HOW RAHEE ASSISTED THE FUGITIVES.
FOR a few seconds the baronet stood as though turned to stone, success
had seemed so near. By some lucky chance Wilson had almost walked into
their arms. Another few moments and they would have got him safely away,
but, in the very instant of their triumph, Nordhu had again checkmated
them.
“Did ye think Nordhu slept?” the priest went on mockingly. “Truly
ye are babes in intellect, and should be nursed yet a while.”
The taunt stung Seymour to madness. Like a flash his mailed fist
shot out, catching Nordhu full upon the mouth, and he crashed heavily
backward, giving voice to a piercing cry that rang clear above the din
of the machinery.
At the sound the wolfish brutes working in the great cavern
dropped their loads and dashed pell-mell towards the comrades.
Hundreds there were of the creatures. In a living flood they surged
down upon the hapless trio, with whom it would have gone hardly but
for the prompt action of Chenobi.
Dropping axe and shield, he snatched the dagger from Seymour’s
girdle; then, lifting the senseless form of the priest, he calmly
faced the savages.
“Back, you dogs!” he roared. “A step further and your priest
dies!”
[Illustration: “BACK, YOU DOGS!” HE ROARED “A STEP FURTHER AND
YOUR PRIEST DIES”(_p. 216._)]
He placed his gleaming weapon menacingly against Nordhu’s throat
as he spoke, and, at the action, the raging mob of wolf-men pulled
up.
Whether they heard the words or not, the significance of the
king’s threat was clear to them. Their murderous hate was drowned in
their fear for the life of their priest.
Then began a retreat in the like of which neither of the friends
had ever participated before. Passing his sword to Wilson--now
rapidly recovering from the effects of the priest’s
fascination--Seymour picked up the Ayuti’s weapons; whereupon,
Chenobi still carrying Nordhu, the three commenced to move backward up
the passage, their eyes fixed upon the hideous throng at the tunnel
end, who stood cowed into momentary inaction by the peril of their
ruler.
Their bloodshot eyes rolled savagely, their claw-like fingers
twitched with the desire to rend in pieces the intrepid trio; but the
bold front of the latter daunted them. A moment’s wavering on the part
of the Ayuti--a stumble--and the whole horde would have
swept forward, irresistible as an avalanche. But Chenobi’s hand was
steady as a rock as he held the jewelled dagger to his captive’s
throat. He took each backward step calmly and deliberately, avoiding
all projections in the rough-hewn floor of the gallery with a care
that bore witness to his splendid nerve.
So for a space the retreat went on. Further and further the three
friends drew from the wolf-men. Then suddenly they rounded a bend in
the tunnel, which bore them out of sight of the savages, and on the
instant a swelling roar like the sound of many waters, came to their
ears. The spell which had held the wolf-men was broken. They were
sweeping forward in pursuit.
“Run!” roared Chenobi, and, flinging Nordhu over his shoulder, he
turned and leapt forward like a deer. After him went the others at
their topmost speed, Seymour, for all the weight of his armour,
getting over the ground at an astonishing pace. Into the main gallery
they swept, and turned for the temple, with the fearsome cries of
their pursuers growing louder each moment.
In a surging brown torrent the wolf-men came on, their numbers
constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, who, aroused by the clamour,
poured in hundreds from every gallery. The whole troglodytish
community was now thoroughly aroused; the place seemed to hum with
life, like a gigantic hive; and ever the pursuers gained upon the
daring trio.
Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drew up, although the friends
strained every muscle to outdistance them; and the swelling roar of
their voices sounded like a death-knell to the ears of Seymour and the
engineer.
Gasping for breath, they plunged onward after the racing form of
the king, fearing each moment that their strength would fail and that
they would drop in their tracks, to be trampled out of all semblance
to humanity beneath the feet of the savage horde behind.
Suddenly the skin curtain loomed before them. With a vicious tug
Chenobi tore it down and bounded into the temple.
“Only a few hundred yards further,” Seymour was panting to his
friend, when, out of the shadow of the great idol, a score of figures
advanced and stood menacingly across the track, their weapons flashing
in the light which poured from Chenobi’s jewel. They were the priests,
Nordhu’s assistants in his horrible work of sacrifice.
Not an inch did the Ayuti swerve from his course, not for a
moment did he hesitate. With a ringing war-cry he hurled himself upon
the waiting band. Thrice his dagger flashed, then he was through them,
racing for the den of the great spider.
Like a thunderbolt Seymour followed, clearing a passage by sheer
weight, and, close at his heels, came the engineer, his great sword
swinging like a flail. Closing up behind them, the priests joined in
the chase, making the vast amphitheatre ring with their cries of
rage.
Three minutes later the fugitives dashed into the enclosure, and
slammed to the gate, glad of a few seconds’ respite.
Not long were they allowed to rest, however. Suddenly the gate
was flung open, and Seymour hurled himself into the gap just in time
to check the advance of the foremost savages who were about to pour
through the gateway. At sight of his determined attitude the valour of
the wolf-men cooled somewhat, and they drew up, each and all afraid to
venture within the sweep of the axe which gleamed in Seymour’s
hand.
But the priests, with many fiery words, urged them on to deliver
Nordhu from the hands of the white dogs who had captured him.
Roused to action at length, a score of the brutes leapt forward
and stabbed savagely at the baronet with their spears. The latter’s
mail served him nobly. Not a spear got home; and his axe quickly
taught the savages a terrible lesson.
“Quick!” he cried, turning to Chenobi as the wolf-men fell back;
“to the ledge! I will hold the gate a while.”
Repeating his command in English for Wilson’s benefit, the
baronet faced round once more, to receive another charge of the
savages. It was as vain as the first. Seymour seemed perfectly
invulnerable to the weapons of the wolf-men, and this fact created a
fear in their superstitious minds. Yet, despite this, under the
influence of the priests they again essayed to attack.
Scarce waiting for them to come to close quarters, the baronet
hurled himself upon them with a ringing British cheer, that sounded
strange indeed in that ghostly, subterranean temple. Wilson joined in
it from the ledge above, and, at that Seymour knew that his task was
ended, that he too might seek the comparative safety of the tunnel,
could he but get an opportunity to climb. With this end in view, he
fell upon his foes with redoubled fury, driving them back by his
terrific onslaught; then, leaping backward, he closed the gate of the
enclosure with a crash, and made for the wall.
As he did so the clank of the windlass broke upon his ears. He
turned quickly. Determined to accomplish his destruction, the priests
were releasing the great spider.
Just for a second Seymour was at a loss how to act. The brute
would be out and upon him ere he could struggle up to the ledge,
impeded as he was by his mail. Suddenly into his mind swept a
brilliant idea. Why not turn the ferocity of Rahee to his own
advantage?
Stepping backward to the gateway, he stood motionless while the
spider emerged from his den. Chenobi, watching events keenly from the
ledge, seemed about to descend to his assistance, but Seymour checked
him by a gesture. Then, as Rahee leapt towards him, the baronet
stepped swiftly aside, flinging open the gate as he did so. Carried on
by the force of its spring, the spider hurtled through the gateway and
crashed into the temple.
At once a terrified outcry arose from the savages, and they
turned to flee from the dread presence of their sacred beast. But grim
Nemesis was upon their track. They who had watched Chenobi’s
brother--ay, and many a score more of the same race--go to
their deaths beneath the jaws of the terrible Rahee, were about to
meet the same fate themselves. Had they stood their ground, a few
spear-thrusts would quickly have settled the matter; but their
superstitious terror at the close proximity of the horrible brute
sapped all their savage courage.
They broke and fled before Rahee’s advance in an utterly
disorganised mob, seeking to escape from the fearful gnashing jaws of
the giant spider, priests and wolf-men alike sharing the panic.
Ere long the floor of the temple was littered with the bodies of
the slain. Up and down the great amphitheatre Rahee raged in a
paroxysm of devilish fury. With a shudder at the ghastly success of
his own idea, Seymour once more closed the gate and mounted to the
ledge.
“Rahee is working out our vengeance,” cried Chenobi. “It is well.
Perchance the wolf-people will destroy him after this lesson. Ye did
well to turn him loose among them, Fairhair. ’Twas a counter-stroke
they expected not. Come; we will move forward.”
“What of Rahee?” Seymour asked. “Are you minded to destroy him
ere you go?”
“Nay,” was the reply; “I will forego my vengeance on the sacred
beast because he hath aided you;” and, with that, Chenobi picked up
the still senseless priest and strode into the tunnel.
“Heaven grant we have seen the last of these savages!” murmured
Wilson, as he and Seymour followed.
“Amen!” the baronet responded fervently; “yet somehow I doubt it,
lad. Nordhu seems to have a great hold upon them, and you may take it
for granted they will not give him up without some attempt at a
rescue. When the brutes recover from the panic into which Rahee has
thrown them, they will take our trail like a pack of wolves. What’s
that?”
A dark figure had appeared in the passage just ahead of them.
On the alert in an instant for a possible enemy, the baronet
stepped before Chenobi, weapon raised, and bawled out a challenge in
Ayuti.
“I guess I’d take it as a personal favour if you’d speak English,
William,” drawled a voice. Seymour burst out into a roar of
laughter.
“Sorry I took you for an enemy, Silas,” he replied. “We’ve got
Wilson all safe and sound.”
“That’s good,” the Yankee chirped; “but who’s the party Chenobi’s
totin’ along?”
“The priest,” answered the baronet.
“Whew!” whistled the Yankee; “I guess you’ve been making things
hum considerable below there.”
“We have roused ’em slightly,” was the modest reply; “but we’ll
have to hustle, as you call it, Silas. I shan’t feel safe till I set
foot inside the city again. The beasts won’t give up their old priest
without an effort to release him, I’ll warrant.”
“You bet,” agreed the American, then lapsed into silence until
the end of the tunnel was reached.
Here Mervyn awaited them, eager for news as to the manner in
which they had effected Wilson’s rescue. But Seymour cut short his
questions.
“Ask what you like, old man, when we get back to the city,” he
said, “but for the present we must devote our attention to getting
clear away. The elk and hounds should be somewhere about. Seen
anything of them?”
“Not a sign,” replied Mervyn; “they must have strayed.”
Seymour acquainted the Ayuti with this fact, and instantly
Chenobi gave voice to his peculiar call.
A few moments later the clatter of hoofs sounded through the
gully, and into sight came Muswani, with the great hounds at his
heels. Quickly Chenobi flung his prisoner across the elk’s back,
himself mounting behind; then the whole party started off down the
gully towards the plain.
In safety they accomplished their journey, reaching the ruined
city without seeing or hearing aught of their foes. Evidently the
savage followers of Nordhu had not yet recovered from the blow Seymour
had dealt them by releasing the terrible spider. When they did their
hate would be the more implacable against the men who had kidnapped
their priest.
Up to the terrace the explorers mounted, Chenobi bearing his
prisoner.
Striding across to the altar, the king pressed a small knob in
the masonry of the front. Instantly the whole slab swung outward,
disclosing a low, square chamber, and into this he cast Nordhu.
“Caged!” he cried to Seymour, as he swung to the door, and,
turning, entered the temple.
The four friends, thoroughly worn out by the terrible experience
through which they had passed, flung themselves down upon the temple
floor, glad to rest their weary limbs for a space. Within a few
minutes they were sleeping soundly, the Ayuti alone remaining wakeful
and vigilant, seeming in no wise tired by his late exertions.
It may be that thoughts of his prisoner kept him from sleep, or
of the brother whom he had sworn to avenge. His vow seemed near its
fulfilment. Nordhu was a helpless captive, and it only remained to
decide the manner of his death.
But though Chenobi knew it not, the priest was not yet at the end
of his resources. He had another card to play ere he surrendered to
the inevitable. Prisoner though he was, Nordhu was yet more than a
match for his enemies, as they discovered before long.