_The Bargain_
Rawson had taken one flame-thrower with him. He tied it securely
inside the shell so it could not shift with the changing gravity, or
be accidentally turned on. Again he clung to the curved bar against
the wall. Loah stood at the center, directing the craft.
Once again he floated in air, then found himself standing on what had
been the ceiling of the room. The girl had released a considerable
quantity of the lifting element in the _jana's_ end, and now the black
powder in the other end of the central tube was dragging them at
terrific speed as it rushed away from the earth's center.
Over six hundred miles, Rawson had figured, from that inner surface to
the neutral zone where the red substance of the earth, that was
neither rock nor metal, under terrific pressures, glowed with fervent
heat or formed pools like the Lake of Fire.
Perhaps a hundred miles thick, that zone of incessant energy, and
their little craft tore through it at tremendous speed. Even so, he
was gasping for breath in the heated room when the glow faded and
again he swung over and down upon the floor as Loah checked the speed
of the flying projectile and the little ship crept slowly up into the
room where first he had seen it.
The first that he noticed was the absence of the roar. The _jana_
drifted slowly to one side, and Loah let it come to rest upon the
floor. Staring from the open door, Rawson saw the same familiar red
walls and floor and the black opening of the shaft from which they had
come. But the reverberating roar of the great organ-pipe was gone. He
knew that the air, for the greater part, was driving on past through
the upper shaft that was now open. The way was clear for them to
ascend. He turned to the girl.
* * * * *
"If my figures are right, it's some thirteen hundred miles from here
on. How did you get up there before?"
Loah pointed to the passage where the _jana_, on that other excursion,
had been hidden. "We went through there," she said, "taking the _jana_
with us. We went up many miles through a great crack, but it was not
straight; we had to go carefully till another passage opened through
to the shaft far above where it was sealed."
"And the mole-men never found it?"
"Oh, yes," said Loah, "they must have known of the crack, but they did
not know where it led. Its air was bad--a gas that choked; one could
not breathe it and live. But in our little _jana_ we were safe. They
could not use theirs; it was too large. Besides, only the priests came
down. They had their Lake of Fire, where they did horrible things.
They did not know that the shaft began again below."
"O. K.," said Rawson, and closed the door.
"But I wish to get out," Loah protested, "to gather more of the Oro.
We may need more, should we return."
"We will never need it," Rawson spoke softly. "From the time we left
Gor we had just twenty-four hours to live. We must go on, and go
fast."
* * * * *
They had no way of measuring time, and Rawson could only guess at the
hours that passed while their little ship tore swiftly upward through
the dark. He wondered if the occasional shrill shriek that followed
the touching of their metal guides on the glassy walls could be heard
up above.
Then, at last, Loah was driving the _jana_ slowly while she held her
light so it would shine through a window. Rawson had to restrain
himself to keep from pacing the little room like a caged animal while
the precious minutes slipped by. Now that the enemy was near he wanted
nothing but to drive on up to the end of the shaft, come out into that
world wherever the shaft ended, then try to fight his way through to
the great hall where he hoped to find Phee-e-al. And his haste made
him overestimate the passing time; their journey had been swifter than
he knew.
"I may have passed it," Loah was saying doubtfully. "I may have come
too far." Then she interrupted herself and sprang to the controls.
They drifted slowly back. "It is different now," Loah said; "the air
rises more swiftly than before." She stared from the windows while she
drove the _jana_ slowly up and down, trying to bring it to equilibrium
in the strong up-draft.
The air entered the shell through a little opening with the same
pungent tang Rawson had noticed before. He had wondered about the air.
Down near the neutral zone it was dense, yet he had not minded the
pressure too greatly--and that had been puzzling.
"Rock pressure and air pressure," he had reasoned; "they are two
different things. If the rock flowed, any air that it trapped would be
squeezed to a liquid. But it doesn't flow--that red stuff is solid; so
the air pressure is only the weight of the air column itself. But even
that should be enormous."
He could only conclude that the lessened pressure came from that
strange counter-gravitation, the repelling force from the center of
the earth. Perhaps it tended to dissipate the molecules, held them
farther apart, prevented their squeezing in together, and battering
with a thousand little impacts on a point where one had hit before.
Their _jana_ swayed gently as if the smooth air currents were
disturbed and were drifting them sideways; and then, at last, Loah,
peering from a window, sprang back and moved a lever. Beneath them was
the softly-cushioned thud of the shell seating itself on firm rock.
* * * * *
They were in another of the interminable caves, Rawson found when he
opened the door. The _jana_ was resting a few feet in from the edge of
the shaft. Cautiously they got out, but even without their weight it
had a slight negative buoyancy.
"Oro is pulling more strongly than Grah," Dean said, and smiled.
Already the names seemed familiar to him.
The two lifted the _jana_ and carried it back some twenty feet more
before Rawson realized how unnecessary this was.
"We'll never be using it again," he said. "If I've guessed right it
will stay here as long as the rocks; if not--but we'll never know the
difference anyway."
He took the flame-thrower from the car in sudden haste. "Quick,
dear," he told Loah. "God knows when the end will come. Quick, show me
the way."
Loah knew every step of the route that took them on and upward through
a maze of twisting passages, and Rawson marveled at her sense of
direction. She flashed her light at times--the little bar of metal
that had in one hollow end a substance which absorbed the light-energy
of the Central Sun. Rawson knew how it worked. Even the lights in the
mountain room were taken out from time to time and exposed to the
sunlight that brought them back into glowing life. He had seen similar
phenomena on earth. But, for the most part, Loah kept the little metal
cap in place on the end of her torch, and they moved cautiously
through the dark.
* * * * *
Sounds of the Red Ones came to them at times. And once they hid in a
narrow branching cleft that came abruptly to a dead end, while a force
of red warriors marched hurriedly through the passage they had just
left. Back in their hiding place Rawson stood tense and ready, with
his weapon till the last of the enemy was gone.
Always he was frantic at thought of the time that was slipping
past--until, at last, the narrow passage that they followed cut
transversely through another large runway that glowed faintly from
some distant light.
With that first gleam of light there came over Dean Rawson an odd
change. Something within him had been cold with fear. Fear of the
flying minutes. Fear that Loah might have lost her way in this tangled
labyrinth of winding ways. And now, suddenly, he was care-free, filled
with an absurd joy. Nothing mattered. They were to die, but what of
that? Loah had chosen death; he would see that when it came to her,
it would be quickly and without pain. And as for himself, if before he
died he could remove this ruler of an enemy race....
So when Loah leaned close and whispered, "The light--it shines from
the council room of Phee-e-al," Dean replied almost gaily; "I've got
to hand it to you--you sure do know all the back alleys." Then he
stuck his head cautiously out into the dimly-lighted corridor.
It was broad. He saw where their own little passageway went on from
the opposite side. But the light--the light! At his left, not a
hundred steps away, was a room, brilliantly lighted. And across it, in
gleaming splendor, stretched a low wall--a barrier of gold. It was the
council room, where once before he had faced Phee-e-al in all that
savage's hideous splendor.
* * * * *
He listened. All was silent. Then Loah whispered: "Phee-e-al comes
this way when he goes to the council room. But when he comes, or how
often, I do not know."
Dean pressed her back into the narrow way with his hands. "Wait here!"
he said, and gave her the flame-thrower. "I've an idea!" He stepped
softly out into the broad passage and on naked, noiseless feet, moved
swiftly toward the lighted room.
It was empty. Beyond the barrier were no red figures, nor were there
whistling voices to echo as he had heard them before. Here was the
throne where Phee-e-al had sat; here the priests had stood; there,
along the wall, were the chests.
Fully twenty of them, each eight feet long, they stood ranged along
the three walls of that part of the room protected by the barrier. No
two of them alike; all of them were oddly carved and studded with
jewels.
The chests were ranged in a straight row a foot or more out from the
wall. He crossed to them swiftly. About here was where that priest
must have gone. He raised one of the heavy lids till the light struck
within.
Bones! Only fragments of a skeleton, blackened by age; a necklace of
teeth from some animal's jaw; worthless trifles for the mummery of the
priests. Then, beneath them, he saw two great fangs, a foot in length.
They were curved, sharply pointed and yellow as old ivory.
What was it Gor had said of legends that told of ancestors coming from
the outer world? Rawson knew that he was looking at priceless relics
of the tribe, at the tusks of man's long extinct enemy, the great
sabre-toothed tiger.
* * * * *
But he had neither time nor thoughts to spare for marvels new or
old--he must find his gun. Yet, even then, he wondered what
undreamed-of treasures the other chests might hold--what jewels, what
paraphernalia of ancient kings.
He must be silent! Perhaps the next great glittering container might
hold the blue gleam of his gun. And this time as the gem-studded lid
was swung upward and back to rest noiselessly against the rock wall,
Dean could not repress the audible gasp that came to his lips.
His own pistol! He had expected to find the one weapon, but, instead,
the chest was filled with all it would hold of rifles and side arms
and cartridge belts, all mingled in one indiscriminate heap.
They were twisted, some of them, and bent; discolored, too, evidently
by flames. On some the stocks had been burned off.
Rawson's hands were suddenly trembling. There was one rifle that
seemed unharmed; he brought it out, and hardly heard the little
clatter that it made among the other weapons. An ammunition belt--he
slipped out a clip of cartridges, made sure they fitted his gun, and
threw one up into the firing chamber. He was fumbling for more of the
clips when there pierced through his tumultuous thoughts the
realization that he was hearing sounds not made by his own suddenly
clumsy hands.
* * * * *
Marching feet, whistling voices--they came from beyond the room's
farther end, beyond the entrance through which he had once been
brought a captive. He took one step back toward the broad tunnel, then
knew there were others coming there.
There was no possible avenue of escape. He threw himself in one wild
dive into the narrow space between the chests and the wall, and pulled
himself forward under the shelter of the one back-turned lid. The
rifle was still gripped in his hands.
By the sounds that came to him, he knew that the outer room had filled
with red warriors, and that another smaller group had come scuffing
from the passage where he had just entered. And, by the echoing cry of
shrill voices that shouted, "Phee-e-al! Phee-e-al!" he knew that the
ruler was near.
Then there were footsteps approaching the chest. A priest no doubt;
shrill whistling told of his anger. The concealing cover was jerked
outward and down, and Rawson, staring above him, saw not the coppery
face that he had expected, but the hideous white visage of Phee-e-al
himself.
For an instant the ruler of the mole-men stood half stooped in
petrified astonishment, and in that moment Rawson dragged himself to
his feet. No chance to use the gun--the other was upon him, his
gripping talons tearing Rawson's bare flesh. In one flashing thought,
Dean cursed himself for the uselessness of his weapon--he should have
taken a pistol, an automatic. Then, body to body with the savage, he
was dragged out over the chest.
* * * * *
He had been holding the rifle above him, as he struggled from his
cramped quarters. The savage had grabbed him about the shoulders, but
his hands were still free; they held the gun on high. And in the
second when he found his feet under him, as Phee-e-al dragged him
clear of the chest, Rawson brought the breech of the gun crashing down
upon the pointed skull.
He felt the talons release their hold. The priests were rushing upon
him. Phee-e-al, too, had been only momentarily stunned--he was
springing. Then Rawson whipped the rifle down in line, and the
clamoring shrieks that filled the room with tumult were drowned under
another roar.
He saw Phee-e-al fall. Even then, through all the pandemonium within
his own mind, he thrilled with satisfaction at sight of a little dot
and a spreading stain above Phee-e-al's heart, where only bare skin
had been before.
The next shot took the foremost of the priests. The others paused,
hesitant for a moment, ranged out in an irregular line. Past them,
beyond the golden barrier, Rawson caught a confused glimpse of a sea
of red faces. Green flames were stabbing upward from their ready
weapons. The priests were between him and them, and there came to
Rawson in that instant, through all the chaos of fighting and
half-formed plans, the knowledge that these priests were a living
barrier that held off the flames.
He fired once more to check them, then sprang for the wide entrance
of the tunnel. He fired again back of him, shooting wildly as he ran,
then saw Loah as she came from her hiding place with the flame-thrower
ready in her hand.
"Quick!" he gasped. "Get back!" Then, with her, he was running
stumblingly through the dark.
* * * * *
There could be no escape; even while they fled he knew it. And yet
they almost made it--though the end, when it came, was one that
neither could possibly have foreseen.
They were following a wide passage, one of the countless thoroughfares
of the Reds. It was deserted. Loah flashed her light freely. Ahead of
them the passage turned. Just short of that bend was a rift in the
rocks.
"There!" Loah gasped. "Turn there. It will take us back to the
_jana_." But the words were followed by a flash of green from dead
ahead.
The flames that made it came quickly after and a dozen of the red
warriors were before them, the light of their weapons slanting just
above Rawson's head. His rifle was half raised--they would at least
fight to the last. Then he realized that the green death was not
swinging downward.
From behind them, in the corridor through which they had raced, came a
chorus of whistling shouts. Rawson whirled to find more of the red
fighters, and again, though their hissing green flames were held
ready, they did not descend.
A priest, copper-colored, shining resplendently in the weird glow,
detached himself from the group and stepped forward under the
protection of their weapons. Loah's hand was depressing the muzzle of
Rawson's rifle. "Wait!" she said. "He wishes to speak."
* * * * *
The priest stopped and addressed them. Loah answered; and to Rawson it
seemed horrible that her lips and throat should be called upon to form
those whistling words. Then she turned toward him.
"He says they will not harm you now if you surrender. Later, when they
select a new ruler, he may order you set free."
Rawson was doing some quick thinking. The priest was lying, clumsily,
childishly, but it might be he could bargain with them.
"Tell them this," he ordered Loah: "they are to let you go free--let
you go right now! If they do that, I'll lay down my gun. If they
don't, that priest will die before they get me. I don't think you can
make it," he added, "but go back to the _jana_. Don't stop for
anything. Drive it as fast as you can; you may still get there before
Gor does his stuff. And take the flame-thrower in case you are
followed--" He stopped; Loah was laughing.
"Did you really think, Dean-San, that I would desert you?" Again she
laughed softly--laughing squarely in the face of that waiting death, a
laugh that was half a sob, that caught suddenly in her throat as she
stared at Dean.
He could not read the look in her eyes as their expression changed.
"Yes," she said slowly, "yes, you are right. If I stay we both die,
quickly."
Again her voice made whistling sounds; the priest replied. Then Loah
threw her arms around Dean and kissed him. He was gripping his rifle;
before he could take her in his arms, she was gone. She walked
swiftly, the flame-thrower in her hands, toward the dark cleft in the
rocks, through which she disappeared. And Dean, though she had done
what he really wished, felt that all of his life and strength had
gone with him with that fleeing figure.
He placed his rifle on the floor and, straightening, held out his
empty hands; the priest's talons were upon his flesh.
"But I got Phee-e-al, anyhow," he was thinking dully.