"The H'Lorkan. He might be able to give you some information. Ask
him!"
Nicko shuddered as though coming out of a daze. "Sure. I guess my
wheels got kind of stopped."
M'Landa, who never seemed to speak unless spoken to, answered Nicko's
questions calmly. Mike watched the two as they conversed; saw Nicko's
increasing indignation and horror. "All right!" Mike snapped. "Don't
keep it to yourself. What did he say?"
"Not much. Just that these are the high priests of the Ptomenties.
They prepare the bodies of the dead for burial and their job is to
make them look so life-like that you wouldn't even know they were
dead. This is their experimental laboratory--where they keep their
hands in. They experiment on the prisoners."
As the chill went through Mike, he saw four guards who had been
stationed on the far side of the pit acknowledge a sign from one of
the priests and start toward a staircase leading to the prisoner's
balcony.
They stopped at one of the cells and unlocked a door set in the barred
front. As they entered a roar of hatred went up from every cell in the
dreadful circle.
* * * * *
As he watched, Mike was conscious of the fact that only he and Nicko
were watching the proceedings, that M'Landa's face was not glued to
the bars. The thing's too horrible for the H'Lorkan to take, Mike
thought. He's crouching back there behind us--covering his face most
likely. And I can't say I blame him.
The guards came forth from the cell dragging a screaming victim, a
tall naked speciman who bested even the Ptomenites in physical
perfection. Here, Mike realized, was truly a man.
The screams had been from rage, not from fear. As the door snapped
behind him, the victim stopped screaming, evidently realizing this was
the end, that escape was now impossible. He raised his head, a look of
contempt lighting his handsome features. He walked proudly amidst the
guards. He seemed completely indifferent to whatever fate awaited him.
Mike stared as the man was led to the center of the pit. Chains were
clamped to his wrists and ankles. Then the guards lifted him, holding
him horizontal. One of the priests extended his arms upward, over the
prone man, and seemed to be mouthing a prayer or incantation. He
appeared to Mike to be asking some deity to accept this poor offering.
This ceremony over, the guards walked with the helpless man toward a
great vat of smoking purple liquid. But at this moment, Mike's
attention was diverted. A door had opened far down the circle and two
figures were approaching. As the guards lifted the unfortunate
prisoner and threw him in the vat a great roar of fury went up from
the circle of cells. And Mike recognized the approaching figures.
McKee and Talbott.
McKee was amply bandaged about the head and shoulders. Talbott
appeared to have come off better, only his right wrist and elbow
tightly wrapped.
They moved past the cells until they were confronting Mike and Nicko.
There they stopped. McKee, the fat one, grinned and glanced at his
companion. "Dangerous looking specimens, aren't they?"
Talbott wore a sneer. "Quite. The priests will have a lot of fun with
the scaly creature. I understand they're already discussing him--eager
to get their hands on him."
Mike's rage tore at his own throat. He strove for control of his
voice. "What have you swine done with Doree?"
A look of disappointment came on Talbott's face. "I wanted her
for--for other things, but I wasn't able to handle it. So she comes in
here like the rest."
"You mean they're going to throw her into that--?" the question was
from Nicko as every scale on his body quivered.
Mike saw that the prisoner below had now been removed from the vat. He
had been laid on a table and one of the priests was advancing upon the
body with a long shining needle in his hand. He pointed the needle
very carefully at a place on the man's skull.
"She's next, I understand," Talbott was saying easily. "She is in the
other block. Only male prisoners on this side. They'll bring her in
soon. It will be quite a show. Perhaps we'll stay to watch."
Mike could control himself no longer. He flung himself against the
bars like a wild beast. Even though in no danger, McKee drew back in
alarm. He said, "The sooner that one's in the Hall of the Dead, the
better."
* * * * *
Mike had been conscious of a hand touching his arm but he had paid no
attention. Now, as the two Terrans turned to leave, he turned also,
with tears of helpless anger welling in his eyes. It was M'Landa. The
H'Lorkan spoke.
"What's he saying?" Mike asked.
As M'Landa spoke, a quick change came over Nicko. He whirled and
stared back in to the cell. "He says there's another man in this cell
with us. He's been talking to him. He's a Baserite."
Now Mike saw the man sitting in a shadow against the wall. Two things
had kept him from noticing before--the dim light and the incidents of
terrible interest down in the pit. As they approached, the man got to
his feet and spoke. Mike could not understand what he said, but he now
knew the man thrown brutally into the vat of purple liquid had also
been a Baserite. This man in the cell could have been his twin.
"Are you able to understand him?" Mike asked Nicko.
"Sure. He said he was watching us--trying to figure out whether we
were spies?"
"Spies! Spying on whom?"
The questions and answers were going back and forth through Nicko. He
asked the Baserite. The man said, "Upon me."
"Who are you?"
"I am Mertaan, a fighting Prince of Baser. I was taken from a Baserite
ship."
"Too bad, fellow. I'm sorry."
"It was no accident. I arranged to be taken."
"That hardly makes any sense."
The man spoke through grim lips, his clear eyes blazing. "That's why I
wondered about you--wondered if our plot was suspected. We can't take
a chance."
"Your plot?"
"Yes. But I think you are genuine prisoners."