The Caves of Zoroaster are one of the most remarkable examples of the
industry of the Ancients that are known to exist. As we have said, in
various parts of the world, especially in the continent of Asia, there
are many standing proofs of an advanced stage of civilization many
centuries before the Christian era.
There are the catacombs in Upper Egypt—a labyrinth of subterranean
passages extending for miles; there are the Pyramids, the Great Wall of
China, the hanging gardens of Babylon—all of which are colossal and
eternal monuments of the labour, energy and genius of the past.
The Caves of Zoroaster are perhaps as marvellous as any of these.
Indeed, it is much to be wondered at that they were not included in the
seven wonders of the ancient world. Time has not served to deface their
majestic beauty, to detract from the solemn magnificence of these great
vaults fashioned by human labour out of the living and everlasting rock.
Soon after our travellers had caught their first glimpse of the entrance
to the caves, they decided to camp on the lower slopes of the mountain,
for it was already growing dark. It would take them several hours to
cross the valley, and they could not hope to accomplish the journey in
the darkness. They accordingly retired to a place where there was a
great hollow among the rocks, and here they deemed it safe to light a
fire and cook their evening meal.
The following morning Harry awoke at daybreak. He was anxious to push
on without loss of time. There was no knowing where von Hardenberg and
the sheikh were. Perhaps they had already gained the caves.
As soon as they had breakfasted, Harry and his party continued on their
way. The two boys, led by the guides, crossed the valley and then
ascended the mountain opposite by way of a bridle-path, worn smooth by
the feet of pilgrims. Throughout the ages, devout men had journeyed to
the caves from the deserts of northern Africa and Arabia—by way of the
caravan routes that extend in all directions across these arid wastes.
The path grew steeper as they approached the entrance to the caves, and
presently they found themselves at the foot of a flight of steps. A
heavy mist still wrapped the mountain in a kind of shroud. The steps
ascended, one above the other, into the very heart of the mist which
completely obscured the entrance.
These steps were like "Jacob’s Ladder", mounting, as it seemed, to the
very zenith of the heavens; and on either side of them, as far as Harry
could see, were ranged strange statues—of lions with eagles’ wings, of
men with the heads of foxes, and great dragons that lay crouching like
watch-dogs, guarding the treasure that lay beyond. All were graven in
the same rough mountain stone.
For centuries the lightning had played upon the rocks about them, the
hail and the rain had lashed these mute, immobile sentinels, so that in
many cases they were broken and corroded like the gargoyles on a Norman
church.
To mount that flight of nearly a thousand steps in the mists of morning,
between these weird and hideous images, was an experience that bordered
on the uncanny. On every hand a mighty stillness reigned in the heart
of the mountains.
Indeed, it was as if this wild, forgotten country was some colossal
graveyard of the past, where the wisdom of the Medes and Persians lay
buried to the end of time, where the rugged mountain-tops stood forth
like tombstones, piercing the very clouds.
At last they came to the entrance. The steps widened and they stood
upon a great stone terrace, level as a table-top, on the farther side of
which arose the side of the mountain, formidably smooth and
perpendicular, the moisture on its surface glistening in the sunlight
that struggled through the mist. It was like a wall of polished steel.
The entrance to the caves was wide enough to allow four men to pass
abreast, and about ten feet in height. Black as Erebus it yawned in the
savage cliff. On either side, carved in stone, protruding from the
rock, were the figures of two enormous giants, armless, with great
beards that extended to their waists, and those huge conical helmets on
their heads which one has learnt to associate with the Persians, the
Assyrians, and the Medes.
Fernando walked to the threshold of the entrance and then turned sharp
to Harry.
"I am a Spaniard," said he, "and the Spanish are a superstitious
race—at least, that is how you would express it. Some speak of
superstition, others of prescience—or foreknowledge of coming events.
Call it what you like, I have the sense of a calamity impending. I am
quite sure of that."
"How do you mean?" asked Harry.
"It is like this," Fernando went on; "we have come to a tragedy. The
curtain is about to be raised."
"Do you fear to enter the caves?"
"No. But I will not go first. Lead, if you like, I am quite prepared
to follow."
This was a new trait in the character of the half-caste. He had never
shown fear or hesitation before.
Harry turned to Jim.
"Come," said he, and led the way beneath the darkened archway. Cortes
and Fernando followed at their heels.
But Harry Urquhart had not taken ten paces forward when he stood
transfixed in wonderment at the solemn magnificence and beauty of the
Caves of Zoroaster.
The place was like a great cathedral. It was divided into three aisles
by two lines of pillars. These pillars were extraordinarily massive.
They had not been built up from the floor to the ceiling, but were part
of the living rock, joining the roof to the floor. In other words, the
aisles had been hollowed out by human labour, and the rounded pillars
left at regular intervals to support the immense weight above.
The cave was lighted from above by several shafts that pierced the
mountain, and which threw convergent beams of light across the shadows.
Giving upon each of the side aisles were three doors constructed of
wood, but barred with iron and studded with scores of nails. Above
these doors, around three sides of the cave, was a kind of gallery,
connected with the roof by a series of smaller and more frequent
pillars.
At the far end, upon an altar, a single oil-lamp was burning. Behind
the altar, and about twenty paces distant, was a wall of rock which
immediately attracted the attention of the boys.
This rock was rough, as in its natural state, whereas elsewhere in the
cave—on the floor, the ceiling, and the pillars—the rock was so smooth
that it resembled masonry. Moreover, the aisles were of grey limestone;
but the rock behind the altar was of red granite, in which the quartz
and mica crystals glittered in the flickering light of the lamp.
By the side of the granite rock was something which Harry Urquhart
recognized at once. On a single axis, supported at each end by grooves
cut in the pillars, were nine enormous wheels of bronze. On the
outside—or what would correspond to the "tyres"—of each of these
wheels, were hundreds of strange cuneiform characters.
There was no doubt that beyond the red granite rock lay the vault which
contained the treasure, and these wheels composed the Bramah lock by
sole means of which the vault itself could be opened.
But without the Sunstone the wheels were useless. On the obverse side
of the Sunstone was the explanation, or solution, of the riddle.
Harry walked up to the great bronze wheels and turned them at random,
first this way and then that. Each revolved independently of the
others, and could be turned either backwards or forwards.
From what his uncle had told him, he knew that each wheel must be turned
until the characters visible along a given line corresponded to those
upon the Sunstone. There could be no doubt as to where this line was,
for, across the wheels, at about the height of a man’s eyes, a bar of
gold extended.
Whilst Harry and Jim were examining the wheels, Cortes was exploring the
side aisles beneath the gallery. Presently he came towards his
companions on tiptoe, with a finger raised to his lips.
"Come here!" said he in a whisper, beckoning to Harry.
Harry did so, and was conducted to one of the iron-bound doors, where
the guide motioned him to stoop down and listen.
With his ear to the door, Urquhart could hear nothing for some seconds.
Then there came to his ears a sound that was unearthly.
It was a low, continuous, moaning sound, like the howl of a dog in the
distance. It grew louder gradually until at last it was close at hand,
on the other side of the door.
There was something in the vastness of the place, in its stillness and
its gloom, that was at once depressing and alarming. Harry Urquhart
felt that he was rapidly losing confidence in himself. The great flight
of steps without, the stone statues, the two carved giants at the
entrance, the shadowy vault of the cave, pierced by shafts of light, and
the solitary burning lamp—all these were mystical and weird.
The boy was well able to face danger, to take his life in his hands, but
here he was confronted by what was suggestive of the supernatural. A
feeling of fear possessed him—he knew not why. He drew back,
shuddering, and turned quickly to the guide.
"Someone is coming!" he whispered.
At that moment there came a loud rapping on the other side of the door,
which shook and trembled under the blows of someone who seemed like a
maniac. They heard a bolt drawn sharply back. And then a voice let out
a kind of shriek that ended quite abruptly. As one man, they turned and
fled without shame or hesitation.