Sudden
weakness made Garth dizzy. He caught a glimpse of a well around which
the ramp wound, a pit dropping away to the heart of a world, it seemed.
Utter exhaustion struck him like a physical blow.