* * * * *
Garth put his mouth close to the diaphragm. His words, amplified,
rolled out through the cavern in the Ancient Tongue.
"Yes--the gods return! Summon the Zarno! Let none fail to obey the
summons!"
Shouts went up. The Zarno whirled and raced away. For the moment, Garth
was alone.
He concentrated on the transmitter again, commanding the robot to move
forward to the edge of the dais, till he could see its back.
"Raise your arm. Step back. Forward again. Back."
It worked. The robot obeyed his mental commands, awkwardly, but--it
obeyed.
"Back. Sit on the throne."
A jarring crash deafened Garth momentarily. He had forgotten how huge
the robot was. No doubt the creature should lever itself down gradually
into its seat, instead of dropping a ton of metal solidly on the black
block.
Footsteps again. The Zarno were beginning to pour into the cavern. Huge
as it was, they almost filled it. They flung themselves flat, crawling
toward the dais, nodding their misshapen heads in awkward rhythm. Their
voices were raised in a deep-throated chant.
Garth concentrated. At his mental command, the robot rose and paced
slowly forward.
"_Kra-enlar!_"
Garth put his mouth to the diaphragm. His voice crashed out.
"The gods have returned! Hear me, O Zarno!"
"_We hear!_"
"Let no Zarno fail to come to the temple of the gods. Have the guards
left their posts?"
"_Nay--nay!_"
"Summon them," Garth roared. "When the gods speak, all must hearken.
Let every Zarno come to me now, or die!"
Some of the creatures raced away and returned with others. The chant
continued.
"Have any Zarno failed to heed my summons?"
"_None--none! We are here--all!_"
Garth nearly shouted with relief. There were almost two thousand Zarno
in the cavern, he judged, all genuflecting before the dais. And that
meant that the city was unguarded--that Doc Willard could lead the
others to the antigravity hangar.
If he could hold the Zarno here!
Garth shook his head, feeling oddly dizzy. He tried to concentrate.
At his mental order, the giant robot lifted its arms in symbolic,
ritualistic gestures he remembered from the tripod-recorder.
But the dizziness persisted. Garth realized that his lungs were
hurting. He found it difficult to draw a deep breath.
Air--he needed fresh air! The inhuman lungs of the Ancients probably
were able to endure lack of oxygen far better than the human organism.
In any case--Garth realized that the air was getting stale.
He investigated the vision-slit. It was barred by a glassy, transparent
pane that seemed as hard as steel. Well, it would be necessary to open
the panel behind him--a few inches, anyway. Garth's hand sought for the
spring. It was in plain sight; there was no need to conceal it within
the throne's compartment.
He pressed it. There was a low grinding that stopped almost
immediately. Garth tried again.
Useless. The mechanism, somehow, was jammed. Probably its mechanism had
failed when the huge robot had crashed down on the throne.