The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (black female authors txt) 📗

the Jan Lucar. These two remained on the edge nearest the body of the temple, the edge at the crest of the stair. The empty chair remained so.

Suddenly Chick remembered the warning of Dr. Holcomb: “Read the words of the Prophet.” And he took advantage of the breathing-spell to peruse the legends on the great golden scrolls:

THE PROPHECY OF THE JARADOS

Behold! When the day is at hand, prepare ye!

For, when that day cometh, ye shall have signs and portents from the world beyond. Wisdom cometh out of life, and life walketh out of wisdom. Yea, in the manner of life and of spirit ye shall have them, and of substance even like unto you yourselves.

And it shall come to pass in the last days, that we shall be on guard. By these signs ye shall know them; even by the truths I have taught thee. The way of life is an open door; wisdom and virtue are its keys. And when the intelligence shall be lifted to the plane above—then shalt thou know!

Mark ye well the Spot of Life! He that openeth it is the precursor of judgment. Mark him well!

And thus shall the last days come to pass. See that ye are worthy, O wise ones! For behold in those last days there shall come among ye—

The chosen of a line of kings. First there shall be one, and then there shall be two; and the two shall stay but the one shall return.

The false ones. Them ye shall slay!

The four footed: The call to humility, sacrifice and devotion, whom ye shall hold in reverence even as you hold me, the Jarados.

And on the last day of all—I, the Jarados!

Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I have given ye, and the day be postponed—beware ye of sacrilege!

And if the false ones cometh not, ye shall know that I have held them. Know ye the day!

Sixteen days from the day of the prophet, shall come the day of the judgment; and the way shall be opened, on the last day, the sixteenth day of the Jarados.

Hearken to the words of the Jarados, the prophet and mouthpiece of the infinite intelligence, ruler of justice, peace, and love! So be it forever!

Chick read it a second time. Like all prophecies, it was somewhat Delphic; but he could get the general drift. In that golden script he was looking into the heart of all Thomahlia—into its greatness, its culture, its civilisation itself. It was the soul of the Blind Spot, the reason and the wherefore of all about him.

He heard someone step up behind him, and he turned. It was the Senestro, going over the words of the prophecy.

“Can you read it, Sir Phantom?” asked the handsome Bar. His black eyes were twinkling with delight. “Have you read it all?”

He put a hand on Chick's shoulder. It was a careless act, almost friendly. Either he had the heart of a devil or the chivalry of a paladin. He pointed to a line:

“'The false ones. Them ye shall slay.'”

“And if I were the false one, you would slay me?” asked Watson.

“Aye, truly!” answered the splendid prince. “You are well made and good to look upon. I shall hold you in my arms; I shall hear your bones crack; it shall be sweeter music than that of the temple pheasants, who never sing but for the Jarados. I shall slay you upon the Spot, Sir Phantom!”

Watson turned on his heel. The ethics of the Senestro were not of his own code. He was not afraid; he stood beside the Jan Lucar and gazed out into the body of the temple. As far as he could see, under and past the fourteen great pillars and right up to the far wall, the floor was a vast carpet of humanity.

It was become dark. Presently a new kind of light began to glow far overhead, gradually increasing in strength until the whole place was suffused with a sun-like illumination. The Rhamda Geos began to speak.

“In the last day, in the Day of Life. We have the substance of ourselves, and the words of the prophet. The Jarados has written his prophecy in letters of gold, for all to see. 'The false ones. Them ye shall slay.' It is the will of the Rhamdas that the great Bar Senestro shall try the proof of the occult. On this, the first of the Sixteen Days, the test shall be—on the Spot of Life!”

He turned away. The Bar Senestro stripped off his jewels, his semi-armour, and stood clad in the manner of Watson. They advanced and met in the centre of the dais, two athletes, lithe, strong, handsome, their muscles aquiver with vitality and their skins silken with health. Champions of two worlds, to wrestle for truth!

A low murmur arose, increasing until it filled the whole coliseum. The silver-bronze pheasants flitted above the heads of all, flashing like fragments of the spirit of light. And all of a sudden—

One of them fluttered down and lit on Watson's shoulder.

The murmur of the throng dropped to a dead silence. Next moment a stranger thing happened. The little creature broke forth in full-throated song.

Watson instantly remembered the words of the Bar Senestro: “They sing but for the Jarados.” He quietly reached up and caught the songster in his hand, and he held it up to the astonished crowd. Still the song continued. Chick held him an instant longer, and then gave him a toss high into the air. He shot across the temple, a streak of melody, silver, dulcet, to the far corner of the giant building.

But the thing did not jar the Senestro.

“Well done, Sir Phantom! Anyhow, 'tis your last play! I would not have it otherwise. I hope you can die as prettily! Are you ready?”

“Ready? What for?” retorted Watson. “Why, should I trouble myself with preparations?”

But the Rhamda Geos had now come to his side.

“Do your best, my lord. I regret only that it must be to the death. It is the first death contest in the Thomahlia for a thousand circles (years). But the Senestro has challenged the prophecy. Prove that you are not a false one! My heart is with you.”

It was a good word at a needed moment. Watson stepped over onto the circular Spot of Life.

They were both barefooted. Evidently the Thomahlians fought in the old, classic manner. The stone under Watson's feet was cool and invigorating. He could sense anew that quiver of magnetism and strength. It sent a thrill through his whole body, like the subtle quickening of life. He felt vital, joyous, confident.

The Senestro was smiling, his eyes flashing with anticipation. His muscled body was a network of soft movement. His step was catlike.