The Face in the Abyss - Abraham Merritt (romance novel chinese novels .txt) 📗

And there was something peculiar about the pictures of the serpentpeople. They lacked that human quality, so marked and so weird, of the Mother. Their heads were

longer, flatter, reptilian. Their bodies above their coils were plainly development of the saurian; unmistakably evolved from a reptilian stem. He could accept them as realities— since in varying environments the evolution of almost any kind of intelligent creature is possible. He realized that it was the abrupt transition from serpent to woman that made the Serpentwoman incomprehensible; unreal.

Again he knew the haunting doubt—was she in reality as he had seen her, or, by some unknown power of will, did she create in the minds of those who looked upon her, illusion of childish body and heartshaped face of exquisite beauty? He went back to the pool and scanned more closely the crowns upon the gray ape-men. They were like the serpentpeople upon the wall. He compared them with the bracelet on his wrist. Well, whoever had carved that had seen the Serpentwoman as he had.

Wondering, he went back to his study of the painted wall. He looked long at the painting of a vast swamp in which monstrous bodies floundered; from its mud hideous heads peered, and over it great winged lizards flapped on leathery bat-like wings. He stared even longer at the next. It was the same swamp; in the foreground was a group of the serpentpeople. They lay coiled behind what appeared to be an immense crystal disk. The disk seemed to be swiftly revolving. And all over the morass, battling with the monsters, were winged shapes of flame. They held a core of brilliant incandescence from which sprang two nebulously radiant wings, like those of the sun’s corona seen during some eclipses. These winged shapes appeared to pulse abruptly out of empty air, dart upon the monsters and fold their lambent wings about them.

And there was another city … the city across the lake from the cavern of the Frogwoman was a miniature of it, but there were no mountains around it. It came to him that this was the YuAtlanchi of the immemorial past, from which the serpentpeople and those they had fostered had fled before the flood of ice whose creeping progress all their arts could not check…. He saw a fleet of strange ships, one of them fighting off the attack of a group of gigantic seasaurians whose heads reared high above its masts….

The history of a whole lost world was within that painted cavern. It held the pictured record of a lost era of earth’s history.

He saw that at one time the paintings had covered all four walls. They were almost obliterated on two sides, completely so on that of the fissures. Only where the passage had opened were the pictures complete,

What had this chamber been? Why abandoned? He was again aware of thirst. He walked back to the pool. He heard a warning click from Kon. Graydon pointed to the pool and to his throat. For full measure, he rubbed his belly and made the motions of chewing. The Spiderman nodded, scuttled to the yellow steps and down them. He dipped a hand in the water, smelled of it; cautiously tasted it He nodded approvingly, bent down and sucked in a huge draft

Graydon knelt and scooped up handfuls. It was cold and

sweet.

Kon clicked to his comrades. They went searching about the fissures, and presently returned with large pieces of brown fungi. Kon took a bit, dipped it into water, bit off a corner and handed the balance of it to Graydon. He accepted it doubtfully, but tasting it found that it absorbed the water like a sponge and was somewhat like bread with a pleasant yeasty flavor. He took another piece and dipped it. The three Weavers squatted beside him. All solemnly sopped their fungi in the pool and chewed it

And suddenly Graydon began to laugh. Surely no man had ever dined as he was dining—squatting there beside the weird pool with the three scarlet grotesques, dipping mushrooms in the water with topaz-eyed, hairless, gray ape-men looking on, and the history of a lost epoch spread out before

him for his entertainment. He laughed and laughed, with swiftly growing hysteria.

Kon looked at him, clicking inquiringly. Graydon could not stop his laughing, nor the sobbing hiccoughs that now began to punctuate it. Kon took him up in his long arms, and swung him to and fro like a baby.

Graydon clung to him; the hysteria passed away. And in passing it took with it all the taint of the Shadow’s whispers, all the hateful lure of the evil garden. The film of evil which

lay upon his mind passed away like scum on water under a strong cleansing wind.

He was sleepy, he had never felt so sleepy! Now he could sleep without fear of the Shadow creeping into him. Kon wouldn’t let anything like that happen. The light was dimming fast. .. sun must be almost down … he’d sleep for a few minutes…

Cradled in the arms of the Spiderman, Graydon dropped into deepest, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER XVII. Taking of Huon’s Lair

DAWN WAS FILTERING into the painted cavern. Graydon sat up and looked uncomprehendingly about him. He was upon a bed of moss. One of the spidermen squatted close to him,

studying him with puzzled, sad eyes. There was no sign of the others.

“Where’s Kon?” he asked. The Spiderman answered with a string of rapid clicks.

“Kon! Hey, Kon!” called Graydon.

The Weaver sensed his anxiety, and its reason; he sidled to him, patted him with his small upper hands, nodding and softly clicking. Graydon gathered he was being told there was nothing to worry about. He smiled and patted the Weaver upon a shoulder. The Spiderman seemed much pleased. He scuttled over to the crevices, returning with the bread-like fungi. The two went down to the pool and breakfasted; the Weaver keeping up an amiable succession of clicks between bites, and Graydon companionably answering with a totally unrelated monologue. He felt refreshed, ready to cope with anything.

There was a movement in one of the large crevices. Through it came the scarlet body of Kon, and following him the second Weaver. The trio clicked busily. Kon waited until Graydon had finished his last piece of fungi, beckoned him and moved over to the crevice through which he had entered. The other spidermen crawled through it, vanishing. Kon followed, and disappeared. His long red arm stole back into

the slit, and looked out. Far below was the plain of the monoliths.

Kon’s arm crooked round him, and drew him out. Graydon’s head swam, for below him was a sheer half-mile drop.

The Spiderman was hanging to the face of the cliff, his supple fingers gripping cracks and projections which only they could have made use of. He tucked Graydon under his arm, and began to crawl along the precipice. Graydon looked down just once more, and was convinced he would feel better if he kept his eyes on the rock. They swung along for about two thousand feet Another crevice appeared. Kon thrust him through it, and scrambled after him.

They were in a wide passage which had probably once run into the painted cavern. The same destructive agency had been at work. Its end was blocked by a rock fall, and its wall was pierced by scores of holes and fissures. Its floor was littered with fallen stone. Kon looked doubtfully at Graydon and stretched out his arm. Graydon shook his head violently, tired of being carried around like a baby. They set off down the corridor, but his progress was comparatively slow; so slow that Kon shortly picked him up with a conciliatory click. The three Weavers set off at a fast pace over the debris. He resigned himself. After all, as well ride a Spiderman as a camel or an elephant; if one had never seen a camel or an elephant they would seem just as unusual as Kon and his kind.

The passage darkened, blackened and finally curved into a cavemed space filled with a dim twilight. There were no fissures. The light was the same as that which streamed from the walls in Huon’s lair, but here it seemed to be dying, old and outworn, as though the force which produced it were almost spent. The place was a vast storehouse. Graydon caught glimpses of enigmatic mechanisms of crystal arid black metal, among them huge globes of silver; once he saw something which appeared to be the hull of a ship, and once he passed by what was certainly one of the crystal disks painted in the battle in the primeval swamp. They loomed all around him, these vague, shrouded shapes of mystery. The spidermen paid no attention to them, threading their :

way rapidly.

They entered another black tunnel. They had gone along this for a mile or more when Kon gave a click of warning.

He set Graydon down, and the four stood listening. He heard men walking slowly and cautiously, and not far away. A

cloudy light abruptly impinged upon the wall of the tunnel, as though a little luminous ball of cloud had been thrown against it. It came from a transverse passage only a few yards

ahead. The spidermen gripped their bars, stole softly forward.

Before they could reach the opening, a man’s head projected around the side—a head whose hair was silvery-white over a stained bandage, the scars of claws upon its cheek—

“Regor!” shouted Graydon, and rushed by the spidermen.

The giant bounded into the tunnel, embracing him, bellowing amazed joy. The spidermen came forward, clicking like castanets. From the transverse passage emerged five of the Fellowship men, clothing torn, carrying swords and maces and small round shields; all showed the marks of heavy fighting; After them trooped a dozen of the Emers with spears and swords and the same small shields, kilts tattered and none of them without some wound.

One of these grinned at him out of a battered face and held up his rifle.

“How the devil did you know where to look for me?” demanded Graydon when at last Regor had grown coherent.

“I wasn’t looking for you, lad,” he answered. “I was looking for a way into the Temple to tell Suarra of your capture, hoping she would raise such a storm about it that the Mother could not refuse to aid you—if you were still alive. Also I admit hoping this would involve protection for myself and these with me. And on second thought, I’m not so sure I am glad I did find you. It was our only hope, and now I have no excuse to appeal to Adana.” He grinned.

“Protection!” exclaimed Graydon. “I don’t understand you, Regor. You must have gotten back to the lair safely.”

“The lair is sacked!” said Regor. “Ripped open, gutted. Huon is prisoner of Lantlu. The Fellowship, what’s left of it, dispersed, wandering like us about these burrows.” “Good God!” Graydon was aghast. “What happened?” “Dorina did it,” said the giant, and there was a murmur of hatred from the others. “Something told me to kill her, when I managed to get back to the lair after you had disappeared. But I wasn’t sure she had betrayed us. Last night,

while we were asleep, she opened a secret door to Lantlu and a few of his friends. They stole in and killed quietly and quickly the guards at the great door. Dorina lifted it, and let in more of Lantlu’s supporters and a pack of the Urd. There was no time for us to gather. Many were slaughtered in their beds. After that it was group fighting all over the place. I saw them drag Huon down and truss him. Some of our Emers managed to escape—how much of the Fellowship, I don’t