Gods of the Jungle
Red's hyperbole achieved at least one result. That of creating an
immediate scramble for the ladder. Within a very few minutes all the
party, including even the muttering Sheng-ti, had joined him on the
platform before the circular openings he had mentioned. Of these there
were approximately a dozen, spaced at irregular intervals around the
chamber in which they now found themselves. Ramey, standing beside
the girl Sheila, stared down upon a sight to stagger the wildest
imagination.
He looked from an elevated vantage post out across a tremendous hall
of Angkor Vat. But there was a subtle difference between this room and
those which Dr. Aiken had shown him hours--or was it centuries--ago? At
first Ramey could not name that change. Then, with a start, he realized
what it was.
Everything looked newer, cleaner, brighter. The pillars supporting the
high, vaulted roof were more sharply incised, the carving more clearly
cut, undulled by the leveling file of age. Furthermore, not just a few,
but _all_ the murals, the carvings, the multifold bits of statuary were
painted, not in dull, faded hues, but in gaudy color, freshly radiant!
These things were evidence enough that a change had been wrought in
their lives. But if anyone needed more, the court below stirred with
_living_ proof. "Three billion" was a typical Barrett estimate, but
there were, Ramey saw swiftly, easily three, perhaps four hundred
people gathered in the altar room.
And _what_ people! From every lurking corner of earth they must have
sprung. Ramey gasped to identify representatives of every race, creed
and color known to man. For the most part they were Asiatics, saffron
of skin, oblique-eyed. But here stood a little group of gigantic
Nubians, ebony-hued and strong, draped in jewel-encrusted girdles of
samite; over there gathered a band two-score strong of golden-haired,
pale-fleshed warriors, fur-garbed and armed with gleaming halberds;
elsewhere, anxiously whispering amongst themselves, huddled a knot of
dark-haired, hawk-nosed captains with rich beards that curled to their
breasts!
Dr. Aiken whispered hoarsely, "Then--then it is true! We _have_
traversed Time! Come back to the period of Angkor's glory. For, see?
Syd, those bearded men--"
"Assyrians," acknowledged Syd O'Brien, "or I'm stark, staring mad.
But--but that means, Doctor, Angkor is centuries older than we thought.
Their era was around 2500 B.C."
Red Barrett gulped, "You mean that there bellywash you was talking a
little while ago is _true_? We actually have come back through Time? I
don't believe it!"
"I know just how you feel," assented Lake O'Brien. "I hate to admit it
myself. It makes me feel like a candidate for the padded-cell brigade.
But you've got eyes, Barrett. There's the proof before you. How else
can you explain it?"
"I can't," snorted Barrett stubbornly, "and I ain't going to try to.
This is a dream, that's what. A dream or a hally-soosynation. For all I
know, maybe I got conked in the fight, and I'm delirial. Yeah--that's
what it is! I'm off my button and seeing things. I don't believe none
of this. You hear me--?" He swung suddenly to the peephole, raised his
voice in a roar. "I don't believe in you! Get it? You guys are spooks,
dreams, nightmares! Go 'way! And--Oh, my golly! _Ramey_!"
* * * * *
HIS words ended in an agonized howl. For his shout had brought an
unexpected result. Real or unreal, the "hallucinations" thronging
the hall below had an auditory sense. At Red's bellow, all murmurs,
all motion, suddenly stopped--and every eye turned upward toward the
source of those cries. Now something like a shudder coursed through the
assemblage. Voices rose shrilly, a dozen figures raced bleating from
the room ... and to the last man, those left behind fell to their knees
in attitudes of abject worship!
Ramey turned in confusion to the girl beside him.
"_Now_ what?" he demanded helplessly.
"I think I know!" said Sheila. "This chamber we're in is the interior
of one of their idols. These peepholes must be the eyes in the image.
Or perhaps they are just concealed in the carving. Look underneath
this opening. See that funnel-shaped pipe? That's a speaking-tube,
magnifying the voice. No wonder they're excited. When Red shouted, it
must have seemed their god was bellowing orders to them."
"That's it!" agreed Lake. "That was a fairly common trick of ancient
priesthoods. Hollow gods from which they could spy on their followers,
deliver oracular utterances. Hand me that torch, Syd. I'm going down
again and look for a doorway out of this image. There must be one."
He ducked below. As he did so, there came a second concerted moan from
the throng. This time Ramey guessed the reason. The flickering of the
torch across the viewholes must have seemed to the watchers like the
glint of life winking in their idol's eyes.
Then there rose a commotion from the far end of the hall, the babble of
excited voices, and Ramey understood where had gone those who had fled
the temple. To fetch someone in authority. For now there sounded the
dry scrape of marching feet, the clank of metal upon metal, and into
the altar room tramped a company of--
"Holy potatoes!" exclaimed Red awefully. "_Giants!_"
For giants indeed the newcomers were. An armed band of men, the
shortest of whom towered a full head and shoulders above any other man
in the hall. Ramey was six foot two. Red and the O'Brien brothers each
also topped the six foot mark. But Ramey knew that all of them would
appear as striplings if ranged beside this file of yeomanry. Six nine
seemed a fair guess as to their average height, and he who marched at
their head, a raven-haired, amber-skinned mountain of a man in the rich
trappings of rank, assuredly topped the seven foot mark!
* * * * *
A mutter passed through the crowd as he entered, and Ramey, whose
eye was trained to note the psychological reactions of men, thought
he could detect in the attitude of those gathered a poorly veiled
hostility, a resentment and will to rebellion held in check only by
fear.
Then the newcomer spoke, his voice harsh, imperious, demanding. The
natives answered, pointing fearfully at the idol housing Ramey and
his companions. The giant captain's brow darkened, his eyes flashed
scornful fire, and once more he raised his voice. Ramey turned to Dr.
Aiken eagerly.
"What's he saying, Doc? Can you--?"
"No. It's no language I know. It sounds slightly like Sanskrit, but the
syllablation and intonation are oddly different."
And then, surprisingly, Sheng-ti spoke beside them.
"_Aie_, doom!" he moaned softly. "Lo, the day of our judgment is at
hand. For the gods walk again and speak their ancient tongues!"
Sheila gripped the old priest's arm tightly.
"Sheng-ti--you understand? Translate for us!"
"They speak of mysteries too holy for humble ears," groaned the priest.
"They tell the Mighty One the idol has spoken. He laughs and says it is
untrue. But they insist. Now he mocks them, calls them fearful fools."
Red Barrett snorted.
"Oh! A wise guy, huh? A know-it-all? Well, watch me take him
down a peg!" And again his lips found the tube. His voice rolled
in a hollow roar. "_Tally-ho, smart-aleck! Brooklyn-dodgers ...
officeofproductionmanagement ... gadzooks.... How do you like them
apples?_" He fell away from the opening, chuckling, as the giant's
blanched face whirled toward the idol. "Guess that'll hold His Nibs for
a while! What's he saying now, Sheng-ti?"
The bonze listened intently as again the saffron-hued commander spoke.
But Red's gag had backfired. For--
"The Great One admits," relayed Sheng-ti, "that the idol did speak. Now
he is affrighted lest the god may have been offended. He would make
atonement. Lo, he bids his warriors seize a virgin, and bear her to the
altar."
At their leader's command, two of the giant yoemen had thrust forward
into the throng, striking with the flat of their swords any who would
hinder them. Now they tore from the arms of an aged man a young,
white-skinned girl, and bore her, struggling and screaming, to the dais
beneath Ramey.
And:
"Ramey!" cried Sheila in sudden horror. "We've got to stop them!
They're going to sacrifice her--_to us_!"
* * * * *
Red Barrett gasped, "Omi-gawd!" in a stricken voice, and spun to Ramey.
"Why can't I learn to keep my big feeder shut? What--what'll we do,
Ramey?"
The solution came from below, where Lake O'Brien's voice suddenly
raised in a shout. "Found it, gang! I _knew_ there'd be a door
somewhere. Well, you Jonahs--any of you want out of this whale's
belly?"
Ramey cried, "Come on, Red!" and flung himself down the ladder. Then,
as the trio stood before the portal Lake had discovered, a sudden idea
struck him. "Wait a minute! This is our chance to make an imprint
on the natives!" He craned his neck, shouted to those still above.
"Sheila, tell Sheng-ti to forbid the sacrifice! Tell him to say that
the children of the god come forth to claim their victim."
The priest's words boomed above them, prefacing their entrance into
this strange world. And--it was a great success. As the door swung
open, and Ramey and his fellows burst forward onto a raised dais, it
was to find all action abruptly frozen. The slave girl, her simple
toga-like garment torn and disarranged, her wealth of red-chestnut
hair, loosed by the violence of her efforts to escape, cascading to
her waist, stood motionless in the grasp of two stricken fighting-men.
Elsewhere a silence born of terror gripped the room. An awed paralysis
which was shattered by the terrified screams of a hundred throats as
the adventurers appeared.
It was, Ramey could not help thinking with a sort of detached
amusement, a most dramatic entrance. A super-extra, whipper-dipper of
an entrance. Like all men with a sense of humor, he had an instinct
for showmanship. Striding forward he realized with a little shock that
throughout the excitement of the past half hour he had continued to
clench in his left hand the object over which he had stumbled in the
time-traveling cabinet. What it was, he did not know. But it might
mean something to his audience. So as he stepped forward he lifted it
proudly, melodramatically, above his head.
The reaction was swifter and more astonishing than he had hoped for. A
concerted gasp swept through the crowd. The two giant guards released
their captive and tumbled to their knees, and a great cry shook the
temple. Ramey's eyebrows lifted; he tossed a swift query over his
shoulder. "I struck pay dirt that time! What are they saying, Sheila?"
And apparently from the lips of the idol--for Ramey saw now that it was
a gigantic, hideously leering statue in which they had hidden--came the
answer.
"They're hailing you as a god, Ramey! And they are crying out in fear
because that thing you're carrying is the Bow of--of Rudra!"
* * * * *
Now the slave girl, whimpering prayerful entreaties, slipped from the
two who held her and threw herself at Ramey Winters' feet. It was swell
stuff. Very godlike, flattering stuff. But also very embarrassing.
Ramey touched the girl's shoulder, disturbed to find that she was
trembling violently, gently lifted her and turned to Barrett.
"Take care of her, Red. Maybe these overstuffed guys will try to make
another pass at her."
Red grinned from ear to ear. "Who, me? Oh, boy--did I say no? Come
here, sugar!" He took the girl into the shelter of his arm. She didn't
seem to mind it a bit.
Then from the back of the hall moved the majestically dark-visaged one
who had commanded the sacrifice. He walked erect and proud, as befitted
a noble, but his eyes were cautiously humble. Though he towered a full
head above Winters, his attitude was respectful. To the edge of the
dais he approached, stopped there and addressed the quartet. This time
Sheila forwarded Sheng-ti's translation without prompting.
"He is Ravana, Ramey. Lord of Lanka, and appointed Overseer of--of
something. Sheng-ti doesn't understand all he says. He bows before you
and begs acceptance of the sacrifice he offered."
Ramey said grimly, "Tell him that for two cents I'd yank off his leg
and stuff it down his throat. I don't like this sacrifice stuff." He
motioned to Lake and Red. "Let's get back into the idol. We've saved
the redhead, here. Now we'd better save ourselves. Hop back into the
time-machine and go back where we came from--"
From above came the voice of Dr. Aiken, alarmed and piteously eager.
"Oh, no, Winters! Not yet! Not quite yet! We can return to our own time
later. But this is the opportunity of a lifetime! We can't leave until
we've learned more about this magnificent culture ... this period!
Besides--in our own era, the Japs are still hunting for us. We must
allow several hours to pass before we return."
Ramey sought his companions' eyes. Lake grinned and nodded. Red
tightened his arm about the shoulders of his new and welcome
responsibility. "Okay with me, chum. I'm just beginning to enjoy this
Cooks' Tour." Ramey surrendered reluctantly.
"All right, then. Come on down. But before you do, better tell this guy
to take us to the Kingfish around here."
Words rolled from the idol's motionless lips, and the giant chieftain
nodded obeisance. And a few minutes later, the remainder of the
time-traveling group spilled from their refuge within the statue.
* * * * *
It Was all strange terrain to Ramey, the way through which the
amber-skinned Ravana led them, but their course was apparently familiar
enough to Dr. Aiken and his assistants.
Across an open court, up a long staircase, and into the most central of
the ziggurats which comprised Angkor Vat. Lake O'Brien said excitedly,
"By golly, Sheila, your guess was right! You said this building was the
Big Shot's council hall--remember? And Syd and I thought--Well, I'll be
jiggered!" His voice choked to a hollow whisper. "Golly, look! The--the
carvings come to life! Apes! Warrior apes!"
For standing before the door of the chamber they approached, garbed
in the trappings of men, casqued and helmed sandaled and bucklered,
gripping their bronze-tipped spears in altogether humanoid fashion,
stood two huge apes who snapped their arms to attention as the group
neared!
But even this marvel paled into insignificance in a moment. For now
the great, carven doors of the council chamber swung open, exposing a
throne-room of inconceivable grandeur. Ramey's first staggered gaze
described trappings of fabulous wealth. Gold and ivory, teak and
silver, ebony and the sparking luster of priceless gems. These things
he saw and noted subconsciously. But at the moment they roused no
wonder in him for there was--something else! A presence in the room
that utterly robbed him of his breath.
A man, seated on the golden throne. A man of Ramey's own height. An
older man, gray of hair and lined of visage, now leaning forward
curiously to greet them. A grave, quiet, kindly man, in all respects
like the millions of humans living on the earth of Ramey's era. But for
one thing. The flesh of this ruler was--_hyacinthine blue!_