There was stark amazement on Kulun's face; and fear now enough. He
dropped from the parapet among his men. There came one loud trumpet
blast.
Out from the battlements poured a storm of arrows, a cloud of javelins.
The squat catapults leaped forward. From them came a hail of boulders.
Before that onrushing tempest of death I flinched.
I heard Norhala's golden laughter and before they could reach us arrow
and javelin and boulder were checked as though myriads of hands reached
out from the Thing under us and caught them. Down they dropped.
Forth from the great spindle shot a gigantic arm, hammer tipped with
cubes. It struck the wall close to where the scarlet armored Kulun had
vanished.
Under its blow the stones crumbled. With the fragments fell the
soldiers; were buried beneath them.
A hundred feet in width a breach gaped in the battlements. Out shot the
arm again; hooked its hammer tip over the parapet, tore away a stretch
of the breastwork as though it had been cardboard. Beside the breach an
expanse of the broad flat top lay open like a wide platform.
The arm withdrew, and out from the whole length of the spindle thrust
other arms, hammer tipped, held high aloft, menacing.
From all the length of the wall arose panic outcry. Abruptly the storm
of arrows ended; the catapults were still. Again the trumpets sounded;
the crying ceased. Down fell a silence, terrified, stifling.
Kulun stepped forth again, both hands held high. Gone was his arrogance.
“A parley,” he shouted. “A parley, Norhala. If we give you the maid and
man, will you go?”
“Go get them,” she answered. “And take with you this my command to
Cherkis--that HE return with the two!”
For an instant Kulun hesitated. Up thrust the dreadful arms, poised
themselves to strike.
“It shall be so,” he shouted. “I carry your command.”
He leaped back, his red mail flashed toward a turret that held, I
supposed, a stairway. He was lost to sight. In silence we waited.
On the further side of the city I glimpsed movement. Little troops of
mounted men, pony drawn wains, knots of running figures were fleeing
from the city through the opposite gates.
Norhala saw them too. With that incomprehensible, instant obedience
to her unspoken thought a mass of the Metal Things separated from us;
whirled up into a dozen of those obelisked forms I had seen march from
the cat eyes of the City of the Pit.
In but a breath, it seemed, their columns were far off, herding back the
fugitives.
They did not touch them, did not offer to harm--only, grotesquely,
like dogs heading off and corraling frightened sheep, they circled and
darted. Rushing back came those they herded.
From the watching terraces and walls arose shrill cries of terror, a
wailing. Far away the obelisks met, pirouetted, melted into one thick
column. Towering, motionless as we, it stood, guarding the further
gates.
There was a stir upon the wall, a flashing of spears, of drawn blades.
Two litters closed with curtainings, surrounded by triple rows of
swordsmen fully armored, carrying small shields and led by Kulun were
being borne to the torn battlement.
Their bearers stopped well within the platform and gently lowered their
burdens. The leader of those around the second litter drew aside its
covering, spoke.
Out stepped Ruth and after her--Ventnor!
“Martin!” I could not keep back the cry; heard mingled with it Drake's
own cry to Ruth. Ventnor raised his hand in greeting; I thought he
smiled.
The cubes on which we stood shot forward; stopped within fifty feet of
them. Instantly the guard of swordsmen raised their blades, held them
over the pair as though waiting the signal to strike.
And now I saw that Ruth was not clad as she had been when we had left
her. She stood in scanty kirtle that came scarcely to her knees, her
shoulders were bare, her curly brown hair unbound and tangled. Her face
was set with wrath hardly less than that which beat from Norhala. On
Ventnor's forehead was a blood red scar, a line that ran from temple to
temple like a brand.
The curtains of the first litter quivered; behind them someone spoke.
That in which Ruth and Ventnor had ridden was drawn swiftly away. The
knot of swordsmen drew back.
Into their places sprang and knelt a dozen archers. They ringed in the
two, bows drawn taut, arrows in place and pointing straight to their
hearts.
Out of the litter rolled a giant of a man. Seven feet he must have been
in height; over the huge shoulders, the barreled chest and the bloated
abdomen hung a purple cloak glittering with gems; through the thick and
grizzled hair passed a flashing circlet of jewels.
The scarlet armored Kulun beside him, swordsmen guarding them, he walked
to the verge of the torn gap in the wall. He peered down it, glancing
imperturbably at the upraised, hammer-banded arms still threatening;
examined again the breach. Then still with Kulun he strode over to
the very edge of the broken battlement and stood, head thrust a little
forward, studying us in silence.
“Cherkis!” whispered Norhala--the whisper was a hymn to Nemesis. I felt
her body quiver from head to foot.
A wave of hatred, a hot desire to kill, passed through me as I scanned
the face staring at us. It was a great gross mask of evil, of cold
cruelty and callous lusts. Unwinking, icily malignant, black slits of
eyes glared at us between pouches that held them half closed. Heavy
jowls hung pendulous, dragging down the corners of the thick lipped,
brutal mouth into a deep graven, unchanging sneer.
As he gazed at Norhala a flicker of lust shot like a licking tongue
through his eyes.
Yet from him pulsed power; sinister, instinct with evil, concentrate
with cruelty--but power indomitable. Such was Cherkis, descendant
perhaps of that Xerxes the Conqueror who three millenniums gone ruled
most of the known world.
It was Norhala who broke the silence.
“Tcherak! Greeting--Cherkis!” There was merciless mirth in the buglings
of her voice. “Lo, I did but knock so gently at your gates and you
hastened to welcome me. Greetings--gross swine, spittle of the toads,
fat slug beneath my sandals.”
He passed the insults by, unmoved--although I heard a murmuring go up
from those near and Kulun's hard eyes blazed.
“We will bargain, Norhala,” he answered calmly; the voice was deep,
filled with sinister strength.
“Bargain?” she laughed. “What have you with which to bargain, Cherkis?
Does the rat bargain with the tigress? And you, toad, have nothing.”
He shook his head.
“I have these,” he waved a hand toward Ruth and her brother. “Me you may
slay--and mayhap many of mine. But before you can move my archers will
feather their hearts.”
She considered him, no longer mocking.
“Two of mine you slew long since, Cherkis,” she said, slowly. “Therefore
it is I am here.”
“I know,” he nodded heavily. “Yet now that is neither here nor there,
Norhala. It was long since, and I have learned much during the years.
I would have killed you too, Norhala, could I have found you. But now I
would not do as then--quite differently would I do, Norhala; for I have
learned much. I am sorry that those that you loved died as they did. I
am in truth sorry!”
There was a curious lurking sardonicism in the words, an undertone of
mockery. Was what he really meant that in those years he had learned
to inflict greater agonies, more exquisite tortures? If so, Norhala
apparently did not sense that interpretation. Indeed, she seemed to be
interested, her wrath abating.
“No,” the hoarse voice rumbled dispassionately. “None of that is
important--now. YOU would have this man and girl. I hold them. They die
if you stir a hand's breadth toward me. If they die, I prevail against
you--for I have cheated you of what you desire. I win, Norhala, even
though you slay me. That is all that is now important.”
There was doubt upon Norhala's face and I caught a quick gleam of
contemptuous triumph glint through the depths of the evil eyes.
“Empty will be your victory over me, Norhala,” he said; then waited.
“What is your bargain?” she spoke hesitatingly; with a sinking of my
heart I heard the doubt tremble in her throat.
“If you will go without further knocking upon my gates”--there was a
satiric grimness in the phrase--“go when you have been given them, and
pledge yourself never to return--you shall have them. If you will not,
then they die.”
“But what security, what hostages, do you ask?” Her eyes were troubled.
“I cannot swear by your gods, Cherkis, for they are not my gods--in
truth I, Norhala, have no gods. Why should I not say yes and take the
two, then fall upon you and destroy--as you would do in my place, old
wolf?”
“Norhala,” he answered, “I ask nothing but your word. Do I not know
those who bore you and the line from which they sprung? Was not always
the word they gave kept till death--unbroken, inviolable? No need
for vows to gods between you and me. Your word is holier than they--O
glorious daughter of kings, princess royal!”
The great voice was harshly caressing; not obsequious, but as though
he gave her as an equal her rightful honor. Her face softened; she
considered him from eyes far less hostile.
A wholesome respect for this gross tyrant's mentality came to me; it
did not temper, it heightened, the hatred I felt for him. But now I
recognized the subtlety of his attack; realized that unerringly he
had taken the only means by which he could have gained a hearing; have
temporized. Could he win her with his guile?
“Is it not true?” There was a leonine purring in the question.
“It IS true!” she answered proudly. “Though why YOU should dwell upon
this, Cherkis, whose word is steadfast as the running stream and whose
promises are as lasting as its bubbles--why YOU should dwell on this I
do not know.”
“I have changed greatly, Princess, in the years since my great
wickedness; I have learned much. He who speaks to you now is not he you
were taught--and taught justly then--to hate.”
“You may speak truth! Certainly you are not as I have pictured you.” It
was as though she were more than half convinced. “In this at least you
do speak truth--that IF I promise I will go and molest you no more.”
“Why go at all, Princess?” Quietly he asked the amazing question--then
drew himself to his full height, threw wide his arms.
“Princess?” the great voice rumbled forth. “Nay--Queen! Why leave us
again--Norhala the Queen? Are we not of your people? Am I not of your
kin? Join your power with ours. What that war engine you ride may be,
how built, I know not. But this I do know--that with our strengths
joined we two can go forth from where I have dwelt so long, go forth
into the forgotten world, eat its cities and rule.
“You shall teach our people to make these engines, Norhala, and we will
make many of them. Queen Norhala--you shall wed my son Kulun, he who
stands beside me. And while I live you shall rule with me, rule equally.
And when I die you and Kulun shall rule.
“Thus shall our two royal lines be made one, the old feud wiped out, the
long score be settled. Queen--wherever it is you dwell it comes to
me that you have few men. Queen--you need men, many men and strong to
follow you, men to gather the harvests of your power, men to bring to
you the fruit of your smallest wish--young men and vigorous to amuse
you.
“Let the past be forgotten--I too have wrongs to forget, O Queen. Come
to us, Great One, with your power and your beauty. Teach us. Lead us.
Return, and throned above your people rule the world!”
He ceased. Over the battlements, over the city, dropped a vast expectant
silence--as though the city knew its fate was hanging upon the balance.
“No! No!” It was Ruth crying. “Do not trust him, Norhala! It's a trap!
He shamed me--he tortured--”
Cherkis half turned; before he swung about I saw a hell shadow darken
his face. Ventnor's hand thrust out, covered Ruth's mouth, choking her
crying.
“Your son”--Norhala spoke swiftly; and back flashed the cruel face of
Cherkis, devouring her with his eyes. “Your son--and Queenship here--and
Empire of the World.” Her voice was rapt, thrilled. “All this you offer?
Me--Norhala?”
“This and more!” The huge bulk of his body quivered with eagerness. “If
it be your wish, O Queen, I, Cherkis, will step down from the throne for
you and sit beneath your right hand, eager to do your bidding.”
A moment she studied him.
“Norhala,” I whispered, “do not do this thing. He thinks to gain your
secrets.”
“Let my bridegroom stand forth that I may look upon him,” called
Norhala.
Visibly Cherkis relaxed, as though a strain had been withdrawn. Between
him and his crimson-clad son flashed a glance; it was as though a
triumphant devil sped from them into each other's eyes.
I saw Ruth shrink into Ventnor's arms. Up from the wall rose a jubilant
shouting, was caught by the inner battlements, passed on to the crowded
terraces.
“Take Kulun,” it was Drake, pistol drawn and whispering across to me.
“I'll handle Cherkis. And shoot straight.”