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Title: Gods of the jungle

Author: Nelson S. Bond

Illustrator: Robert Fuqua

Release date: September 28, 2024 [eBook #74490]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GODS OF THE JUNGLE ***





                          GODS of the JUNGLE

                           By NELSON S. BOND

                Deep in the ruined temple was a strange
               room; and when Ramey came out of it, many
               centuries of time had been wiped out....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                  Amazing Stories June and July 1942.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


[Illustration: A dizzy whirl of events spun around them; a vast
cyclorama of all the scenes of history.]


In the darkness before the dawn, the sky was a vault of purple-black,
hoarfrosted with the spangles of innumerable stars. The moon, in its
dying quarter, was a silver scimitar dangling low on the horizon; the
earth below, from this lofty eyrie, was a shadowy disc more sensed than
seen.

Ramey Winters, glancing briefly from the illuminated instrument panel
into the tree-spired obscurity over which he flew, felt once more, as
ofttimes before during these last few weeks, the tugging hand of beauty
at his heart, and a curious wonderment that Night's jet mask could so
completely disguise the grim world slumbering below.

Burma by day was beautiful--but its beauty was that of the wakened
Amazon, bronze-girdled and strident, riding to battle with breasts
straitlaced, with soft hands gripping the sword. Steel monsters,
heavy-laden, groaned endlessly up the ancient Road which sprawls from
Mandalay to Bhamo and Momein, thence, over tortuous ways ripped from
sheer precipice by the naked hands of a million unpaid patriots, to
Tai-fu and Chunking, carrying arms and supplies to a beleaguered
Dragon. Of late there were other rumblings, too. The tramp of shuttling
troops, the ominous rasp of mechanized units, the hornet-tone of
aircraft winging bases.

So Burma by day; a Burma not yet actively in the War but perilously
close. But Burma by night--ah, that, thought Ramey Winters, was another
story Burma by night ... seen from the sky. A new land: a sweet, wild
land of mystery and charm ... of silver and shadow ... cool, chaste,
serene! As untouched and untouchable as the brooding gods of its
people. Burma--a land of stirring song and stranger story. Even up
here, in these thin heights where the air should be fresh and cool, it
seemed to Ramey that his nostrils scented wisps of sandalwood and musk.
And beneath the persistent drone of his own motors seemed to tremble
the faint, exotic pleading of native pipes.

It was a night of magic. Barrett felt it, too. Red Barrett, hard-boiled
and devil-may-care as they come, Ramey's chum and co-pilot--even he
felt it. He flashed his teeth at Ramey in an approving grin.

"Pretty, eh, keed?"

"Swell!" said Ramey. "Terrific! Kipling was right. Burma _is_ the most
beautiful country in the world."[1]

[Footnote 1: The Burma Road is the vital supply route over which the
Chinese Republic, cut off from almost all sea commerce by the Japanese
invaders, still maintains contact with the outside world. Were it
closed, it is doubtful whether the valiant army of General Chiang
Kai-shek could long continue its fight against aggression.--Ed.]

"Burma?" chuckled Red. "Don't look now, pal, but we ain't in Burma any
more. This kite we're flying eats mileage--or didn't you know? See that
hunk of silver ribbon below? Well, that ain't a ribbon; it's the Mekong
River. We're over either Thailand or Indo-China, or both."

Ramey glanced down swiftly. Barrett was right. The sullen blackness
below had suddenly been laced with a shining spiral of silver; the
mighty Mekong, boundary-line separating Siam (now Thailand) and French
Indo-China for more than 1,000 miles, coiled through the jungle like a
gigantic serpent, its scales drenched with moonlight.

Winters' dreaminess vanished instantly. One look at the instrument
panel and he shot into action. A tug and kick swung the old Curtis into
a lifting, southward arc, following the twisting river. His words to
Red Barrett were unhurried, but there was a tenseness in his voice.

"Okay. This is it, then. Keep 'em peeled, Red!"

"If I peel 'em any finer," Barrett grunted, "I won't have any eyelids.
Think we'll see anything?"

"I know damn well we will. Those Japs aren't moving south for a
clam-bake. They poured forty divisions into Indo-China--thanks to
Vichy! Thailand is next on the hit parade; then Burma, back door to
India. They want to close the Burma Road. So long as it's open, old
Chiang Kai-shek will keep on giving them fits. Our job is to find out
where they are concentrating their troops, so we'll be ready for them
when they prance into Thailand."

       *       *       *       *       *

Red looked hungrily at the trigger-press before him.

"If there's troops," he said hopefully, "there'll be enemy 'planes,
huh, Ramey? Supposing one of them comes up to meet us? Can I--?"

"No! Definitely not!"

"But just by accident, like? I mean, if he attacked us first--"

"No, Red. Don't you see, all they're waiting for is an excuse to invade
Thailand? Let us shoot down a single Jap 'plane tonight, and tomorrow
their bombers will be over Bangkok. So--no shooting! Even if they fire
on us."

"We-e-ell--" grumbled Barrett--"okay! But I think it's a hell of a way
to fight a war. They bombed the _Tetuila_ and sank the _Panay_, and all
we got was: 'So sorry! Accidents will happen!' We're not even supposed
to defend ourselves."

Ramey grinned at him; a lean, knowing grin.

"Don't you worry about that, pal. Your Uncle Samuel knows what he's
doing. You and I were in the U.S. Army airforce till the bewhiskered
old gentleman in the striped pants graciously permitted us to 'resign'
and fly for China. But I notice our paychecks still bear Yankee
signatures. And don't forget--there are a thousand more like us.
Neutral soldiers of fortune, learning the ropes 'just in case.'

"But we've got to keep our noses clean tonight. Get all the pictures
and information we can, but don't get in any scrapes--them's our
orders. Well, where are we now?"

As they talked, Red had been deciding, as well as he could, their route
on the scroll-map before him. Now he drew a dubious circle.

"Here, maybe. Or here. About Kiang-khan."

"Good enough. And nothing stirring yet, hey? Well, we'll keep looking
for a few more minutes, then head back before dawn--_Hey!_ Get a load
of that! Campfires! A bivouac! Mark it, Red!"

The command was unnecessary. Barrett had also seen the encampment,
scored it on his chart. But now, as the pair craned intently into the
flame-dotted dark below, striving to guess the strength of the enemy
outpost, there leaped to life that which startled both of them to
awareness of a new peril. Searchbeams burst suddenly from the ground,
snaring them in a dazzling web; floodlights blazed a golden square in
the black jungle; there came the first, frantic coughs of anti-aircraft
fire--_phum-phum!_--from invisible guns, and the biting snarl of
hastily-revving motors. And:

"Get going!" roared Barrett. "We hit the jack-pot! It's an enemy
airfield!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey needed no prodding. The first slashing finger of light had
quickened into action the trained reflexes of an airman; already the
small pursuit 'plane was lifting, bobbing and weaving away from the
telltale beams. Now he gave it the gun; the snub-nosed Curtis flattened
and streaked away like a startled swallow.

None too soon. Whatever shortcomings the Japs might have as warriors,
they were speedy little devils. The Yankee fliers gained but a few
minutes, a few short miles, advantage before their pursuers were in the
air.

Even so, it should not have been difficult to escape in the dark. If
it had only _stayed_ dark as it should at this time of year, as it
would have in any other place imaginable. But--this was the Orient, the
semi-tropical topsy-turvy Land that skirts the China Seas.

Over the eastward horizon toward which they fled, an edge of ochre
crept. Thin haze and hesitant; then deepening, widening, spreading,
into a pearly, crepuscular veil. A cold and cheerless light against the
backdrop of which their ship, both men knew, loomed as a perfect target!

Ramey gasped his dismay.

"Dawn! But--but that's impossible! It's only four o'clock. The sun
shouldn't rise until--"

"_False_ dawn!" corrected Barrett with sudden, comprehending savagery.
"The famous 'dawn-before-sunrise'--that's what it is! I've read about
it. It's possible anywhere, but it happens mostly in this part of the
Orient. Result of flat country ... heat ... wide expanse of Pacific ...
refraction. You're heading the wrong way, pal."

Ramey nodded tightly.

"I know. I headed southeast to confuse them; didn't want to tip off our
base. I thought we could swing back when they gave up. But now--"

"Now what?"

"We can't turn back or they'd nab us, sure," gritted Ramey. "Our only
chance is to outrun them. Maybe we can get to Singapore or--"

"On what?" queried Barrett. "Marsh-gas from passing swamps? This
crate's only fueled for a thousand miles, keed. We've used half of
that. And Singapore's a good nine hundred south."

"We might make Bangkok--"

"Or Australia," suggested Barrett drily, "or Hawaii? All right,
chum--pull the cork. You ain't kidding me. This is the payoff, huh?"

Ramey, glancing up from the panel, met his comrade's calm, untroubled
eyes levelly for a moment. In that instant, it occurred to him that Red
Barrett was a hell of a fine guy. He wanted to say so, but men can't
say such things. Sometimes they don't have to. He just nodded.

"I guess so, redhead."

"I won four bucks from Jimmy Larkin yesterday," said Red irrelevantly,
"playing rummy. I should have collected it then." Again his eyes sought
the machine-gun hopefully. "As long as we're in for it, we might
just as well use up our old ammunition, huh, Ramey? We--" he hinted
virtuously--"don't want to let no _matériel_ fall into enemy hands--"

Ramey shook his head decisively.

"We won't fire on them. Not even if they fire on us first. Not even if
they shoot us down. We can't risk causing the 'incident' they want. Our
only chance is to outrun them, Red."

"Then we're in a hell of a pickle," Barrett told him gloomily. "Because
they're faster than us. They're catching us now. Hold your hat, keed!
Here it comes!"

       *       *       *       *       *

And with his warning, it came! The first chattering snarl of
machine-gun fire from the foremost of their pursuers. Lead ripped and
slashed at the fleeing Curtis; above the roar of the motor shrilled
the _spang!_ of metal on metal; Ramey saw a crazy, zigzag line
appear miraculously in the cowling above him, heard the thin, high,
disappointed whine of ricochetting bullets. Again he tugged, kicked.
His 'plane leaped, darted to the right. Red grunted.

"Whew! That was close! One more like that--"

As if his words were an omen, another burst screamed about their ears.
And the lethal cacophony was doubled, now; the second of their three
attackers had found the range. The little ship seemed to jerk like a
live thing as fiery pellets pierced its skin. It was only a matter of
minutes before one of those bullets would find a vital spot, Ramey
knew. No use continuing this unequal battle. Knuckles white on the
stick, he yelled to his companion:

"Okay, Red--bail out! They can't land here. Maybe we can get away on
the ground. Red! _Red!_"

Then, as there came neither answering word nor movement, he shot a
quick glance at his buddy. One look told the story. Red did not move
because he could not. Limp as a bag of sodden meal, he lay slumped in
his seat, eyes closed, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. And in
horrible contrast to the pallor of his cheeks, his face was mottled
with a spreading nastiness that matched the color of his hair!

       *       *       *       *       *

It was at that moment a sort of madness seized Ramey Winters.

He was a soldier, aware of, and daily accepting, the hazards of his
calling. He had seen death often; had several times heard whispering
within inches of his own ears the sigh of the ancient scythe. It did
not sicken him to see men die, nor was he afraid to die himself....

But this--this was different! This time the reaper had struck down Red
Barrett, his chum, his more-than-brother. Struck him down traitorously
and from behind without a chance to defend himself. Red, who had asked
nothing more than to go down fighting--and had not been granted that
break!

It did not even occur to Ramey that as he sat there, stunned, stricken,
about him still hammered the blazing darts of enemy fire. There was
welling within him a great flame, a torrential, all-consuming fire of
rage that burned through his veins like vitriol. And suddenly it no
longer seemed to matter that he was under orders to avoid all fights;
the problem of an "international incident" was a hollow legality in
which he had no concern.

If he thought at all, his thoughts were mere rationalization. Three
Japanese flyers--and himself! Lost in the clouds above a wild, green
jungle. Unspied upon, unseen. If none of the three were ever to return
to his base, who was to report this episode? Who accuse the Thais of
violating their neutrality? And did it make much difference, anyway?
Everyone knew the Sons of Heaven--on some excuse or other--would march
into Siam when they were ready. So--

Ramey decided. His hand found the trigger-press for which Red's fingers
had yearned. A kick on the rudder ... knee to the gun ... and the tiny
Curtis came up and over like a wild bird soaring. And it was no longer
a startled swallow, but a killer-shrike, vengeance-bent and striking
with the pent fury of boundless wrath. The butcher-bird darting on its
prey.

And finding it! Before the foremost of his pursuers could analyze
and parry this unexpected maneuver, Winters was upon him. In the
circular machine-gun sight the Jap airplane loomed nearer, larger, more
solid. Then--the gun bucked and kicked against his palms. The vision
before him quivered and seemed to crumple, sheered off and away, spun
giddily....

"_One!_" said Ramey Winters, and did not know he spoke aloud. "That's
one!"

He kicked over, sensing a danger behind him, and in that one motion
became attacker rather than attacked. It was a closer thing this
time. His foeman's gun bore squarely upon him for a brief, unguarded
moment. Ramey felt something like the jerk of a hand on his sleeve, and
glancing down, saw with mild astonishment that his leather flying coat
was split from wristband to elbow, spilling powdery fleece.

Then his 'plane righted itself, his own gun answered and--it was a most
amazing thing! Before his eyes the enemy ship blossomed into a crimson
bloom with burgeoning petals of black! A flower which suddenly burst
asunder and spiraled to earth in a host of flaming motes.

And that, he thought grimly, was _two_! The third--?

       *       *       *       *       *

Swiftly he scanned the ever-lightening skies, but he could not locate
the missing 'plane. For a breathless moment he feared that in the melee
it had escaped; then the voice of his old Combat Instructor at Kelly
Field seemed to whisper an old, almost forgotten warning:

"_If you can't see it_, look out! _It's on your tail!_"

Once more, and this time with frantic haste, he shot the ship into a
climb, a wingover turn. But not before a hot hail, punching on metal
behind him like the vibrant tattoo of pounding rivets, rasped a song of
death in his ears. Then he was on a level with his enemy--and driving
headlong at him!

For a yearlong moment it seemed inevitable they must crash head on,
collide and destroy each other and go hurtling to earth locked in
flaming, loveless embrace! But not for an instant did Ramey's finger
relax its pressure on the trigger. And when scant yards separated their
whirling propellers, his bullets found their mark. The enemy pilot
suddenly collapsed in his seat; his body, pitching forward, was a dead
weight on the stick. And with a shuddering groan, the last Jap fighter
nosed earthward in a streaking dive!

It was a moment of triumph. But Ramey Winters never found time to savor
that victory. For even as he pulled back on the stick to lift himself
clear of the falling 'plane, the stick went dead in his hands! From
somewhere deep within the entrails of the gallant little Curtis came
the grinding clash of metals. At the last moment, a dying foeman had
evened the score. Ramey's motors spluttered and died, and the thin
song of wind lashing the fuselage was the only audible sound in an
awful silence as the ship, like a dancing leaf, glided earthward out of
control.

There was but one thing to do. Ramey plucked at the buckle of his
safety belt, prepared to go overside. And Red? Well--it was an airman's
burial. A moment of flame, then an unmarked grave in the jungle. Ramey
glanced once more at his chum. "So long, Red," he whispered. "See you
again, pal--"

Then he gasped. For Red's lips had fallen open, and a bubble of bloody
spittle was leaking from one corner of his mouth--but this tiny spume
pulsated faintly! Breathing! He was still alive!

       *       *       *       *       *

And--it was no longer possible for Ramey to take to his 'chute.
Somehow, _somehow!_ he must get this crippled ship to earth. He stared
down wildly. Trees ... trees ... an endless tangle of foliage towering
high, bayonet-tipped. But--Ramey trembled with sudden, feverish
eagerness--over there a patch of lighter green! And something that
looked like gray walls, a manmade building! A cleared field. If he
could--

Once more and desperately he wrestled with the unresponsive stick. No
good! The rudders, then? If the aileron wires were undamaged he might
be able to control, to some extent, the direction of their glide. Ease
the brutal shock of landing.

But now the ground was a vast, blunt bulwark rushing up to meet them.
Like an organist treading the pedals of his instrument, Ramey played
the only controls he had. Composing out of urgency and stress a
symphony which, when the ultimate note was scored, must be either a
paean or a dirge!

And the ship responded. Weakly, true! But its nose lifted a trifle,
the ailerons caught and gripped the air, the drifting leaf spun lazily
toward the clearing. Earth looming larger, and the indistinguishable
whole of the jungle sharpened to single trees and tangled groves of
bamboo and liana. Gray of swamp water and brown of soil; sudden pink
of a frightened flamingo racing for leafy covert. Almost down,
now ... and the wind howling through the motionless propeller like a
taunting fiend. His own voice, strange in his ears, calling senseless
encouragement to his unhearing companion:

"All right, Red! Hold tight, boy! In a minute--"

Then one wheel touched the ground, bounced; the ship reeled shuddering
forward. Clear of the trees, but careening wildly, drunkenly, across a
furrowed field. Rocking, swaying madly.

Then--the crash! The moment of slashing pain ... the dancing light ...
the numb despair. Then nothing....




                              CHAPTER II

                         The Mystery of Angkor


When you are dead, the little demons gather and make merry. They
will not let you rest. Huddled about your weary soul they chatter in
bee-thin voices; they lift your head and force open your lips and pour
molten fire down your throat, a liquid fire that chokes and strangles.

Ramey strangled on liquid fire, and opened his eyes. He--he was not
dead, after all, but alive! The sweetness of native brandy was on his
lips, the far voices waxed nearer as consciousness returned, and he
was surrounded by the familiar figures of _not_ scarlet imps but human
beings!

Or--wait a minute! Maybe his first hunch was right after all. For
_most_ of those staring down at him looked like people, but surely the
vision bent closest was that of an angel? A golden-haired angel with
heaven-blue eyes, warm lips, a cool, white skin which the sun seemed
never to have burned, but only to have endowed with a memory of its own
inner glow.

"Lovely!" said Ramey drowsily, and the vision's face colored most
unecclesiastically. Behind Ramey someone chuckled. Ramey, turning
painfully, saw a tall, mahogany-skinned, nice-looking youngster with
brown hair and eyes, dancing eyes crow's-footed with the wrinkles of
perpetual mirth. This lad and the girl, he saw now, were the only
whites in the circle. All the others were natives. The young man
laughed again.

"Well, Sheila, there doesn't seem to be anything the matter with _this_
one! Or with his emotional reflexes."

Recollection seeped slowly back upon Ramey. He made an effort to rise.

"The--the 'plane," he said confusedly. "Went dead. I tried to set 'er
down in a field. Crashed--"

The girl restrained him gently but firmly. The cool touch of her hands
was soothing.

"You must lie still, now. Everything is going to be all right. You did
crash, yes. But fortunately we were here to drag you and your friend
out before the 'plane caught fire. After you've rested for a moment,
we'll take you to camp--"

It all came back to Ramey now. This time the girl's hands could not
prevent him from raising himself.

"Red! Is--is he all right, too?"

The young man answered.

"Your buddy? I suppose so, or Syd would be chanting a funeral march by
now. Hey, Syd! How's your patient?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The huddle encircling Ramey split, admitting a third white man. Ramey
glanced at him casually, then started, took another good look, and
turned to peer over his shoulder again at the one who had called. The
two young men were as like as two peas in a pod. Same height, build,
coloring. Only their facial expressions differed. The newcomer's face
was as dour as the first chap's was jovial. He commented acidly, "I
wish you wouldn't be so boisterous, Lake! I guess he has a chance to
recover--if complications don't set in. Of course, these head injuries
are dangerous. It may be a fractured skull, or he may lose his sight--"

"Blind!" gasped Ramey. "Red? Oh, Lord--"

For the third time, the girl quieted him. This time with a smile.
"Don't get excited, soldier. Your companion's apparently in fine shape.
That's just Syd's nice, optimistic way of viewing things. 'Fractured
skull or loss of sight' is a favorable prognosis--coming from _him_!
If it were anything _really_ serious, Syd would have the workmen
digging a grave by now. Are you sure you feel well enough to get up?"

Ramey nodded, not daring to risk speech as he got to his feet. His
head throbbed like a concrete mixer, and there were rubber pipes where
his shin-bones should be. But somehow he managed it, and once off the
ground, began to feel better. He strode to Barrett's side. The blood
had been sponged from the redhead's face, and his head was rudely, but
efficiently, bandaged. He grinned at Ramey.

"Hyah, Sunday-driver! Next time holler before we go under a low bridge.
I forgot to duck!"

Ramey said, "You're lucky that bullet bounced itself off your bean. If
it had hit anything less solid you'd be on a slab now. How's the head
feel?"

"Like a wisdom tooth stuffed with sugar," complained Red. "If it's not
too much trouble, keed, how's for bringing me up to date on the news?
Where are we? And how did we get here?"

It was the smiling young man who supplied the answer to the first
question. He said, "You're at Angkor, Cambodia, French Indo-China. I'm
Lake O'Brien. The walking scowl over there is my brother, Syd, and to
save time, yes, we're twins. The young lady is Miss Sheila Aiken; her
father is the leader of our expedition. We're Americans. Southeastern
University Archeological Expedition, if that means anything to you. But
how about you? You're from the U.S.A., too, aren't you?"

Ramey nodded. "Flying for the Republic. That is--we were until the Japs
tagged us this morning. The reclining ex-airman with the bandaged dome
is Bob Barrett, 'Red' to all but his colorblind friends. I'm Ramey
Winters. We're greatly indebted to you for your help."

"Forget it!" grinned Lake. But the less genial twin shook his head
gloomily.

"This is a nasty mess. Indo-China is under Japanese 'protection,' you
know. If any of the Japs saw that dogfight from their camp down the
river, there'll be troops up here in an hour or so to investigate."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Dogfight?" echoed Barrett. He stared at Ramey with sudden
understanding. "So _that's_ it! That's where they disappeared to? Why,
you scrapping son-of-a-gun! Get all three of them?"

Ramey nodded guiltily.

"I--I sort of blew my conk. I thought you--I mean--Oh, hell! What's the
difference? O'Brien's right. I got us all in a jam. The only thing for
us to do, Red, is to get the hell out of here, but quick! Before we
implicate a bunch of innocent bystanders. So, friends, if you'll point
the way to the Thai border--"

But it was the girl, Sheila, who this time spoke up.

"Nothing of the sort! You're in no fit condition to head into the
jungle, either of you! Besides, you'll have to have food, water,
blankets. And Daddy will want to see you."

Lake O'Brien voiced agreement.

"Sheila's right, Winters. This is a pretty secluded spot. Chances are
no one but us saw you crash. Even if they did, it'll take them quite a
while to get up the river."

"We-e-e-ll--" hesitated Ramey. It was Red's obvious weakness that
decided him. First aid was all right, but rest was what the scarlet-top
needed. "If you think it's safe--" he said.

So they started across the field. Only Syd O'Brien, frowning
uncertainly, ventured any unfavorable comment on the move. The
sour-visaged twin offered Barrett a supporting arm but grumbled even as
he did so.

"I don't like it!" he muttered forebodingly. "We're doing a foolish
thing. And no good will come of it...."

       *       *       *       *       *

What sort of camp Ramey Winters had expected to see, he did not
clearly know. Something, perhaps, like the tented digs at Petra--Ramey
had once visited the rose-red cliffs in Arabia--or the shacks at
Ur-of-the-Chaldees. Archeology led men into strange, wild places. There
would be ruins here, no doubt; Ramey dimly remembered having glimpsed
gray buildings, or something of the sort, in the hectic moments
preceding the crash.

But never in the world had he dreamed of seeing that which he actually
beheld! Beyond the field sprawled a narrow grove of cane and palm; when
they had eased their way through this, they stood on the edge of a
wide, sluggish stream, once more looking out across flat terrain. And--

Ramey's eyes widened. Speech died at the incredible sight before him.
Because the stream was not a stream, but a seven hundred foot moat,
circling to left and right as far as the eye could see, spanned by a
tremendous paved causeway of sandstone which arched into the central
portico of a gigantic structure!

And what a structure! Roughly rectangular, at least one mile long on
every side, comprised of one massive central building and numberless,
smaller, flanking ones. The central edifice consisted of three stages
connected by numerous outer staircases, decreasing in dimension as they
rose, culminating in a lofty, pyramidal tower.

Red Barrett was popeyed, too. But the redthatch was never speechless.
He croaked, "Holy potatoes, Ramey--what's that? Do you see what I see?"

"If I don't," answered Ramey, "we're _both_ that way!" And he turned to
Lake O'Brien helplessly. "What--?"

Lake grinned.

"Temple of Angkor," he explained. "Angkor Vat. You mean to say you've
never heard of it?"

"Never! Who lives here?"

"Nobody," chuckled Lake, "but us archeologists. You see--But never
mind! Here comes Dr. Aiken. I'll let him do the explaining. It's his
pigeon."

Having met Sheila, Ramey would have known without an explanation her
relationship to the man now approaching. The scientist's hair was
iron-gray where hers was golden, and his shoulders were hunched with
long years of poring over pottery shards from obscure kitchen-maidens,
but they shared the same fine, small-boned structure, the same wide
brows, startlingly identical mist-blue eyes. He was accompanied by two
natives, aides of superior rank, evidently, since they were dressed in
European clothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Ian Aiken was an efficient man. In what sounded to Ramey like
one, continuous sentence, he introduced himself and his two Asiatic
assistants--"Sirabhar and Tomasaki; very fine boys, very!"--sent the
gaping workmen about their jobs, and herded the group toward the
temple. As they walked along he sated his own apparently boundless
curiosity with a resume of the important facts; by the time they had
reached the camp headquarters, a group of sheltered chambers within the
temple proper, he had appraised the situation and formed a decision.

"Sheila was correct!" he snapped brusquely. "Arrant nonsense to even
consider leaving here! Barrett's wound will need attention. You're both
tired. Need a good rest."

"But the Japs?" reminded Ramey. "Syd says they have a camp several
hours down the river?"

"Blast the Japs!" retorted Aiken pettishly. "Greedy little yellow
beasts, anyway. Never did like 'em! Don't you worry about the Japs.
Needn't know you're here. You two get out of those uniforms, burn 'em.
If they come sticking their dirty little snub-noses in here, you'll be
two junior members of my party. Diplomatic immunity. Won't dare touch
you!"

Barrett nodded to Ramey.

"That's so, pal. The Japs ain't looking for no more trouble with Uncle
Sam just now; not till Hitler turns on the green light, anyhow. Even if
they do see our crashed 'plane, they'll think we burned up in it."

"Unless one of the laborers spills the beans," Ramey reminded. "But if
Dr. Aiken thinks it's safe--?"

"Think? I know it! My men won't say a word. Not a word. Absolutely
loyal, every one of them. Furthermore, the Cambodians hate the Japs as
much as we do. More! Isn't that right, Tomasaki? All right, now--get
along with you! Clean clothes and a shower. Then we'll all have a bite
to eat."

So, smiling, the two young airmen left their peppery host for the time
being. Clothes were donated to them, khaki shirts and whipcord breeches
from the wardrobes of their new-found friends. Barrett was clothed
from the locker of Johnny Grinnell, only member of the expedition they
had not yet met; Ramey found the duds of either of the tall O'Briens a
perfect fit.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus it was that, feeling like new men, a short time later they sat
down to breakfast. The meal, as American as a World Series, was a feast
to two who had taken their fare for months in a Chinese Republic
messhall. Cereal, ham and eggs, griddle-cakes with maple syrup,
coffee--hot, black, aromatic coffee instead of green tea!--tempted
Ramey into over-eating till the waistband of Lake O'Brien's breeches
strained like a sausage skin.

It was then, after the empty dishes had been removed and he dragged
the luxurious fragrance of American-cigarette-smoke into his lungs,
that Ramey brought up the subject which had perplexed him ever since he
first saw this place.

"Dr. Aiken," he said, "if I weren't sitting right _in_ this building,
seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it could exist. I never
dreamed there was such a place! How long has it been here?"

The archeologist quirked an eyebrow at Lake O'Brien, who grinned back.
The others--Sheila, Grinnell, even Syd--seemed to share his amusement.
Dr. Aiken shook his head.

"I don't know, Winters," he said.

"But then--who built it?"

Again an arch grin. "I don't know that, either."

For a moment Ramey stared at him bewilderedly. Then a slow flush
stained his cheeks. Oh, that was it? They were poking fun at him;
mocking his ignorance? Well, all right--if they wanted to act that way--

"Excuse me!" he said stiffly. "I didn't understand. Sorry to be so
stupid. Red, perhaps we'd better get ready to run along, after all. We
seem to be in the way here."

But Ian Aiken stayed him with a hand on the arm. He was still grinning,
but his grin was warm and friendly. "Sit down, Ramey, and don't be an
ass. We're not laughing at you. We're amused because the situation
is _what_ it is: so baffling that we must either smile it off or
surrender.

"The answers I just gave you were absolutely true--and no man alive
can tell you more. The mystery of Angkor is this: that here in the
depths of an aboriginal jungle we find a temple dwarfing the greatest
architectural work of present-day Man, and a city large enough to hold
thirty million souls--yet not a man in the world knows _who_ built this
marvel, or _when_ it was built, or _where_ the builders came from, or
where, above all, vanished the mighty race which once lived here!"




                              CHAPTER III

                           The Vanished Race


For a moment Ramey Winters stared at the gray-haired scientist
incredulously. Then he laughed. "All right, sir," he said. "I'll bite.
What's the gag?"

But there was no twinkle of amusement in Dr. Aiken's eyes now. He
leaned forward over the table, his manner sober and abruptly serious.

"It's no joke, Ramey. It's the cold truth." In his voice was a strange
note, a sort of angry helplessness. "For years men have been pondering
this problem, but still the answer eludes us.

"In the year 1860, the French naturalist, A. Mouhot, came up the Mekong
River in search for flora and fauna, and by sheer chance stumbled upon
the massive, walled city of Angkor Thom, about one mile from here. I
used the word, 'stumbled'; actually, only the toe of a giant could trip
over such an obstacle. For Angkor Thom is a rectangular enclosure two
miles in each direction, surrounded by a wall thirty feet high; within
these walls are more than fifty towers, averaging two hundred feet in
height! Altogether, the wall encloses something like a hundred and
seventy-six acres of palaces, terraces, temples and galleries!

"That was the city proper. For miles about were the ruins of smaller
abodes. This building in which we have made our headquarters, Angkor
Vat, is supposed to have been Angkor Thom's chief temple. You have
already exclaimed at its size. Let me point out that you cannot
completely grasp how huge it is because there exists here no basis for
comparison but palm trees, fromager, cane. The façade of this single
building is five times as wide as the Cathedral of Notre Dame!

"Naturally, Mouhot was greatly excited. The records of mankind did not
even hint at there ever having been such a civilization in this part of
the world. He asked his native guides whence came these structures, who
built them?

"Their answer was--the Gods!"

Ramey Winters nodded, fascinated. "I can understand that. Whatever men
conceived and fashioned this edifice _were_ of godlike stature. Before
the world went crazy, I studied a smattering of architecture. Enough to
realize the tremendous effort expended here--"

"Ah, but you haven't begun to see the wonders! Look at the walls and
ceilings of this room, my boy."

       *       *       *       *       *

"I been looking at them," spoke up Barrett. "Darned things is simply
lousy.--'scuse me, Miss Sheila!--I mean the walls and ceilings is
covered from top to bottom with carving and stuff. Pictures and wiggly
scrolls and everything. What was this? Part of the art gallery?"

Dr. Aiken smiled distantly.

"Yes, Red. A very, very small portion of the hugest art gallery ever
known. Because every square inch of wall in both Angkor Thom and Angkor
Vat is covered with similar stone sculpturing! There are murals two
hundred ... three hundred ... feet long emblazoned with the images of
thousands of warriors in battle! A statue of a _naga_, or seven-headed
serpent, more than one hundred feet long. Figures of gods and men,
of evil demons, of creature unlike anything known to Man. About the
grounds are single stones a hundred feet high, hand-carven to represent
gods whose names we do not know."

Ramey frowned.

"Now, wait a minute, Doctor. That's impossible, you know! I mean, a
hundred feet high--"

"I quite agree with you, Ramey. Such sculpturing is impossible to
present-day civilization. My colleague, Alfred Maynard, once wrote: 'To
transport these monoliths and erect the colossi, strength was wielded
that our machinery does not supply.' A true statement of the case. The
nearest quarries of the stone of which Angkor was built are twenty
miles away! Modern engineering could no more duplicate the feat of
building this structure than it could match the Pyramid of Cheops!

"Yet even if this gigantic task of transportation of materials could
be accomplished--what craftsmen today could match the stone-engraving
of these walls? The ancient workmen used no cement. With what
incredible tools they pierced this stone into delicate images, we
cannot guess. The pillars are as painstakingly filigreed as if wrought
by a goldsmith. In a chamber I shall show you--a subterranean niche
discovered by Lake, here--is something even more remarkable. A cabinet
of _metal_, inscribed with hieroglyphs eroded just enough to be
indecipherable!"

Lake answered Ramey's questioning glance with a nod.

"That's right. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Sort of a cube, about twelve
feet square. Hollow, too. But I can't find any way to open it. The
inscription probably tells what it's all about, but as the Doc says,
you can't quite read it. Almost, but not quite. It's tantalizing. Like
a picture out of focus, or--"

"Probably just as well." That was Syd O'Brien voicing his gloomy
opinion. "Don't like the looks of the thing. Sinister."

"I'd like to see it," said Ramey. "I'd like to take a week or so and
see everything about this place--What's up, Red?"

The redhead, seated nearest the doorway of the room, had come suddenly
to his feet with a warning gesture. Now he whispered hoarsely,
"Doc--outside! A spy! Somebody's found out about me and Ramey being
here!"

In a single motion, Ramey was on his feet, his automatic in his hand,
was gliding to his friend's side. Red was right. Ramey was just in
time to see a furtive figure, scar-faced, yellow-robed, Oriental, slip
behind one of the numberless pillars supporting the corridor. He spun.

"Red's right! They're on to us. I knew we couldn't get away with this.
Everybody sit tight; Red and I are going to pull out before we get you
all in trouble...."

       *       *       *       *       *

Then Johnny Grinnell was at his shoulder, and he was snorting amused
relief.

"It's all right, Winters. Put your pistol up. It's only poor old
Sheng-ti. He's probably hungry again, daft old devil!" He called
quietly in a tongue that Ramey--though he did not speak the
language--recognized as Cantonese. Slowly the figure emerged from
behind the pillar. Ramey saw a lean, shaven-pated Oriental of
indeterminate age clad in the filthy yellow robe of a Buddhist _bonze_,
or priest.

The _bonze_ moved forward hesitantly, his eyes darting suspicion at the
two strangers. As he approached, his mumble became English words.

"Food! The child of Buddha hungers."

"Very well, Sheng-ti," said Grinnell soothingly, "We share with thee."
Aside, to Ramey, he explained, "Sheng-ti's a _ku'an-chu_, Most Holy
One. Not quite right up here. Not an ounce of harm in him, though. We
feed him, and he calls down Buddha's blessing on us. Fair enough, eh?
Behold, Sheng-ti, we have guests! The bird-men from the sky have come
to visit us."

The priest glowered at the two strangers malevolently.

"Later we shall show them the wonders of the temple," continued
Grinnell. "They would see the statues of the gods, the fountains and
the hidden crypt--"

At his last words, a spasm of something akin to terror passed over the
face of the yellow man. His eyes clouded and he thrust long-taloned
hands before his face as if fending off a blow. His voice lifted in a
discordant croak.

"_Aie_, doom!" he cried. "Doom ... doom ... doom!"

And turning swiftly, he fled, ragged skirts trailing behind him,
sandals slip-slopping on the stone floor. Ramey grunted.

"Well! Pleasant little harbinger of spring, isn't he? That last crack
of yours went over big."

Dr. Aiken smiled.

"I shouldn't let that worry you, my boy. Sheng-ti's a dire prophet, but
a poor one. He warned me three years ago that if I did not leave this
temple I would 'vanish into yesteryear', never to return. Cheerful
thought, wasn't it? But I'm still here.

"Now, sit down, both of you, and stop worrying about nonexistent
troubles. Have you forgotten we are on an island surrounded by a moat?
Our watchmen guard every approach. If anyone comes near, we'll be given
ample warning. Now, let me see--what were we talking about?"

"The chamber Lake discovered."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Oh, yes! Well, that's but one of the thousand mysteries of Angkor,
Ramey. There are many more. I might point out some of the peculiarities
of the sculpture itself. Oddly mingled with painstaking representations
of ordinary men, are the figures of incredible, fabulous monsters.
Dragons, great _nagas_, hypogrifins, monkeys garbed in human clothing,
acting like men, apparently talking to each other and to humans.

"You might reasonably say that these representations are figments of
the creative imagination, a sort of 'artistic license,' so to speak.
But here's the rub! Whenever _men_ are depicted, they are reproduced
with elaborate fidelity. Not a single effort is made to aggrandize or
conventionalize, as is the case in the artistry of other ancient races.
The Minoan, for instance, or the Egyptian. The builders of Angkor
seemed to pride themselves on faithful portrayal.

"But _why_, then, did they detract from their accuracy by delineating
the figures of nonexistent creatures? And the colors they used--why
did they portray some human figures as white, others yellow, and
still others _blue_? Unless--" Ian Aiken's voice throbbed with
eagerness--"these were creatures and men they knew?"

The older man's excitement communicated itself as an uneasy chill to
Ramey. He said, "You mean--?"

"I don't know what I mean, Winters--yet. I'm still studying, still
trying to unite in coherent oneness the facts imperishably carven here
for someone to discern.

"All I know is that Angkor Vat is _old_--considerably older than
baffled science has hitherto been willing to admit. By the eyes and
the feet of the statuary we judge its period. Blank, staring eyes,
unfocussing; feet carven by artists so unaware of perspective that they
exposed the soles of a walking person.

"I know, too, that the explanation is written here on these walls for
him who can solve the Angkor script. We have not yet found the key.
The letters seem to resemble the elder Siamese, which itself resembled
Sanskrit. Perhaps we'll never unlock that lingual door.

"But there is one universal language, Ramey Winters! The language of
science, mathematics, astronomy! And here we have a whole city written
in that language. The arrangement of Angkor is as truly symbolic, as
truly based on the mystic science of numbers, as is the famed King's
Chamber of Cheops' pyramid.[2] And there are certain astronomical
carvings--"

[Footnote 2: Many devotees of the "science" of numerology are firmly
convinced that the Great Pyramid of Cheops was too geometrically
designed as to present to him who could decipher its structural
allegory a comprehensive prophecy of the world's future for more than
5,000 years.--Ed.]

       *       *       *       *       *

"But, look, Doc--" That was Red Barrett cudgelling his brow--"if this
here place was discovered about 1860, the scientists ought to been able
to figure it out by now. Ain't they no histories at all, no ideas how
it come?"

Dr. Aiken's smile was scornful.

"Too many," he answered, "and too poor! For want of a better
explanation, experts have decided that a race known as the 'Khmers'
inhabited Angkor. They have even presumed to establish the period of
occupancy: from about the 5th Century B.C. to the 14th Century of our
Christian reckoning. Some of the more daring savants have attempted to
trace the 'lineage' of Khmerian royalty.

"Gentlemen, believe me--these explanations are rank nonsense! Based
on no valid records, facts, or suppositions! The learned M. Groslier,
attempting to explain why Angkor Vat should lie deserted and forgotten
for five hundred years in a jungle grave, presents the theory that
the Khmers waged a war with the neighboring Thais, were defeated and
forcibly driven from their national stronghold.

"Stupid poppycock! The weak Acadians of Nova Scotia were expelled from
their homeland by armed force--yet within two generations seventy
percent of them had drifted back--to tiny farms and wretched hamlets.
But we are asked to believe that a great race meekly left its capital
and never attempted to return!

"Yet--suppose that were true? A faint possibility, but let us grant it.
Then why did not the conquerors move into occupy what must have been
the most magnificent city on the face of the earth. Remember, at the
height of its glory, Angkor Thom must have been prouder than Augustus'
Rome ... more alive with swaggering splendor than Hannibal's
Carthage ... gay and rich as the Golden Chersonese of fable!"

Ramey nodded.

"Sounds whacky," he agreed. "Any more theories?"

"One even more implausible. That a plague destroyed the entire
population of Angkor."

Ramey shook his head. "Well, that _could_ have been, sir. Before
the advance of medicine, plagues used to ravage whole countries
periodically. The Black Death is supposed to have killed more than
twenty-five million persons in Europe in the Renaissance period.
The bubonic killed ten thousand a day in Constantinople during the
Interregnum. Even today the Orient is swept by raging plagues--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"I realize that, my boy. But tell me--you've heard of the Great Plague
of London? What did the city look like?"

"It was a charnel-house. Death-carts ... dead bodies in the streets ...
graveyards filled to overflowing...."

"Exactly! Now, listen here! In all of Angkor Thom, there are no human
remains to be found!

"You will say this merely indicates that the Khmers did not inter their
dead. Perhaps they had no sepulchers, no graveyards or tombs. True. But
shouldn't there be human remains somewhere in or near these structures?
Even if age did rot the carcasses, there should be bones! But--there
are no bones in Angkor!

"Not only that, but there are no weapons, no pottery fragments, no
accoutrements! If I die, one of thirty million souls simultaneously
stricken by death, my body can decay, my crumbling bones may be swept
away by the winds, yes! But the Khmers wore metal bracelets, belts,
buckles; used utensils of metal. Their pictures tell us so.

"Yet there is not one piece of wearing apparel to be found in all
Angkor! Not a single pin, not a scrap of household furniture, not one
old, discarded cooking-pot! Now, how do you account for that?"

Ramey, staring at the old archeologist, slowly shook his head. "I--I
can't, sir. Can you?"

Ian Aiken's eyes were strangely introspective.

"I see but one possible solution, my boy. There was a mass emigration,
purposeful, determined, complete. That--until a more satisfactory
theory presents itself--is the way I am forced to explain it. And it is
an explanation at least halfway in accord with the symbolic drawing I
mentioned a few minutes ago. The drawing that shows--Yes, Sirabhar?"

He broke off suddenly as the small Cambodian bustled into the room,
dark eyes wide and frightened.

"Pardon, master Doctor, sir! But warriors approach. Armed forces of the
Island Ones cross the South bridge."

"This time it ain't no false alarm, Ramey. It's the Japs. They _did_
see our 'plane crash, after all!"




                              CHAPTER IV

                                Attack


Syd O'Brien said glumly, "I knew it! Now we're in a mess. I guess I'll
write my thesis in a Saigon prison!" But the expedition leader turned
on him testily. "Nonsense, Sydney! There is absolutely no cause for
alarm. Naturally, the Japanese had to investigate a falling 'plane. But
they can't possibly know the aviators are safe, and masquerading as
members of our party--" He turned to the others--"Shall we go out to
meet them? It will look better. No, Sheila--I think you'd better stay
here!"

The girl's shoulders stiffened defiantly. A strange admiration
brightened Ramey's eyes. Or perhaps it was not so strange, after all.
Many times, during the preceding hour of conversation, he had found
his gaze wandering toward her. In a happier, more peaceful world,
perhaps--

"Why should I, Daddy?"

"Sydney--" Dr. Aiken ignored the question--"you'd better go down and
speak to the workmen. Reassure them. Get Tomasaki to help you. Ramey,
you and Lake and I will talk to our visitors. All right, Sirabhar, you
may come, too."

"How about me, Doc?"

Dr. Aiken glanced meaningfully toward the bandage on Barrett's head.
"I think you'd better stay here and keep out of sight," he said wryly.
"That--er--turban you're wearing is the weak spot in our story!"

A few minutes later they were moving forward to meet the Japanese
scouting detail. Despite Dr. Aiken's assurance, Ramey's confidence
was bolstered by the comforting heft of an automatic in his hip
pocket. The Nipponese, over-cautious in this as all things, had sent a
sizable investigating party to Angkor. Thirty squat, brown, dusty men;
truculent; ready for any emergency.

Their captain made his mission known in a faltering, school-book
English. An airplane had been seen to descend of the sky, please. Did
the gentlemens opportune to see--?

Good gracious--an airplane? How alarming! No, the gentlemens had not
seen anything out of the ordinary. Would the honorable captain care to
look around for himself?

It struck Ramey that Dr. Aiken was sticking his neck out unnecessarily
far. The captain barked commands, his company split into details of
two and three men, wandered off in different directions. Then Ramey
realized Aiken had followed the proper course. With such a wide area
to cover ... with the burned ship lying a half mile off, in a field
concealed by an arras of tangled bamboo ... with the Japanese not even
sure the 'plane _had_ landed in this vicinity ... the chances of their
stumbling across it were extremely remote. And to have seemed any less
willing to help would have been to invite suspicion.

       *       *       *       *       *

Having done his duty, the little leader was inclined to be friendly. He
stared about him with awed respect. This was a great marvel, not so? He
had not known there were such sights in Cambodia. One would not suppose
it from seeing the miserable hovels at Pnompenh, down the river. It was
not, of course, to be comparison with the beautiful, modern buildings
of Tokio and Kobe, still--

He sucked his teeth politely. "Who makes this great structures, please?"

"We're not sure," Dr. Aiken told him. "It was built many, many years
ago. By a race now vanished."

The small captain looked excited.

"Many years? A--a _ber-oo_ race, perhaps?"

Now it was the doctor whose eyes widened.

"Blue! Did you say a _blue_ race?"

"But, yes!" answered the Jap. Everyone knew that long ago there dwelt
on earth the blue-skinned gods. "The legends of my peoples speak of
them," he said. "The _Kojiki_ tells how they brought to mankind wisdom,
and--" he continued serenely--"when they departed, it was ordained that
my people should henceforth rule the world."

[Illustration: "Stop!" shouted Ramey, leaping from behind the idol.]

Dr. Aiken had completely forgotten, now, why the Jap was here. This was
another precious piece fitting the jigsaw puzzle he was striving to put
together. He cried to Lake and Ramey, "Hear that? In the _Kojiki_, too!
The ancient Japanese Book of Records! That makes four places I've
found reference to blue ones.[3] The Hindu folklore tells of them; the
Druidic ritual worships blue warriors. I tell you, lads, Angkor is a
vital link in the chain of Man's past! We _must_ find a way to read the
writing. When we do--"

[Footnote 3: Follows another reference which would have interested Dr.
Aiken:

"I accept that, in the past ... inhabitants of other worlds
have--dropped here, hopped here, wafted, sailed, flown, motored--walked
here, for all I know--been pulled here, been pushed; have come singly,
have come in enormous numbers; have visited occasionally, have visited
periodically for hunting, trading, replenishing harems, mining; have
been unable to stay here, have established colonies here; have been
lost here; far-advanced peoples, or things, and primitive peoples or
whatever they were: white ones, black ones, yellow ones--

"I have a very convincing datum that the ancient Britons were blue
ones. Of course we are told by anthropologists that they only painted
themselves blue, but in our own advanced anthropology, they were
veritable blue ones--

"_Annals of Philosophy, 14-51_: Note of a blue child born in England.
That's atavism!"--from _The Book of the Damned_, by Charles Fort.--Ed.]

Then his words died abruptly. A call had risen from across the moat.
Soldiers, standing at the edge of the cane-grove, were gesturing,
shouting. As he listened, the smiling captain ceased to smile; Dr.
Aiken, who apparently understood at least part of the message, glanced
suddenly, worriedly, at Ramey. In an undertone he breathed, "Your
airplane! They've found it! And--and somehow they know you're one
of--Hurry! We've got to get out of here!"

He tugged at Ramey's sleeve. But even as they edged away, the little
captain turned, his eyes hard and angry, his friendliness vanished.

"A moment, please! You have lied to me. Halt! or it is necessary to--"

His revolver was already halfway out of its holster. But swiftly as
he moved, Lake O'Brien was even quicker. With a sudden twist, Lake
wrenched the gun from his hand, shoved a leg behind his knees and
shoved violently. The small captain went sprawling and--

"Come on!" cried Lake, "up to the temple."

He cried a needless warning. For even as he shouted the Jap leader's
voice screamed a shrill command. Soldiers came running from every
section of the court, and the brooding silence of Angkor was shattered
with the sharp, explosive crack of a modern rifle.

       *       *       *       *       *

In that moment, when it seemed impossible the racing four could cover
four hundred vulnerable yards, relief came from an unexpected source.
From around the corner of the temple charged two uniformed warriors of
Nippon. Beyond them lay temporary safety but--how to pass them? Already
one was raising rifle to shoulder, his finger tense on the trigger.
Then from the building itself snarled the bark of an automatic. The
Jap jerked as though sledged with the blow of an invisible ramrod. His
jaw dropped suddenly and the gun flew clattering from his hands as he
doubled and pitched forward. Then another shot from the same source;
another, and yet another. The familiar voice of Red Barrett boomed from
the portico.

"Keep coming, keed! We're covering you!"

Four hundred yards is a meager distance, but it seemed like miles.
Ramey Winters gasped to his comrades, "Duck! Zigzag! Bad target!" and
set the example, hunching, shifting his course like a frightened crab,
as he scuttled for the gateway.

His own pistol was in his hands. He used it once to take a flying
potshot at a brown-clad figure emerging on an upper terrace, and had
the satisfaction of seeing the figure duck hastily out of sight,
howling with pain and dismay as the riflestock splintered in his hands.

Lake, too, was emptying his commandeered pistol at such targets as
presented themselves. With what success Ramey had no time to judge, for
a bedlam of gunfire howled about them now; hot lead glanced screaming
off ancient stone.

How they won through that maelstrom of seething death, Ramey could not
afterward say. He was only conscious of his own plunging motion, dimly
aware that all three of his companions were still on their feet and
racing forward with him. Once a puff of glittering powder leaped from
the causeway inches before him, and coarse, stony granules lashed his
face stingingly. Once a voice beside him grunted, and glancing up he
saw that Lake O'Brien's shirt was redly plastered to his shoulder.

Then suddenly the heat of the day, the dancing sunlight, were gone.
Grateful murkiness engulfed them, and friendly hands tugged them to
shelter. Red Barrett's voice bellowed in his ear, "Nice, going, pal! I
thought for a minute you wouldn't make it. Them damn yellow devils!"

Then a cooler, grimmer voice crisped orders. "No place to stop. This
spot's too vulnerable. They'll shoot us down like trapped rats. Below,
everybody!"

And again they were running, this time down a shadowy ramp to the
entrails of the temple, to the bulwarked suite of chambers wherein Dr.
Aiken had established his headquarters. Behind them the _spang!_ of
rifle fire died away, but there followed them down the corridor the
shrill cry of the Japanese captain rallying his men.

Dr. Aiken seized a moment of respite to offer thanks.

"You saved our lives, boys," he panted. "But--but how did you happen to
be up there? I ordered you to stay below--"

"It was _his_ idea," claimed Red.

Syd O'Brien grunted gloomily, "Knew there'd be trouble. Got out the
guns. Left Johnny with Sheila. Figured Red and I better go topside to
make sure everything was all right."

His brother chuckled appreciatively. "Well, this was once your dismal
hunches paid off, Cassandra.[4] Now wait a minute, Sheila--don't get
excited!"

[Footnote 4: Cassandra, daughter of King Priam of Troy, was said to
have been loved by the god Apollo, who gave her the gift of prophecy.
But afterward, offended with her, he rendered the gift unavailing by
ordaining that her predictions should never be believed!--Ed.]

       *       *       *       *       *

They had reached their refuge. From it Sheila Aiken rushed forward to
greet them, exclaiming at the twin's wound. "You're shot, Lake! What
happened? Did they--?"

"I'm all right," Lake assured her. "Just barely grazed me. Everybody
in? Watch that door, Ramey. What happened? Why, those damned, stinking
little Japs spotted Ramsey's plane, that's what."

"But we knew there was a possibility they might do that," said the
girl. "That's why we dressed Red and Ramey as members of our party. Why
should that cause them to--?"

Dr. Aiken said gravely, "I can't understand it myself, Sheila. But
somehow the soldiers learned Ramey was one of the aviators. That's
what they called to their captain. Wait a minute! What's that? I hear
footsteps!"

"It's all right," called Syd. "It's just Johnny. He's got Sheng-ti with
him. This way, Johnny. You all right? Where've you been?"

Grinnell entered, his face serious. "I ducked down to the digs when
the shooting started, told the workmen to head for Pnompenh, get a
message to the consul there. Lake! Your shoulder!"

"Only a flesh wound. Where did _he_ come from?"

"Sheng-ti? Oh, I bumped into him in the causeway. I told him to beat it
but he insisted on shuffling along. Look, Sheng-ti, you'd better get
out of here. This is bad. Trouble. Danger. Savvy?"

The _bonze_ was paying no attention to him. His eyes had lighted
upon Ramey Winters. Now he raised both arms high above his head in
a jeremiac gesture. His voice rolled stridently through the vaulted
chambers. "_Aiee!_ Doom! Doom! When the bird man drops from the skies--"

"Very well, Sheng-ti. That will do," Dr. Aiken silenced him curtly. He
turned to the others, frowning. "Well, there's your answer."

"Answer?"

"How the Japs found out about Ramey. Sheng-ti must have shouted his mad
prophecies in their hearing, pointed Ramey out. Well, what's done is
done. We might as well make the best of it."

Ramey's brows were knotted anxiously. "This has gone far enough, Dr.
Aiken. Red and I can't stay here a minute longer. We've gotten you into
trouble as it is. We're pulling out, _now_!"

The archeologist shook his head. "Thanks, boy, but it's no use. We're
all in the same boat now. Have been ever since we defied their orders,
returned their fire. They're resentful little beasts, the Japs. And
don't condemn yourself. It's not altogether your fault. Our work here
was finished the day they marched into Indo-China. If it hadn't been
this they would have found other excuses to close in on us.

"No, the only thing we can do now is hold the fort. Try to defend
ourselves until one of the coolies gets word to the American consul
about what's going on up here. And I'm afraid our future actions will
be determined entirely by our little yellow friends. Whether it is to
be truce or war is a decision they must make--"

"A decision," interrupted Syd O'Brien from the vantage-point over which
he stood guard, "they've already made. It's war, Doctor! Because here
they come now!"




                               CHAPTER V

                                Flight


It was not strange that in this moment of peril, when the chips were
down, Ramey Winters should be the one to seize the reins of command.
He was a soldier, a trained fighting man. It was sheer instinct that
spurred him into action. Once, several hours before, he had studied
this room with the wondering eyes of one baffled by mystery. Now he
studied it again, this time with the sharp, critical gaze of a fighter
appraising a salient.

The hall in which they stood was a closed square, roughly, fifty by
fifty, on the lowest level of the temple. Its walls were two feet
thick, and it had no windows, but it was still precariously vulnerable
because at the center of each of three walls gaped wide, arched
doorways, and the fourth wall was fed by a smaller entrance.

Ramey asked swiftly, "These doorways--where do they lead?"

Syd O'Brien pointed to each in turn. "North wall--outer staircases from
the moat. West wall--terrace. The south entrance is the way we came in.
The little door leads to the inner court. They'll come from the west
and south."

"Okay. That's where we'll concentrate our defense. Red--you and Lake
and Dr. Aiken guard the west entrance. Syd and Grinnell and I will hold
the south."

"How about me?" demanded Sheila Aiken angrily. "I'm as good a shot as--"

"You have the most important job of all," Ramey told her grimly.
"Keeping the guns loaded for us. Put all the guns and ammunition on
the table between us. Here--" With a heave he cleared the surface of a
massive laboratory desk. Dr. Aiken winced as piles of carefully sorted
ceramics, heaps of precious notes, spilled helter-skelter to the floor.
"Sirabhar will help you. I suppose we can't count on Sheng-ti. No?
Then you and Sirabhar will have to keep an eye on the north and east
entrances. Not much chance of their getting in that way, but--"

Red said, "Lot of furniture in this room, Ramey. Chairs and tables and
stuff. Make good barricades."

"Good idea! All right, everybody, hop to it! Time's getting short."

Time was getting short. So treacherously short, in fact, that working
feverishly they had barely succeeded in setting the rude beginning of
their barricades before the vulnerable doorways when the attackers hove
in view. Johnny Grinnell gave the alarm.

"Here they come, Ramey! Around the edge of the terrace wall. Six ... a
dozen of them. I don't see the captain, though."

"You won't," bellowed Red. "'Cause he's over here. They done what you
figured, Ramey; split up. They're coming at us from both sides. Well--"

"Wait!" snapped Ramey. "Don't shoot unless they do!"

Red lowered his rifle reluctantly. "Damn if you ain't the--the
_pacificest_ guy I ever saw! Always letting the other guy get the drop
on you. It gives me a pain in the--_Wow!_ There it comes! Well, I can
shoot, _now_!"

For his sentence had been punctuated by a simultaneous opening fire
from both attack parties. His own gun barked answer. And this time,
more ruthlessly, more determinedly than it had waged before the battle
begun on the upper causeway continued.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was no time for the details of that fight to register coherently
upon Ramey Winters' brain. But later he found etched in his memory
sharp, indelible highlights of those frenzied moments.

His own gun, spluttering and coughing against his cheek as he crouched
at the edge of the doorway, firing at figures that slipped, wraithlike,
through the murky corridor. The incessant, crashing echo of what seemed
like a thousand guns; here in these vaulted depths sound smashed back
upon itself thunderously, seemed to merge with the thickening, acrid
smoke and roll about the room in reverberant waves. Red Barrett,
holding his heavy rifle pistol-wise in one hamlike paw, dripping curses
in a loud, prolific stream as with his free hand he tucked into place
the edge of a raveling bandage. Syd O'Brien, scowling at his side,
methodically pumping his shots where they would do the most good. Lake
O'Brien, across the room, achieving the same result with roars of
boisterous glee.

Other details. Dr. Aiken's plaintive moan rising above the crash of
gunfire. "Those carvings! Those priceless carvings! Ruined!" A glimpse
of Sheila Aiken, an angel yet, but an avenging angel now; face smudged
and sweating, white hands flying like shuttles as she reloaded the hot,
empty rifles and lined them again within reach of the fighters. The
whining sing-song of Sheng-ti, stalking up and down the room, invoking
something of his placid, contemplative god; whether a blessing or a
curse Ramey could not tell.

Then Sheila's voice rose, shrill, alarmed. "Johnny! Ramey! At the court
gate!"

Ramey spun to the small east doorway, rifle leveled. But even as his
sights centered on a yellow face, Syd O'Brien's arm knocked up his
gun. The bullet gouged flecks from a priceless mosaic. "Don't! It's
Tomasaki! Call him, Sirabhar! Get him to help!"

Sirabhar slipped from table to doorway, called to his companion in
their native tongue. An answer quavered back, highpitched with terror.
Sirabhar turned.

"He say he no dare, Master sahib. He say he do not wish to fight the
Little Ones. They too many and too strong."

There was anger and contempt in the loyal aide's voice. He called again
to his fellow-countryman, his words a liquid blur in the tumult. An
answer piped back. Sirabhar's small frame stiffened, his soft brown
eyes were suddenly dark bits of flinty shale. His face contorted;
he spat into the gloom and whirled to Dr. Aiken, his voice shrill,
accusing.

"Tomasaki no good friend, Master Doctor. Him coward. Him--"

His words ended suddenly. Too suddenly. Ramey, who had turned again to
the defense of his post, risked a backward glance--and was in time to
see the staunch little Cambodian reel and topple forward, clutching,
with fingers that seemed to spurt blood, at a gaping hole in his chest.
Sheila screamed, and beside Ramey, Syd O'Brien growled a thick curse.
They were the brown man's obsequies. He was dead before he hit the
floor.

       *       *       *       *       *

But there was no time to mourn him now. For Barrett, who had swung
from doorway to table for a recharged weapon, roared suddenly, "The
ammunition! Is that all we have left?"

The girl nodded. "That's all here. There's more in storage, but--"

Ramey, sweeping the table with a glance, saw that their supply had
dwindled to a lone container of cartridges. Enough to account for every
one of their attackers, yes--if every shot could be trusted to take its
toll. But with six people firing steadily, indiscriminately, against a
diverse attack--

"We can't defend this place any longer," he roared. "They'll take us in
five minutes. Too many entrances. Doc, is there any other--?"

It was Lake who answered. "Yes! That underground chamber I found. It
has only one entrance. One armed man could defend that for a week."

"But--can we get there?"

"Through the court exit."

"That's the ticket, then," shouted Ramey. "Lake, you lead the way.
Then Sheila and Dr. Aiken. Somebody grab Sheng-ti and take him along.
They'll murder him if we leave him behind. Ready, everybody? Go, now.
Orderly. We'll all make it."

There came one contradictory voice. Out of a sudden, ominous hush that
descended as briefly no rifle anywhere was barking, came the faint,
dissenting voice of Johnny Grinnell.

"Not ... all of us, Winters."

Ramey, swiveling, saw with horror that the youngster was no longer on
his feet. He lay asprawl on the hard stone floor behind the barricade.
His rifle was still clenched in one white-knuckled hand, but his other
hand gripped his belt as if to stifle a gnawing fire there. And the
fingers of that hand were dark with a slowly spreading stain.

       *       *       *       *       *

In a flash Ramey was on his knees beside the younger man. Dr. Aiken,
too, and Sheila.

"Johnny, what's the matter? You're not--"

Grinnell tried to grin. An unfortunate attempt, for with the effort
suddenly he coughed and the corners of his lips leaked blood. He spat
and shook his head angrily.

"Lucky ... shot! But I guess ... it did ... the trick."

"You'll be okay," Ramey told him gruffly. "Barrett! Syd! Give me a hand
here--"

But even as he gave the order his eyes found Dr. Aiken's, and the old
man's head shook slowly from side to side. His lips formed soundless
words.

"No use, Ramey."

The voice of Grinnell echoed. "It's no ... use, Ramey. I was a ...
med student once." His eyes hardened to a granite doggedness. "You
others ... beat it! Get out of here while ... you can!" Again a
paroxysm of coughing seized him. When it ended his shirtfront was not
pretty. He wiped at his lips with a grimy forearm, cried feverishly,
"Get out ... damn it! Get out ... I say!"

Then a sudden thought struck him. He turned to Ramey. "No, wait! Lift
me ... to the doorway there--"

Red spoke warningly from the west entrance. "They're closing in, Ramey.
I think they're going to rush the joint."

Ramey bent, raised, and cradling the mortally wounded Grinnell in his
arms like a gangling child, carried him to the spot he had begged to be
taken. Grinnell's lips twitched in a feeble smile. "This is ... swell.
Now give me a ... rifle, Winters ... and get the hell ... out of here.
All of you."

Ramey looked at Aiken--the doctor nodded. One by one they abandoned
their posts, slipped into the narrow corridor beyond the prostrate
figure. Sheila was sobbing softly. Syd O'Brien's face was a mask of
pain and rage; even Lake was grim as he stopped to wring Grinnell's
hand in last farewell.

Only over Grinnell's white lips hovered the ghost of a smile. Ramey and
Dr. Aiken were the last to pass him. He searched their faces with eyes
already uncertain. "Don't worry about ... me ... Doc," he whispered.
"Just get even." A shudder trembled through him; he drew a faltering
breath. "Wish I could go with you ... though. It's ... a strange
journey ... you're going on. A strange journey...."

Dr. Aiken tapped his forehead significantly. "Delirium," he whispered.

Then Red's voice boomed from the background. "Ramey! Doc! Come on!
They'll be busting through in a minute."

And he was right. Already figures were closing in on the abandoned
barricade. Ramey gripped the old man's arm, propelled him by sheer
force down the corridor. They had covered perhaps a hundred yards when
they heard the lone, explosive crack of a rifle, Johnny's rifle. Then
another shot ... then a volley. Then silence....

       *       *       *       *       *

Their way led them from wide corridors to smaller ones, then down
a slow ramp to a passageway narrower still and almost completely
lightless. The only illumination came through squares of stone fretwork
high on the walls.

Ramey judged they were below ground level now. Sheila Aiken, behind
whom he stumbled, verified his guess.

"We're beneath the main altar room. Ventilation ducts at bases of
statues there. That's how Lake discovered this place."

Then abruptly they turned a corner and the subterranean chamber lay
before them. It, unlike any of the other chambers Ramey had seen at
Angkor Vat, was doored with a great barrier of bronze. They tumbled
into the room, Syd O'Brien and Tomasaki, Red Barrett and the still
bleating _bonze_, Sheng-ti, Lake and Sheila, Ramey and Dr. Aiken
bringing up the rear. Ramey shut the huge door after them, clanged into
place a ponderous lock-bar, and with a sigh of relief, turned to view
his new surroundings.

This was a small room, barely more than twenty feet on a side and of
equal height. A pallid light filtered down from a grilled mosaic at
roof level. Lake O'Brien augmented this illumination by igniting a
flambeau ensconced on the wall. The torch crackled and flamed high,
casting a fitful, tawny gleam over carven walls, and--something else.
The object Dr. Aiken had mentioned. The inexplicable cube of wrought
metal standing in the middle of the room.

Ramey stared at the thing incredulously.

"Why, that--that thing's _modern_!"

Dr. Aiken nodded somberly. "By all laws of reason and logic," he
assented, "it should be. But its location and the inscriptions argue
differently, Winters."

Ramey tapped the thing with his pistol. It echoed metallically,
hollowly. "But the ancients didn't know how to work with metals like
this. This isn't silver or brass or even iron. It's--it's steel!"

"Guess again," grunted Syd. "It's not even steel. We haven't been able
to figure _what_ it is. Some unknown alloy."

He was, Ramey thought suddenly, getting almost as bad as Dr. Aiken.
Fretting over archeological problems at a time like this. He abandoned
the question for the time being.

"Well, no time to worry about it now. We've given the Japs the skip for
the time being, but we're still not out of the woods. Now that we're
down here, what do we do next?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Lake grinned at him. "We sit," he said, "tight. And wait for them to
get tired looking for us. We hightailed it down here so fast, Ramey,
you probably didn't notice the passageway we came through was a
veritable labyrinth. It took me months to locate this place, and _then_
I only stumbled across it by accident. The Japs are nervous, impatient
little devils. They'll never find us here. In a few hours, a day at
the most, they'll decide we must have somehow escaped from the temple
grounds, beat it back to ask their base commandant what they should do
next. When we're sure they're gone, we'll lam out of here."

"Sounds good. Meanwhile, what do we do about food and drinking water?"

"We do without, I guess," admitted Lake.

For the first time since their flight from the room above, the little
native spoke up.

"Excuse, please, Master sahib, sir. _I_ will go topside. Bring back
food and water."

Ramey stared at him in astonishment. A little while ago Tomasaki had
been limp with terror. Now he was offering to take a foolhardy risk
on their behalf. It didn't make sense. The little man had undergone a
complete change of heart or--

Suddenly Ramey thought he understood. For his keen gaze detected
jittering nerves in the native's hopeful offer. The rising intonation
of Sheng-ti supplied the missing clue.

"_Aiee!_ Doom!" the shaven _bonze_ was crying. "Woe to all men when the
chamber of change be violated; when the gods of the past shall walk!"

Lake, too, understood, and stopped the little man as he edged toward
the doorway. "No, come back here, Tomasaki! It's too risky. They might
see you." He grinned at his friends. "I don't know how the rest of you
feel, but me, I'd rather have an empty belly than a full carcass."

Red Barrett had been staring in awed wonderment at the mysterious metal
cube ever since Ramey had tapped it. Red was a great guy, but he was
not the world's fastest thinker. Now comprehension seemed to dawn on
him with an almost audible sound of gears meshing. He said to Ramey,
"Hey, Ramey! That thing's _hollow_!"

Dr. Aiken said, "Yes, Barrett, we know that. But so far we have been
unable to find any way to open it."

Red started to scratch his brick pate automatically, winced as his hand
touched bandages. "You know what? I bet I know what that thing is.
I seen a picture once, back in the States. Bela Lugosi in _The Wife
of the Werewolf_. He was one of them whacky scientists--'scuse me,
Doc--and he had a cabinet something like this. Only it really wasn't no
cabinet at all. It was a secret entrance to an underground tunnel.

"I betcha that's what this is, too. A passageway which goes down under
the moat, maybe, and out beyond the temple. Them old priests used to be
keen on things like that. Course they didn't mess around with keys or
nothing. They had trick doors you had to work out on like an osteopath.
Like you'd punch on this little knob here, and maybe wriggle this hunk
of carving--_Holy cow!_ Lookit, Ramey!"

He leaped back, startled. Nor was he the only one whose jaw dropped in
sudden wonder. Call it coincidence, call it Fate, call it an incredible
permutation of chance--but while explaining, Red's fingers had fumbled
upon the combination required to unlock the gate of this ancient
mystery. With a groan of protest, one outer face of the strange cube
was swinging open!




                              CHAPTER VI

                              Across Time


Red Barrett was the first to break the silence that blanketed the
little group.

"See, Ramey?" he cried. "Look at that! What did I tell you! Now, I bet
there's steps in that thing. A trapdoor or something."

But womanlike, it was Sheila Aiken who, obeying the Pandora impulse,
stepped forward into the open cubicle. Darkness swallowed her like an
engulfing maw. Dr. Aiken cried out in swift alarm, "Sheila! Be careful!"

Her voice came back, excited but unfearful, "I'm all right, Daddy.
And--Barrett was right! There _is_ a ladder in here. But it goes up
instead of down! Come and bring the torch! This is the _strangest
room_!"

Syd had already torn the flambeau from its bracket. Now he and the
others crowded forward eagerly into the metal chamber. But if they had
hoped a view of its interior would solve their questions, they were
doomed to disillusionment. For the mystery of the cube was heightened,
rather than decreased, by that which the flickering torch revealed.

An interior fashioned and equipped like a small room; for all the
world, Ramey thought confusedly, like one of those efficiently compact
cabins on ocean liners. A metal bench or working table. Two wooden
chair frames, now seatless. In one corner a stiff pallet. Everywhere
mouldering dust that fumed upward as their feet scuffed the floor;
dust that must be, Ramey realized suddenly, the detritus of ages.
The wheezy puff they had heard as the door swung open was proof that
the cubicle was nearly airtight. That which eddied about them now,
tickling their nostrils, must be the dust of less permanent materials
than metal and wood, disintegrated by slow years. Those whorls beneath
the seatless chairs might once have been rush or tapestry; the thick,
powdery fluff on the pallet be the residue of vanished bedsilks.

But it was foolish to conjecture on things vanished when so many
tangible wonders greeted the eye. For as Sheila had said, a ladder
climbed the near wall to the ceiling; on the wall before one of the
chairs was a panel, and on this panel--

Ramey's eyes bulged.

"Doctor!" he cried. "Those dials! Those levers!"

Dr. Aiken was staring at the panel like one who sees a lifetime of
reason and learning collapse before him. "I--I can't understand it!" he
stammered weakly. "Machinery? But the ancients had no knowledge--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey, moving forward, kicked something. He bent and picked it up. It
was as incomprehensible as the panel. It was a metal arch about three
feet long, supported by a cross-brace upon which was mounted a sealed
cylinder, also of metal. The instrument was equipped with a rest carven
to fit the shoulder. Its semi-circular portion was pierced on the outer
rim at one-eighth inch intervals with tiny holes, and where the hoop
joined the cylinder there were what seemed to be two handgrips equipped
with finger-studs.

Instinctively Ramey raised it to his shoulder. It balanced like an
archer's crossbow, except that it had neither stock nor projectile
grooves. That it was a weapon of some sort he had no doubt. An impulse
stirred him to press the stud beneath his trigger finger, but he
subdued it. It would be folly to test a weapon of unguessed nature in
such confined quarters.

In this weird moment he had forgotten everything save his own
excitement. Now a cry dragged him back from the world of wonder to the
world of actuality.

"The door!" roared Lake O'Brien. "It's closing!"

Whirling, Ramey saw the unguarded metal shield swinging shut. With a
hoarse cry he leaped toward it. His shoulder and that of Lake smashed
it at the same time. But the bruising impact was in vain. Even as they
struck it there came the _snick!_ of clasping locks. They were sealed
in the metal cube. And Syd O'Brien's voice told why.

"It didn't close!" roared Syd. "It was closed _on_ us--intentionally!
Tomasaki!"

Ramey, glancing about him, realized that of their number all were
present but the little brown man. Suspicion, latent until now, flared
into sudden understanding.

"Then _he's_ the one! The one who showed the Japs the 'plane, told them
who I was! He's been with them since the beginning. Sneaked around to
betray us at the east gate, and probably shot Sirabhar himself when
Sirabhar tried to warn us."

Lake boomed, "By God! That's why he offered to go after supplies! So
he could reveal our hiding place. He's probably gone to fetch the Japs
now, the traitorous little--"

As ever, Dr. Aiken's head was levelest in a crisis.

"There are Quislings in all races," he said sadly. "It's too bad we
discovered the enemy in our midst so late. But we have no time to
waste in recriminations. We must get out of here before the soldiers
come. The ladder--where does it go?"

Red had mounted the rungs, was fumbling above him. Now he called down,
"It's a trapdoor of some kind, Doc. Just a minute and--Ouch! This damn
catch is stuck. There it comes--_oh-oh_!"

Hastily he let drop back into place the yard-square sheet of metal he
had pried open. Ramey looked at him anxiously. "What's the matter,
Redhead?"

"This thing opens right smack into the main altar room," whispered
Barrett. "There's a bunch of Japs up there snooping around. They almost
seen me."

"Then we--we're trapped?" asked Sheila faintly.

Ramey's eyes narrowed. "Not yet! That trap door gives us a chance. When
Tomasaki leads the Japs down here, emptying the courts above, we'll
beat it out that way!"

       *       *       *       *       *

He glanced at Dr. Aiken commiseratingly. "Tough luck, Doc! Just when
you make the greatest find of your career, we have to duck out. But
maybe someday we can come back and figure out this mystery. Meanwhile
we ought to try to find some way to lock this door from the inside.
Tomasaki's just clever and treacherous enough to have seen how Red
opened it. We've got to try to stall the Japs for an hour or so to give
us a head start. One of these levers might be the answer."

He stared at the wall panel dubiously. Dr. Ian Aiken said, "I don't
know, Ramey. It's foolhardy to experiment with things we don't
understand. I'd be careful if I were you."

"It's now or never," Ramey reminded him. "In a few minutes it'll be
too late to experiment."

He stepped toward the largest of several levers. As he did so a shrill
cry sounded behind him. A mournful cry of terror.

"_Aiee!_ Out of the chamber of the past comes doom! Doom to the men of
the earth and of not-earth!"

"Will somebody please gag that perambulating wailing-wall?" demanded
Ramey irately. "All right, everybody--look sharp! I'm going to try it
easy. If you see anything happening, holler! And be careful no trap
doors open beneath you. Okay! Here we go!"

He laid his hand on the upright strip of metal and pulled it slowly
toward him. But nothing happened. So long had it rested unused that it
seemed welded to the plate on which it stood. Ramey tried again, more
forcibly. Still no result. He hunched his shoulders, took a good grip.
This time he wrenched at the lever with every ounce of power in his
six-foot frame. And--

The rod gave suddenly, jolting back in its groove, burying its handle
in the pit of Ramey's stomach, jarring the wind out of him. Ramey sat
down, abruptly. A startled "_Ooph!_" burst from his lips. Then as he
caught his wind, a grin overspread his features. "Did it!" he claimed
triumphantly. Then as he stared about him, seeing no change in either
the room or his companions' expressions, his eyebrows raised. "But now
that I did it," he demanded plaintively, "what did I do?"

"You pulled a little stick," said Red genially. "Only nothing happened.
I'll give you a recommend if you ever need one. Chief stick-puller and
nothing-happened."

But one at least did not share his mirth. "Wait!" Sheila Aiken cried
suddenly. "Something _did_ happen! Listen--a humming noise--"

       *       *       *       *       *

It was so. Singing so faintly through the cubicle as to be almost
inaudible was the thin, far moan as of a diminutive motor heard from
a vast distance. And where Ramey's hand touched the floor, he thought
he could detect just the faintest, the barest, tingle of vibration
coursing through the metal. Nor was this just an hallucination.
Because--

"It _is_ a motor!" cried Dr. Aiken. "We must be moving! For, see? The
panel!"

Ramey's eyes followed the archeologist's finger. On the curious
instrument panel before them was a circular dial. And the pointer of
this dial was slowly revolving!

Red Barrett, who had clambered down the ladder, took one startled look
at the spinning needle and started up again. "Excuse me, folks," he
gulped, "I just remembered I got to see a guy about nine million miles
away from here!" His hands fumbled for the latch of the ceiling trap
door.

Dr. Aiken stayed him with a sharp command. "No, Red! Don't!"

"H-huh? Why not?"

"Because something is happening to us. Obviously, we are moving in some
direction or other. It might be perfectly safe to open that trap door,
but on the other hand--well, I think it would be better to wait until
the needle reaches the end of its circuit."

"If you ask me," vouchsafed Syd O'Brien gloomily, "we've probably
marched ourselves right into some sort of ancient torture chamber.
An Iron Maiden, or something like that. We'll probably end up under
the moat or being cooked in boiling mud--" He stared about him
suspiciously. "Do these walls look like they're closing in on us?"

His brother chuckled. "Cheerful little cherub, isn't he? I agree with
the doctor; you shouldn't open that trap door just yet, Barrett.
But I don't think we're in any danger. Evidently this chamber was a
secret of the ancient priesthood. They wouldn't build anything to hurt
themselves. Wherever it's taking us--"

"Taking us?" interrupted Ramey. "What's all this talk about movement?
We don't seem to be going anywhere."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Aiken permitted himself a thin smile. "Spoken like a true airman,
Ramey. I'm afraid your profession has accustomed you to judge motion
by external appearances. Within this closed chamber we have no object
relative to which we can judge speed or direction. But by the hum of
the motors, movement of these several dials, it is perfectly obvious we
are doing _something_. Just what, I cannot say." Here a frown flickered
across the forehead of the older man. "It is quite true that if we
move either up or down there should be a visceral sensation similar to
that experienced in elevators. Similarly, were we moving in a lateral
direction we should have felt the shock of over-balanced inertia when
we started in one or another direction. Since we did not feel these
things there is only one other possibility, but it is so fantastic--"

"It ain't fantastic," broke in Red Barrett. "It's whacky. We ain't
going up or down; we ain't going sideways. That's all the directions
there is."

"All the _common_ directions known to man," corrected Dr. Aiken slowly.
"There is one other about which we know absolutely nothing. A direction
of flight which is, at best, but a mathematical concept--"

This time Sheila Aiken stared at her father. "Daddy, it's unbelievable.
You can't mean--?"

"I venture no opinion," said the old man mildly. "I am simply trying
to apply to a most unusual situation the rules of logic."

Ramey gave up. He looked at the girl helplessly.

"What does he mean, Sheila?"

There was equal helplessness, and for the first time, an expression of
uncertainty, in the girl's eyes as she answered. "He means--we may be
moving across Time, Ramey!"

"Time!" For a moment Ramey was jarred completely out of his
self-possession. Then his sense of humor came to his rescue. "Oh, come
now! We _are_ letting ourselves go hogwild! It's been a hell of a day,
I know. And we've had some unnerving experiences, but--_Time!_"

Syd O'Brien did not share his scorn. The more sober twin nodded
moodily. "Nevertheless, it's a possibility, Winters. Time is a
dimension just as truly as height, breadth, depth. Some have called it
the Fourth Dimension and evolved the concept of a Space-Time continuum
wherein all things past and present exist side by side. Even the
man-in-the-street acknowledges the dimension of Time in his everyday
life. When he says he will meet a friend at Broad and Main Streets, his
directions are inadequate unless he specifies the _floor_, for if he is
on the tenth floor and his friend waits at ground level they will not
meet. The third dimension, height, must be taken into consideration.

"Similarly, if he tells his friend he will meet him on the tenth floor
of a building at Broad and Main, and he is there at ten o'clock but his
friend does not arrive until two, they will still not meet--for they
did not take into consideration the Fourth extension, Time."

"I understand that," acknowledged Ramey impatiently. "But to speak
of _crossing_ Time or 'traveling through' Time--that's absurd. Sheer
nonsense for imaginative fictioneers to toy with."

       *       *       *       *       *

The old scientist stared at him quizzically. "I wish I could be as sure
of that as you, Ramey. Unfortunately, science is forced to admit too
many contradictory points of evidence to make such bold statements. I
might mention the strange case of the two Twentieth Century American
lady-tourists who, strolling in the gardens at Versailles, found
themselves suddenly translated, incomprehensibly face to face with
members of the Eighteenth Century royal French Court. This record is,
unhappily, too well authenticated to ignore. I might also point to the
accuracy of the prophecies of Michel de Nostradamus who claimed that by
means of his magic he was able to move forward into the future and see
those things which were to be.[5]

[Footnote 5: Michel de Nostradamus, most amazing of all prophets, not
only accurately forecast major world events for many hundreds of years
but supplemented his prophecies with the _exact dates_ as well as the
names of _persons_ and _places_ involved. So highly is he regarded on
the continent that at the outbreak of World War II, more than five new
editions of his book, _The Prophetic Centuries_, were rushed into print
to supply the demand of Frenchmen eager to learn the outcome of the new
strife.

Unhappily the prophecies of Nostradamus suffered the fate of those of
Cassandra. Few believed his statements that France would be betrayed
from within, Paris fall, and the greater part of the nation be occupied
by German forces.--Ed.]

"Many other instances. An Italian record of a stranger who appeared
mysteriously in Sicily some two hundred years ago in a machine, the
description of which shows a marked resemblance to a rocket-propelled
airship. Legend relates that this wise man, who spoke a curiously
distorted English, made his home with the natives for several months,
taught them new and better methods of husbandry, instructed them in
the construction of mechanical devices, and stayed an incipient plague
by medical means unknown to that era."

"Still," expostulated Ramey, "to travel across Time--"

"As a hazard," pursued the old man, "let us suppose the continuum
of Space-Time may be likened to a huge volume in which is inscribed
all the history of past, present, and future. All things are written
there--_all_. From man's darkest beginnings till the last feeble
flutter of a dying sun stills in cold death a forlorn earth. Man,
reading this volume, must perforce turn the pages one by one. He has
memory of that which he has read, comprehension of that upon which his
eyes presently rest--but no knowledge whatsoever of what lies before.

"But there is another pathway through this volume. The creeping pathway
of the bookworm. This is the shortest route between era and era.
Through this infinitesimal tunnel the bookworm--or let us say a 'time
machine' constructed by one who knows the manner of its making--can
skip from epoch to epoch in the twinkling of an eye."

Ramey stared at him incredulously. "And you--you think this thing we're
in may be a sort of mechanical bookworm piercing the pages of Time?"

"I do not know," Dr. Aiken told him again. "I simply point out that at
least hypothetically these things could be. I do not know; no. But we
will learn in a minute. For, see? The needle has stopped. And if I am
not mistaken, the humming, too, has ended."

He pointed. The moving needle had indeed completed its circuit and
come to rest; the vibration was gone. Whatever had been the nature of
the metal chamber's movements, it was motionless now. Red fidgeted
impatiently above them.

"All right now, Doc? Okay for me to lift the trap now?"

"Yes. By all means, Barrett."

       *       *       *       *       *

Red raised the trapdoor gingerly. But no sunlight filtered into the
inch-wide slit. He lifted it still farther, glanced anxiously down at
his companions. "Hey, lookit! This is funny! It's dark! No, wait a
minute--there's a little spot of light. And there's _another_ wall here
and _another_ ladder."

"Give him the torch, Syd," cried Dr. Aiken. "There.... Got it, Barrett?
Go on up. Climb the ladder. See if you can find out where we are, and
what--"

The flaming brand bobbed upward ten, twenty feet, for a few seconds
weaved in uncertain circles, its light reflecting to those below only
a gray formlessness and the foreshortened outlines of the climbing
Barrett. Then:

"Ramey! Doc!" cried Red.

"What is it?"

"Come on up here, everybody, quick! Look! There's a platform up here
and a couple of peepholes, and--and it's the damnedest thing you ever
seen. We ain't moved an inch. We're still in the temple. But--but it
ain't empty now. There's about three billion people gathered in it!"




                              CHAPTER VII

                          Gods of the Jungle


Red's hyperbole achieved at least one result. That of creating an
immediate scramble for the ladder. Within a very few minutes all the
party, including even the muttering Sheng-ti, had joined him on the
platform before the circular openings he had mentioned. Of these there
were approximately a dozen, spaced at irregular intervals around the
chamber in which they now found themselves. Ramey, standing beside
the girl Sheila, stared down upon a sight to stagger the wildest
imagination.

He looked from an elevated vantage post out across a tremendous hall
of Angkor Vat. But there was a subtle difference between this room and
those which Dr. Aiken had shown him hours--or was it centuries--ago? At
first Ramey could not name that change. Then, with a start, he realized
what it was.

Everything looked newer, cleaner, brighter. The pillars supporting the
high, vaulted roof were more sharply incised, the carving more clearly
cut, undulled by the leveling file of age. Furthermore, not just a few,
but _all_ the murals, the carvings, the multifold bits of statuary were
painted, not in dull, faded hues, but in gaudy color, freshly radiant!

These things were evidence enough that a change had been wrought in
their lives. But if anyone needed more, the court below stirred with
_living_ proof. "Three billion" was a typical Barrett estimate, but
there were, Ramey saw swiftly, easily three, perhaps four hundred
people gathered in the altar room.

And _what_ people! From every lurking corner of earth they must have
sprung. Ramey gasped to identify representatives of every race, creed
and color known to man. For the most part they were Asiatics, saffron
of skin, oblique-eyed. But here stood a little group of gigantic
Nubians, ebony-hued and strong, draped in jewel-encrusted girdles of
samite; over there gathered a band two-score strong of golden-haired,
pale-fleshed warriors, fur-garbed and armed with gleaming halberds;
elsewhere, anxiously whispering amongst themselves, huddled a knot of
dark-haired, hawk-nosed captains with rich beards that curled to their
breasts!

Dr. Aiken whispered hoarsely, "Then--then it is true! We _have_
traversed Time! Come back to the period of Angkor's glory. For, see?
Syd, those bearded men--"

"Assyrians," acknowledged Syd O'Brien, "or I'm stark, staring mad.
But--but that means, Doctor, Angkor is centuries older than we thought.
Their era was around 2500 B.C."

Red Barrett gulped, "You mean that there bellywash you was talking a
little while ago is _true_? We actually have come back through Time? I
don't believe it!"

"I know just how you feel," assented Lake O'Brien. "I hate to admit it
myself. It makes me feel like a candidate for the padded-cell brigade.
But you've got eyes, Barrett. There's the proof before you. How else
can you explain it?"

"I can't," snorted Barrett stubbornly, "and I ain't going to try to.
This is a dream, that's what. A dream or a hally-soosynation. For all I
know, maybe I got conked in the fight, and I'm delirial. Yeah--that's
what it is! I'm off my button and seeing things. I don't believe none
of this. You hear me--?" He swung suddenly to the peephole, raised his
voice in a roar. "I don't believe in you! Get it? You guys are spooks,
dreams, nightmares! Go 'way! And--Oh, my golly! _Ramey_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

HIS words ended in an agonized howl. For his shout had brought an
unexpected result. Real or unreal, the "hallucinations" thronging
the hall below had an auditory sense. At Red's bellow, all murmurs,
all motion, suddenly stopped--and every eye turned upward toward the
source of those cries. Now something like a shudder coursed through the
assemblage. Voices rose shrilly, a dozen figures raced bleating from
the room ... and to the last man, those left behind fell to their knees
in attitudes of abject worship!

Ramey turned in confusion to the girl beside him.

"_Now_ what?" he demanded helplessly.

"I think I know!" said Sheila. "This chamber we're in is the interior
of one of their idols. These peepholes must be the eyes in the image.
Or perhaps they are just concealed in the carving. Look underneath
this opening. See that funnel-shaped pipe? That's a speaking-tube,
magnifying the voice. No wonder they're excited. When Red shouted, it
must have seemed their god was bellowing orders to them."

"That's it!" agreed Lake. "That was a fairly common trick of ancient
priesthoods. Hollow gods from which they could spy on their followers,
deliver oracular utterances. Hand me that torch, Syd. I'm going down
again and look for a doorway out of this image. There must be one."

He ducked below. As he did so, there came a second concerted moan from
the throng. This time Ramey guessed the reason. The flickering of the
torch across the viewholes must have seemed to the watchers like the
glint of life winking in their idol's eyes.

Then there rose a commotion from the far end of the hall, the babble of
excited voices, and Ramey understood where had gone those who had fled
the temple. To fetch someone in authority. For now there sounded the
dry scrape of marching feet, the clank of metal upon metal, and into
the altar room tramped a company of--

"Holy potatoes!" exclaimed Red awefully. "_Giants!_"

For giants indeed the newcomers were. An armed band of men, the
shortest of whom towered a full head and shoulders above any other man
in the hall. Ramey was six foot two. Red and the O'Brien brothers each
also topped the six foot mark. But Ramey knew that all of them would
appear as striplings if ranged beside this file of yeomanry. Six nine
seemed a fair guess as to their average height, and he who marched at
their head, a raven-haired, amber-skinned mountain of a man in the rich
trappings of rank, assuredly topped the seven foot mark!

       *       *       *       *       *

A mutter passed through the crowd as he entered, and Ramey, whose
eye was trained to note the psychological reactions of men, thought
he could detect in the attitude of those gathered a poorly veiled
hostility, a resentment and will to rebellion held in check only by
fear.

Then the newcomer spoke, his voice harsh, imperious, demanding. The
natives answered, pointing fearfully at the idol housing Ramey and
his companions. The giant captain's brow darkened, his eyes flashed
scornful fire, and once more he raised his voice. Ramey turned to Dr.
Aiken eagerly.

"What's he saying, Doc? Can you--?"

"No. It's no language I know. It sounds slightly like Sanskrit, but the
syllablation and intonation are oddly different."

And then, surprisingly, Sheng-ti spoke beside them.

"_Aie_, doom!" he moaned softly. "Lo, the day of our judgment is at
hand. For the gods walk again and speak their ancient tongues!"

Sheila gripped the old priest's arm tightly.

"Sheng-ti--you understand? Translate for us!"

"They speak of mysteries too holy for humble ears," groaned the priest.
"They tell the Mighty One the idol has spoken. He laughs and says it is
untrue. But they insist. Now he mocks them, calls them fearful fools."

Red Barrett snorted.

"Oh! A wise guy, huh? A know-it-all? Well, watch me take him
down a peg!" And again his lips found the tube. His voice rolled
in a hollow roar. "_Tally-ho, smart-aleck! Brooklyn-dodgers ...
officeofproductionmanagement ... gadzooks.... How do you like them
apples?_" He fell away from the opening, chuckling, as the giant's
blanched face whirled toward the idol. "Guess that'll hold His Nibs for
a while! What's he saying now, Sheng-ti?"

The bonze listened intently as again the saffron-hued commander spoke.
But Red's gag had backfired. For--

"The Great One admits," relayed Sheng-ti, "that the idol did speak. Now
he is affrighted lest the god may have been offended. He would make
atonement. Lo, he bids his warriors seize a virgin, and bear her to the
altar."

At their leader's command, two of the giant yoemen had thrust forward
into the throng, striking with the flat of their swords any who would
hinder them. Now they tore from the arms of an aged man a young,
white-skinned girl, and bore her, struggling and screaming, to the dais
beneath Ramey.

And:

"Ramey!" cried Sheila in sudden horror. "We've got to stop them!
They're going to sacrifice her--_to us_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Red Barrett gasped, "Omi-gawd!" in a stricken voice, and spun to Ramey.
"Why can't I learn to keep my big feeder shut? What--what'll we do,
Ramey?"

The solution came from below, where Lake O'Brien's voice suddenly
raised in a shout. "Found it, gang! I _knew_ there'd be a door
somewhere. Well, you Jonahs--any of you want out of this whale's
belly?"

Ramey cried, "Come on, Red!" and flung himself down the ladder. Then,
as the trio stood before the portal Lake had discovered, a sudden idea
struck him. "Wait a minute! This is our chance to make an imprint
on the natives!" He craned his neck, shouted to those still above.
"Sheila, tell Sheng-ti to forbid the sacrifice! Tell him to say that
the children of the god come forth to claim their victim."

The priest's words boomed above them, prefacing their entrance into
this strange world. And--it was a great success. As the door swung
open, and Ramey and his fellows burst forward onto a raised dais, it
was to find all action abruptly frozen. The slave girl, her simple
toga-like garment torn and disarranged, her wealth of red-chestnut
hair, loosed by the violence of her efforts to escape, cascading to
her waist, stood motionless in the grasp of two stricken fighting-men.
Elsewhere a silence born of terror gripped the room. An awed paralysis
which was shattered by the terrified screams of a hundred throats as
the adventurers appeared.

It was, Ramey could not help thinking with a sort of detached
amusement, a most dramatic entrance. A super-extra, whipper-dipper of
an entrance. Like all men with a sense of humor, he had an instinct
for showmanship. Striding forward he realized with a little shock that
throughout the excitement of the past half hour he had continued to
clench in his left hand the object over which he had stumbled in the
time-traveling cabinet. What it was, he did not know. But it might
mean something to his audience. So as he stepped forward he lifted it
proudly, melodramatically, above his head.

The reaction was swifter and more astonishing than he had hoped for. A
concerted gasp swept through the crowd. The two giant guards released
their captive and tumbled to their knees, and a great cry shook the
temple. Ramey's eyebrows lifted; he tossed a swift query over his
shoulder. "I struck pay dirt that time! What are they saying, Sheila?"

And apparently from the lips of the idol--for Ramey saw now that it was
a gigantic, hideously leering statue in which they had hidden--came the
answer.

"They're hailing you as a god, Ramey! And they are crying out in fear
because that thing you're carrying is the Bow of--of Rudra!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Now the slave girl, whimpering prayerful entreaties, slipped from the
two who held her and threw herself at Ramey Winters' feet. It was swell
stuff. Very godlike, flattering stuff. But also very embarrassing.
Ramey touched the girl's shoulder, disturbed to find that she was
trembling violently, gently lifted her and turned to Barrett.

"Take care of her, Red. Maybe these overstuffed guys will try to make
another pass at her."

Red grinned from ear to ear. "Who, me? Oh, boy--did I say no? Come
here, sugar!" He took the girl into the shelter of his arm. She didn't
seem to mind it a bit.

Then from the back of the hall moved the majestically dark-visaged one
who had commanded the sacrifice. He walked erect and proud, as befitted
a noble, but his eyes were cautiously humble. Though he towered a full
head above Winters, his attitude was respectful. To the edge of the
dais he approached, stopped there and addressed the quartet. This time
Sheila forwarded Sheng-ti's translation without prompting.

"He is Ravana, Ramey. Lord of Lanka, and appointed Overseer of--of
something. Sheng-ti doesn't understand all he says. He bows before you
and begs acceptance of the sacrifice he offered."

Ramey said grimly, "Tell him that for two cents I'd yank off his leg
and stuff it down his throat. I don't like this sacrifice stuff." He
motioned to Lake and Red. "Let's get back into the idol. We've saved
the redhead, here. Now we'd better save ourselves. Hop back into the
time-machine and go back where we came from--"

From above came the voice of Dr. Aiken, alarmed and piteously eager.

"Oh, no, Winters! Not yet! Not quite yet! We can return to our own time
later. But this is the opportunity of a lifetime! We can't leave until
we've learned more about this magnificent culture ... this period!
Besides--in our own era, the Japs are still hunting for us. We must
allow several hours to pass before we return."

Ramey sought his companions' eyes. Lake grinned and nodded. Red
tightened his arm about the shoulders of his new and welcome
responsibility. "Okay with me, chum. I'm just beginning to enjoy this
Cooks' Tour." Ramey surrendered reluctantly.

"All right, then. Come on down. But before you do, better tell this guy
to take us to the Kingfish around here."

Words rolled from the idol's motionless lips, and the giant chieftain
nodded obeisance. And a few minutes later, the remainder of the
time-traveling group spilled from their refuge within the statue.

       *       *       *       *       *

It Was all strange terrain to Ramey, the way through which the
amber-skinned Ravana led them, but their course was apparently familiar
enough to Dr. Aiken and his assistants.

Across an open court, up a long staircase, and into the most central of
the ziggurats which comprised Angkor Vat. Lake O'Brien said excitedly,
"By golly, Sheila, your guess was right! You said this building was the
Big Shot's council hall--remember? And Syd and I thought--Well, I'll be
jiggered!" His voice choked to a hollow whisper. "Golly, look! The--the
carvings come to life! Apes! Warrior apes!"

For standing before the door of the chamber they approached, garbed
in the trappings of men, casqued and helmed sandaled and bucklered,
gripping their bronze-tipped spears in altogether humanoid fashion,
stood two huge apes who snapped their arms to attention as the group
neared!

But even this marvel paled into insignificance in a moment. For now
the great, carven doors of the council chamber swung open, exposing a
throne-room of inconceivable grandeur. Ramey's first staggered gaze
described trappings of fabulous wealth. Gold and ivory, teak and
silver, ebony and the sparking luster of priceless gems. These things
he saw and noted subconsciously. But at the moment they roused no
wonder in him for there was--something else! A presence in the room
that utterly robbed him of his breath.

A man, seated on the golden throne. A man of Ramey's own height. An
older man, gray of hair and lined of visage, now leaning forward
curiously to greet them. A grave, quiet, kindly man, in all respects
like the millions of humans living on the earth of Ramey's era. But for
one thing. The flesh of this ruler was--_hyacinthine blue!_




                             CHAPTER VIII

                               Rakshasi


With a sort of detached wonder, Ramey noticed that the blue man did
not rise from his throne to greet them.

Even a ruler of men, the young airman thought dimly, should humble
himself before gods. Then the conviction came to him that the ruler of
Angkor did not consider them gods! Of their origin he had, could have,
no knowledge. But it was obvious that he recognized them, somehow, for
exactly what they were: human beings caught in a web of circumstances
inexplicable even to themselves.

So the blue lord's preoccupation was with the giant Ravana. To the
amber-skinned one he addressed his questions. The spate of their
conversation sped back and forth between them so swiftly that there
was not even time for the attentive Sheng-ti to translate for his
companions.

But though the words of a conversation may be unintelligible, its tenor
is ofttimes obvious to the careful witness. It became clear to Ramey
that Ravana, at first polite in his salutation to the blue lord of
Angkor, was becoming more presumptious and argumentative every minute.

His shoulders became stiffer, straighter, more bold. Once he glanced
back as if to assure himself that behind him ranged the solid phalanx
of his warriors. His voice assumed a belligerent stridency, and an
arrogant light emboldened his eyes.

Nor was Ramey the only one to notice this gathering insolence. The blue
ruler frowned, and his tone developed an edge of asperity.

Now, however, the amber giant exhibited startling rudeness. Boldly
he interrupted the azure-tinted emperor in midsentence, and cried
what sounded like a loud demand. A brief, startled silence fell upon
the court room. In that silence, Dr. Aiken prodded the _bonze_ for
information.

Scanty as it was, it verified Ramey's suspicions.

"The Tall One says the gods appeared to _him_; he therefore claims the
right to house their mortal avatars whilst they visit. The Blue One
reminds him he is but a guest at the palace, and that he, Sugriva, is
emperor of Angkor."

Lake chuckled. "Huh! Talk about your southern hospitality! It's peanuts
compared to this! Scrapping over who's going to put us up for the
night!"

"Scrapping" was a bit of an exaggeration. It did not quite reach that
stage. But in the moment following the silence it looked very much as
though it might. The tall lord, Ravana, concluding his defiant demands,
turned and snapped an order to his followers. Their hands leaped to
their swords, they moved as though to surround the little party of
time-exiles.

But now the Emperor Sugriva had reached the end of his patience, and
with a swift decision exposed the hand of steel beneath the velvet
glove. He cried a word. It might have been a title or a name.

"_Kohrisan!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

The cry brought an instant response. From one of the arched doorways
of the council room, as if he had been waiting on hair-trigger for
the call to catapult him forward, sprang a strange figure. A short,
gnarled figure so elaborately adorned, _cap-a-pied_, in the glittering
habiliments of a warrior that Ramey had to look twice to see it was no
man at all, but another of the weirdly humanoid apes.

The monkey-captain sized up the situation at a glance, lifted his voice
in a cry that bore little resemblance to the shrill chattering of
ordinary banderlogs. The apparently tenantless court sprang to life.
Through every portal flooded troops of the armed monkey-men to arraign
themselves grimly behind their leader. The furry captain spoke, this
time directly to Ravana, who scowled at him.

For a moment it seemed Ravana trembled on the brink of a decision. His
right hand yearned toward his sword. Then he shrugged and forced a
smile to his lips. He made a perfunctory, almost insulting, bow to the
blue-skinned lord of the jungle, then crisped a word to his followers.
They turned and marched from the room. As Ravana passed the squat
ape-man, he sneered a mocking taunt; the gaudily garbed little creature
flinched as if struck with a blow. Then Ravana and his bullies were
gone, and Sugriva beckoned Ramey's party to advance toward him.

Ramey's first impression of the emperor had been that Sugriva was a
wishy-washy sort. Now he was forced to alter that opinion. There was
no nervousness, no uncertainty in the blue lord's manner. He seemed to
have weighed carefully the problem and arrived at a conclusion. He was
a gentle man but he could act when action was required. And he was a
man of penetrating intellect. He had already recognized that Sheng-ti
was the only one to whom his words held meaning. He addressed himself
to the _bonze_. Sheng-ti answered with a new note of humility in his
voice, then relayed the message.

"The Blue One says to follow him. He would understand and be
understood."

Wonderingly the little group followed Sugriva to a small privy chamber
beyond the throne-room. As they entered this Ramey's eyes widened to
behold another metal cabinet somewhat similar to that in which they
had been borne here, but of hemispherical shape. Into this the ruler
motioned them. Red Barrett looked dubious.

"Hey, what's he going to do, Ramey? Send us back where we come from? So
soon? Aw, gee! Me and Toots here ain't hardly got acquainted yet."

Syd offered warningly, "Look out. It's a trick of some sort. I don't
trust--"

"I think it's all right," Ramey reassured them. "Yes, I know it is.
See, he's going in it himself. Come on. We'll never find out what this
is all about if we don't take a chance."

He stepped into the chamber behind Sugriva. The others followed. The
blue lord closed the door.

       *       *       *       *       *

This chamber, too, had a control panel on one wall. To this the emperor
went, adjusted small dials and pressed a plunger. Sheila screamed.
Cries of alarm ripped the throats of Lake and Dr. Aiken. Ramey Winters
was conscious that he, too, had cried aloud under the impact of a lance
of fiery pain piercing his brain. From the ceiling of the chamber a
radiation terrible to look upon blazed down upon them, its intangible
beam of light seemed to smash them with tangible force. Ramey staggered
a step forward, clutching for Sugriva. But even as he did so, he was
aware that the ruler pressed another button, that the radiation had
died, and the pain was suddenly gone.

His head throbbed and burned. He cried, "Damn you! What's the big idea?
What are you trying to do to us?" But there was disarming candor in the
blue man's smile. "Peace, my friend," he soothed. "There will be no
more pain. It is over now."

"Over?" repeated Ramey. "It had damned well _better_ be over. You
can't--" Then he halted, his mouth foolishly agape, as realization of
what had happened dawned upon him.

He had spoken to the Lord of Angkor. And the blue lord had answered.
And each of them had understood the other!

       *       *       *       *       *

Sheila Aiken stared at their new acquaintance wildly.

"You--you're speaking English!"

He shook his head, a quiet smile on his lips. "No, on the contrary, it
is you who speak my tongue. Not that it matters. We can converse in
either. Now that we have undergone the ministration of the _vilyishna_,
each of us possesses the other's language." He turned to the
yellow-skinned _bonze_ who, heretofore, had been his sole interpreter.
There was a curious comprehension and sympathy in his eyes. "And you,
my friend--your brain has cleared?"[6]

[Footnote 6: Study of brain structure has convinced medical men that
the degree of human intelligence is commensurable not to the size of
the brain, but by the number and depth of its convolutions. These
groovelike depressions in the gray-matter are apparently fashioned by
thought-action.

Since it is also believed that thought itself is an electrical
phenomenon, it is altogether conceivable that a machine might be
devised whereby a transformation of patterns from one brain to another
might be achieved. The _vilyishna_ of Rudra is evidently based on a
refinement of some such principle as this.--Ed.]

The surly Sheng-ti was surly no longer. An amazing change had come
over him; his eyes, which had ever been dark and cloudy with half-mad
suspicion, were now gleaming. Ramey knew, even before the old priest
spoke, what this meant. The mysterious _vilyishna_ had performed for
Sheng-ti the greatest of all possible services. It had lifted from his
brain the cloud of insanity which had veiled it for years!

Sheng-ti cried out, a choking little cry of joy, and dropped to his
knees. "It is, O my Lord! Thou knowest it is indeed clear and strong
again!"

Sugriva laid a hand on his shoulder, raising him.

"I am sorry it was necessary to subject you to even a moment's
pain. But there was no other way. The patterns of the brain are not
rearranged without a modicum of discomfort." As he spoke he opened the
door again, they returned to the room whence they had come. "You are
all recovered now?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Aiken's eyes were those of a new Balboa staring out across
uncharted seas of knowledge.

"The _vilyishna_! Transference of knowledge by machine! Learning by
superimposition of brain patterns!" he whispered. "Lord, what an
achievement! Where did it come from?"

"It is an invention of my people," Sugriva told him.

"Your people?" repeated Ramey. "Who are your people, my Lord? In the
world from which we came there are no men of your pigmentation. Who on
earth _are_ your people?"

It was then the blue lord Sugriva smiled. There was a touch of sadness
in his voice. "My people are not of Earth, my young friend. They are
of--another world altogether!"

"_Venus!_" cried Dr. Aiken suddenly. "Venus--that is your homeland! I
knew it! Ramey, do you remember just as the Japanese attacked I was
about to tell you of one of the oddest carvings we had discovered? That
mural was a representation of the solar system, showing at the center
the mother Sun, then, circling about her in their orbits, the planets
of Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, and the other spheres.

"Two things about this mural perplexed us. One, that there was a
definite line scored between the planets Venus and Earth, such a line
as experience in deciphering Angkor's symbolism had taught us always
represented 'contact' of some sort.

"The second point was that immediately beneath this diagram were a
series of smaller carvings. One showing a forest of lush vegetation
unlike anything known to Man, another showing a cylindrical, shiplike
object surrounded by heavenly bodies, a third showing a troup of
earthmen kneeling before a man like Sugriva. A man with blue skin. My
Lord--you know the carving whereof I speak?"[7]

[Footnote 7: The mural here described is no invention of the author. It
actually exists. Many and ludicrous have been the attempts of savants
to give a logical explanation of its meaning. Readers of scientific
fiction, less hindered by dogma and prejudice, may be willing to accept
it as factual proof that at one time in history intercourse did exist
between this earth and the planet Venus.--Ed.]

Sugriva nodded. "Indeed, I know it well. Did I not cause it to be made?
In the long years that have elapsed since I assumed the protectorate of
this Earth colony I have had my subjects carve much of the history of
our people into the walls of this citadel. But more of that later. I
would hear now of yourselves. You came hither in the cabinet of Rudra?"

Ramey said, "Then you _knew_ of the time-machine?"

"Of a certainty, my son. Was it not built by my own blood-brother,
Rudra, who, until he grew restless and fretful, ruled this colony with
me? Ah, he was a brilliant one, Rudra, and a great scientist. It was he
who designed the _vilyishna_, aye, and even the Bow of Death which now
you bear. Important things might he and I have accomplished had he been
content to stay here with me. But a score of years ago, dissatisfied
and impatient, he built in the chamber beneath the altar room the
cabinet which flies backward in Time. In this cabinet he made many
trips into the past, returning ever and anon to amuse me with tales of
marvels seen. But ever longer and more daring grew his trips, until
finally there was one from which he returned not ever, nor the cabinet
in which he had gone. Tell me--and saw you my blood-brother Rudra in
the era whence you came?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Aiken shook his head sorrowfully. "No, my Lord. We saw him not.
The cabinet was thick with dust, and Rudra's bow lay on the floor. The
machine itself had lain hidden in its chamber from the sight of man for
countless centuries."

Sugriva sighed.

"Then he is indeed perished. But tell me--how came you to find the
cabinet? And from what ancient era came you? Rudra found many signs of
life in the ages he traversed, but never a race of Earthmen cultured as
yourselves."

"We are not from the Past, my Lord, but the Future."

"Future! But my brother's machine could not safely move forward in
Time! He told me so. Only into the Past--"

"Nevertheless, he must have tried. For we found his cabinet in an age
five thousands of years later than this."

Sugriva nodded dolefully.

"Now I can guess why he returned not. He was daring, my brother. Too
daring. But--the future, you say? Tell me, then--is my small colony a
great and beautiful metropolis in the period whence you came hither?"

"Not so, my Lord Sugriva," answered Dr. Aiken regretfully. "Somewhere
in the centuries which span between now and our era, an evilness has
befallen this colony of yours. For in the world we left behind us,
these mighty halls and temples are but a haunting wonder lost in the
slumbering sea of leafy jungles."

Sugriva's sadness deepened.

"This is grievous news you bring me, my friends. If what you say is
true, if fifty centuries hence this colony is vanished, its people
scattered, then my labors here are of no avail. And my mission on Earth
has failed. But--why?"

It was a question for which the time-exiles knew no answer. Its
solution lay yet in Sugriva's future, and was so far buried in their
world's past as to be a forgotten secret. But they were spared the
necessity of answering. For at that moment came an interruption. There
wakened a flurry of action at the central gate, the doorway opened, and
through its great portals swept a woman.

And _what_ a woman! She was tall ... much taller than the average man,
almost as tall as Ramey himself. But there was no gangling awkwardness
to her height. Her figure was perfectly proportioned to her stature.
She walked with the slow and lithe and languorous grace of a jungle
creature. A panther, perhaps, thought Ramey, with rapt approval
watching her move nearer. Yes, assuredly a panther. For she was neither
white nor Mongolian. Her skin was the soft, fine ivory of the Eurasian.
Ivory, shading to tawny gold with the contours of her body, deepening
with the curve of her thigh, the round of her elbow, the shadowy cup
of her breasts. Pantherine, too, were her eyes. Triangular eyes,
long-lashed and lazy, with pupils of dusty emerald.

Captain Kohrisan sprang to attention as she approached, saluted and
cried introduction:

"My lords--the Lady Rakshasi!"




                              CHAPTER IX

                           "--Or Not to Be"


The Lady Rakshasi spoke, and her voice was just what Ramey thought it
would be. Throaty and mellow, caressing-low with a throbbing undertone
of promise. She addressed Sugriva, and her words included all present,
but there was that in her tone, her manner, the sidelong appraisal of
her eyes, which made Ramey feel her welcome was for him alone.

"Greetings, Sire. My brother tells me the Children of the Gods favor us
with a visit. I come to welcome them."

Red Barrett made no attempt to conceal his frank admiration. He said,
"Don't mention it, baby. Boy, Ramey, I'm getting gladder we come
every minute. They grow 'em terrific around these parts! First little
carrot-top, here, then this Ziegfeld doll--"

The Lady Rakshasi looked confused.

"I am sorry," she apologized. "The red-haired god no doubt speaks words
of great wisdom. But his humble maid-servant does not understand."

"It is nothing," Ramey assured her hastily. "The red-haired god but
expresses his pleasure." Aside to Barrett he whispered, "Utcay the
ackscray, opeday!" and Lake O'Brien guffawed loudly.

The interview was brief. That was Sugriva's doing. Politely, but with
gentle firmness, he told her, "You have done well, Lady Rakshasi. The
gods are pleased with your attendance. But now you must leave, for they
would rest. They have come from afar to visit their worshippers, and
they are weary."

The lovely Rakshasi bowed obedience. "Yes, Sire. I hear and obey. But
ere I go, my brother bids me tender unto you his humblest apology for
that which transpired in this hall. He bitterly rues his hastiness. He
was confused, he bids me say, and overcome with awe by the presence of
gods."

"It is forgotten," said Sugriva graciously. "Go now in peace, my lady.
Convey to your brother our forgiveness."

Rakshasi left, but Ramey's eyes followed her to the door. And the
golden creature knew it, for just as she slipped from the chamber she
turned once more, and for a fleeting instant her green eyes met Ramey's
fascinated gray ones. And the look that passed between them held little
of piety.

Then she was gone, and with her departure it was as if a disturbing
fever had left the room. Ramey, feeling the gaze of Lake O'Brien
curious upon him, felt a stab of warmth in his cheeks, and wondered
just how much an ass he had made of himself. Apparently he had done a
pretty fair job of it, for the one person whose eyes would not meet
his was Sheila. And strangely, now that Rakshasi was gone, it was the
clear, mist-blue sanity of Sheila's eyes that Ramey wanted most to look
upon. He shook himself angrily and turned to Sugriva.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Sire, you permitted the Lady Rakshasi to believe we are gods. Why?
When you know we are not."

The Venusian overlord nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, my friend, I did not
disabuse her belief. But it was no useless deceit. What I did, I did
for your own safety."

"Our safety, my Lord?"

"You have probably already guessed that Ravana is no more of this earth
than am I. As my people come from Gaanelia, that planet which you know
as the morning or evening star, he and his giant underlings spring from
the red desert planet of Videlia."

"Videlia?" repeated Dr. Aiken. "You mean--Mars?"

Sugriva searched his brain, nodded.

"Yes. That is its name in your language."

Lake O'Brien moaned.

"Sweet saints, 'what fools we mortals be'! And men think they are
intelligent. Yet here, five thousand years before our time, the
civilizations of our two neighboring worlds have simultaneously
developed spaceflight--"

"No, my friend. It was we, and only we, who learned the secret of
spaceflight. And like fools, we gave it away."

"Gave it to the Videlians?"

"Yes. We Gaanelians are a quiet, peaceloving people. For centuries our
culture has been great. Our cities dwarf anything you humans know. Our
commerce, agriculture and industry are great. We want for nothing. Thus
we have turned our leisure hours to the pursuit of knowledge and the
refinement of art.

"Our science discovered the secret of flight amongst the stars. Our
expeditions flew to all the children of the Sun; to the planets you
know as Mercury, Mars, even massive Jupiter and far, frozen Pluto.

"Only on three other planets, however, did we find life. Here on
Earth--crude, nomadic barbarism for the most part, with only in one or
two places the rude beginnings of a social culture--on the second moon
of Jupiter, and on Mars.

"The Martian, or Videlian, culture alone was in any way equal to our
own. In our blind altruism we freely gave the videlian giants our great
secret--" Sugriva smiled ruefully--"and now we regret it. For we have
learned that the Videlians are not such lovers of peace as we. They are
hard cruel people, greedy and grasping, predatory. Their space-vessels,
like ours, have brought colonists to Earth. And of these interlopers,
Lord Ravana is ruler. Lately it has became increasingly clear that he
has not the same benevolent designs on the people of Earth that I was
sent here to bring about."

"You mean he wants Earth for himself?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"That is what I suspect and fear. Consider. With a whole wide world of
pleasant hills and valleys in which to establish himself, Ravana chose
to construct his fortressed capital on an inaccessible island sixty
miles off this mainland--the Isle of Lanka.

"While he has pretended friendship, visiting me here and occasionally
inviting me to his island stronghold, I have heard strange rumors about
his over-lordship. Where as it has ever been the Gaanelian desire to
achieve harmony between our race and yours, it is hinted that the
humans who serve Ravana do so not as willing subjects but as--slaves!
We have tried to pass on to our neighbors something of our learning and
culture, exhibiting good will and friendliness. But I am told that what
Ravana wants he exacts by forceful means.

"It was to investigate these rumors that I recently sent for
representatives of all Earth's governments to meet here at Chitrakuta.
You saw these representatives, I believe, in the altar room?"

Ramey nodded. "They didn't seem to be particularly fond of Ravana. I
don't blame them much. There's a brutal streak in the guy. His first
idea, when the idol spoke, was to pacify it with a human sacrifice.
If we hadn't spiked that deal, I'm afraid this young lady--" He
nodded toward the chestnut-haired beauty clinging close to Barrett's
side--"wouldn't be with us now.

"Well, Sugriva, I'm beginning to understand the setup now. It's not so
unusual. The world we left behind was being sadly muddled by a mob with
pretty much the same idea as the Videlians. They want to be top-dogs
or nothing. So, now that we're here, what can we do to help you out?
You want us to continue playing gods while you hold your round table
conferences with the boys in the back room?"

But Sugriva shook his head. "Not now, my friend. I shall explain that
later. First you must have food, rest, time to collect your thoughts.
Meanwhile, guard carefully the Bow. It is of vital importance.
Kohrisan--" The ape-captain saluted smartly--"Show our guests to
chambers where they may rest and refresh themselves."

The time-farers allowed themselves to be led away.

       *       *       *       *       *

So began the incredible adventure, the "strange journey" of which
Johnny Grinnell, in the prescience of life's ending, had spoken.

It was Syd O'Brien's idea when, that evening, after having bathed,
napped or refreshed themselves as each saw fit, they gathered again
in the garden-close outside their quarters, that they should bring
this episode to a close. The gloomy twin looked--if such a thing were
possible--more disgruntled than ever.

"If you ask me," he said, "we ought to get going."

"Going?" repeated his brother.

"That's what I said. I don't like this business of messing around in
things that happened five thousand years before we were born. It's not
normal and it's not right. No good will come of it. I'm for getting
back to the time-cabinet and pulling out of there before something
happens and we can never get back."

Sheila gasped, "And miss this marvelous opportunity to discover the
truth about things men have always wondered about, argued over? Why,
Syd, we haven't even begun to discover the marvels of Angkor!"

Dr. Aiken said seriously, "Yes, Sydney, Sheila is right. Fate has
granted us an opportunity to solve more of the mysteries of Man's
beginnings than all earth's savants have been able to uncover in two
thousand years. It is more than an opportunity; it is an obligation! We
cannot leave yet. Why--" His fine old eyes glowed--"this afternoon as
the rest of you slept, I wandered through the courts and the temples,
conversing in their ancient tongues with men whose races were vanished
before the first recorded history was written! Already I have learned
enough to establish an entirely new chronology of history. And I have
merely skimmed the surface!"

"Just the same--" grumbled Syd.

"Just the same," snapped his brother, "you're nuts! Back in our time,
these temples are probably crawling with a regiment of vengeful Japs,
wondering where the hell we disappeared to. It would be suicidal to
go back now. We'd better just sit tight for a week or so ... take
advantage of our opportunity, and return to our own time with a real
contribution to science."

       *       *       *       *       *

So it was decided. And somehow a week passed. Where fled those warm
days and even more languorous nights, Ramey Winters could never
afterward tell. For there was much to be seen and done, and once the
weird comprehension of their actually _being_ here established itself
in his mind, Ramey, like all the others, dipped eagerly into the
garnering of new knowledge.

With the Lord Sugriva they spent many hours. Even feeling sure, as they
did, that everything the blue lord of Angkor told them was true, some
of his statements were so fantastic as to be almost incredible. As when
Dr. Aiken queried him on the extent of Gaanelian colonization.

"I do not know, exactly," admitted Sugriva. "But there must be five,
six, perhaps more colonies. One of my compatriots, I know, governs an
outpost south and west of here. A desolate territory bordered on the
north by vast desertland. Another bears the light of culture to jungle
natives on a far continent, a hemisphere removed. Still a third has
established himself on a tiny island to the west, where the mighty sea
begins."

"Lower Egypt!" cried Dr. Aiken raptly. "Its culture, differing sharply
from that of the Upper Kingdom, has always puzzled archeologists. The
lost Merouvian civilization which left great paved roads and cities
where now is Peru. And a tiny island--?"

"_England!_" cried Sheila. "Daddy, that explains why the legend of
the 'blue gods' persists in ancient Anglo-Saxon history. The Druids
worshipped 'men from the skies.' They had their 'sky-blue heaven' of
Tir-n'a-nog. And as late as 1,000 A.D. the Picts went forth to battle
with their bodies painted with blue pigment!"

But again, as before, arose the question: if these colonies now
existed, into what darkness had they disappeared that those of the
Twentieth Century knew them only as legend? This was a cause of great
sadness to Sugriva.

"I can only confess," he conceded regretfully, "that somehow our
mission, the bringing of culture to your less enlightened Earth races,
must have failed. Why, I do not know."

       *       *       *       *       *

Here a great thought struck Ramey Winters.

"But if we could only find out what destroyed your attempt, perhaps
we could do something to prevent it!" His eyes glowed. "What a
glorious thing for mankind! Already you have converted men from
nomadic wanderers into a semi-cultured people. If that cause which
destroyed--or is to destroy--your tutorship were to be removed--" Ramey
faltered over the use of tense, feeling keenly the anomaly of their
position as men of a future age, living in a past, being part of that
past, yet knowing inerrably that which was to come--"Why, then, the
whole history of mankind could be changed! There would be no decay in
Egyptian culture, no Rome rising mightily, then toppling, no long Dark
Ages. There would be only steady progress, ever forward, upward, to
greater knowledge!"

Syd sniffed, "You're day-dreaming, Ramey. The fact that we exist proves
that the history of mankind took a certain channel. There's no way of
changing that. Is there, Doctor?"

"I don't know, Sydney. There is much to be said on either side. It may
be that history is, as you say, unchangeable. But there is the problem
of causality. Once this era _was_. We, having not been born then, were
not here. Causes developed effects new causes--and a course of history
was written leading to the world we know.

"But a new factor enters an old equation. This era again _is_, but
we who do not properly belong here have entered into the picture by
way of a time-machine. It is conceivable that our very _being here_
is sufficient of a cause to change and divert the entire sequence of
events which would otherwise have been the 'future.'"

"Rot!" snorted Syd. "Excuse me, Doctor, but that's not logical. For if
our being here were to change history in any slightest way--then we
would automatically cease to exist! Because the exact and precarious
chain of circumstances which brought us into being would have been
altered."




                               CHAPTER X

                               Exposure


So they dropped the matter there, completely unable to solve the
problem, each convinced that his theory was correct, none without a
lingering doubt but that the other's might be true. And the days sped
by.

They were fruitful days. Lake, who had a flair for the philological,
spent much time studying the Gaanelian language. To Red and Ramey, as
professional airmen, what was of particular interest was the matter
of spaceflight. Gaanelian ships, Sugriva told them, called regularly
at every inferior conjunction of Earth and Venus, Videlian craft less
frequently. "But often enough," the blue lord admitted ruefully.

"And these ships--" demanded Ramey eagerly. "Their method of
propulsion? What is it?"

Sugriva frowned. "I am not sure I can tell you, my friend. I have
searched my brain for the words in your tongue with which to
explain--but they do not exist. It is a concept utterly foreign to your
culture. The nearest I can come to an explanation is to say there are
'fields of force' between the planets, and on these fields the ships
feed and ride."

"An electrical transmission of some sort, perhaps?"

But again the protector of Chitrakuta looked baffled. "Now there is
a word in your tongue," he apologized, "which is foreign to _me_. A
concept of your civilization _I_ cannot grasp."

And Ramey realized suddenly that despite its many magnificent
scientific achievements, the Gaanelian race was apparently in total
ignorance of electricity! It was used nowhere; not for heating,
lighting, communication. He tried to explain the phenomenon to Sugriva,
but it was a hopeless task.

"I am sorry, Ramey. But that is a study in which I am not adept. If
you will but wait until the next spacecraft arrives, a matter of but a
few months, there will be those on board with whom you can talk more
understandingly."

And with this Ramey had to be content.

But if the blue lord's knowledge of mechanical science was deficient,
he lacked few other qualifications of leadership. During the stay of
the time-exiles was held the grand parlay for which representatives had
been summoned from every corer of the civilized eastern world.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sugriva proved superbly his right to rule. To the gratification of
the assembled humans and the disgruntlement of the Lord Ravana he
laid down the Law. That there should be at all times peace and amity
between the natives of Earth and their foreign visitors. That Earthmen
should feel always free to call upon those of Venus for information and
aid in new projects. That the chosen of Earth's youth should gather
annually in the nearest Gaanelian colony for instruction in knowledge
and culture. That Gaanelians and Videlians should at all times respect
the territorial rights of Earth's races, and should at no time make any
demands upon persons or services of terrestrial subjects for which the
Earthmen did not receive complete and satisfactory compensation.

There had to be teeth in this pronouncement. Sugriva bared them
plainly, for the second time exhibiting the sternness which underlay
his placid nature when he thundered determination to make all abide by
this covenant, under pain of the displeasure and (if need be) the armed
reprisal of the Gaanelian overlord. He did not hint what nature these
sanctions might assume except to Ramey Winters, and then on only one
occasion.

"Guard well the Bow of Rudra, Ramey Winters. The day may yet dawn when
we will have need of it."

Ramey said, "But what is it supposed to do, Sire? I have experimented
with it, but nothing seems to happen when I finger the grips. It's a
pretty useless hunk of ordnance, if you ask me."

Sugriva said, "I am quite content that you do not know how to operate
the Bow, my son. It is too dreadful a weapon to be lightly exploited.
But if the time ever should come for its use--"

So the pact was drawn up, and the several races became signatories. It
was a direct and challenging blow to the ambitions of the Lord Ravana,
one that he swallowed with difficulty. But swallow it he did--though
perhaps one of the greatest contributing factors to his signing was
the fact that at the final meeting were ranged beside Sugriva the
time-exiles--and that in Ramey's ready hand dangled nonchalantly the
dreaded Bow of Rudra.

       *       *       *       *       *

But the days at Chitrakuta, for such by now they had all learned to be
the Gaanelian name for the temple they had known as Angkor Vat, were
not all concerned with study or the grim business of government. There
were hours of relaxation, too.

Red Barrett, for one, was thoroughly enjoying the championship of
the beautiful damsel who had been placed in his care days before. Of
course she proved a baffling bundle of loveliness in some respects. As
on the first day, when Ramey chanced upon the duo in time to hear Red
demanding perplexedly, "How? How's that? Come again, Toots!"

And: "Ich hight Evavne ab Daffydd y Marwnadd, mihr gneight," repeated
his lovely charge demurely.

Red moaned. "Hey, Doc!" he yelled, "Hey, Sheila! Anybody got any
spirits of ammonia with them? Toots, here, has the hiccups!"

Ramey went to his chum's aid. "What's wrong, Red?"

"It's Toots, here," complained Red aggrievedly. "I said to her, 'Look,
Toots, I can't keep calling you "Toots" all the time. What's your real
name?' So instead of giving me a straight answer, she makes with the
double talk."

Dr. Aiken, who had been listening with amusement, now spoke up. "But
the young lady _did_ answer you, Barrett. She said she was 'Evavne,
daughter of David and Marian.' And--" The old man smiled slyly--"I
believe you've made something of an impression, my boy. She called you
her--er--'knight'!"

"Yeah?" grinned Barrett. "Well, gee! That's okay, ain't it? Evavne,
huh? Not a bad handle, Toots. But after this, you better talk English."

"She _is_ talking English, Red."

"Huh? Aw, now, Doc--"

"Well, let us say, then, she is speaking the ancient tongue from which
modern English derives. I fancy--" said Dr. Aiken speculatively--"our
charming friend is a daughter of one of those races which first settled
the British Isles. A Pict, or a Celt."

"All I got to say," grumbled Red, "is that going in the _vilyishna_
with us didn't do much good if that's the best English she can talk.
Come on, Toots. You and me is going to see Sugriva and have him arrange
another language-exchange in the recording booth."

And together they left on the expedition which was to remove their last
lingual difficulty. They had no other kind.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey Winters, too, was finding the soft, moonbright nights of
Chitrakuta conducive to thoughts far removed from the grim ones of
hatred, war and death that had governed his life until his translation
into this elder world.

In Sheila Aiken he had found a woman who, after all these years of
avowed misanthropy, had the power of arousing within him strange
sensations. New sensations to Ramey Winters, perhaps, but sensations
which any wise men could have told him were as old as humankind.

There was about her a _something_--a peace, a quietude, a
gentleness--which filled a vital need in his makeup, which calmed
and complemented the flamelike restlessness of his own nature. With
propinquity came greater admiration for Sheila Aiken. And as the days
and nights, especially the nights, threw them into ever increasingly
intimate contact, admiration deepened into something Ramey thought,
believed, feared he could name--but dared not.

Vainly he reminded himself that he was a fighting man, a soldier. That
all this madness was a strange interlude out of which sooner or later
he must return to take his ordained place in the world he had left.
That he must neither pledge himself nor demand pledges of one whose
world was so far removed from his own.

But these decisions were more easily made than kept. And if, strolling
at her side in the moonlight, Ramey never actually swept Sheila into
his arms as he wished and knew he could, if he never actually spoke
the words that with increasing frequency trembled on his lips, perhaps
it was not necessary after all. For Sheila Aiken, though she had spent
her twenty years living with men in wild, mannish places, was still
inherently a woman. And she understood these things, and gloried in
them.

And the days and the nights were sweet, and Chitrakuta was an Eden. But
even Eden had its serpent....

       *       *       *       *       *

Rakshasi had almost slipped from Ramey's memory. A week or more had
passed since he had met her in the council hall of Sugriva when late
one night there came to him a Videlian warrior bearing the message that
the Lady Rakshasi awaited him in her apartment. He was urged to come,
pleaded the messenger. A matter of grave importance.

Wondering, Ramey followed the man through darkened corridors to that
section of the imperial city which housed the Videlian visitors.

If it were business the Lady Rakshasi wished to discuss, the manner
of her approach to the subject would have been a revelation to the
financial tycoons of Ramey's day. For when he entered her apartment it
was to find a small chamber, intimately draped, warmly scented with
the breath of perfume, and exotically furnished with a tumbled pile of
silks and furs upon which gracefully reclined the golden woman of Mars.

In that room, enticingly dark save for small wicks guttering in corner
niches, the Lady Rakshasi was more than ever the sleek, slumbrous cat
of the jungles. The dusty emerald of her eyes lighted with invitation
as he entered. She purred a word of command and the servant vanished.
She and Ramey were alone.

"My Lord is gracious," she whispered in her husky voice, "to answer
thus the plea of his humble servant." She touched the soft pillows
beside her invitingly. "Would my Lord tarry and rest?"

He was, an inner consciousness warned Ramey, playing with fire. But an
instinct stronger than reason lowered him beside her. This woman had
something! The Hollywood of the world he had left behind would call
it "oomph." More strictly rhetorical admirers would call it charm,
fascination, allure. But he would have been a poor man indeed who
could go without learning what the Lady Rakshasi wanted.

"Yes, my Lady?" asked Ramey. "What would you of me?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Lady Rakshasi turned slowly on one elbow, studied him long and
lazily before answering. When she spoke her tone was servile still, but
there was a question in her voice, and the suspicion of a challenge in
her curious, heavy-lidded eyes.

"I called thee, my Lord," she replied, "to warn thee of an evil rumor
which has of late gathered boldness in the temples. Believe truly that
thy servant means no ill, nor doubts thy glory. But there are those who
whisper that thou and thy companions are not gods at all--but only men!
Some strangely say, men of another day."

"But, of course--" began Ramey. Then stopped, remembering the necessary
deceit by which Sugriva hoped to maintain peace in the colony. He
finished lamely--"But of course they jest! Surely all saw us come from
the heart of the holy image?"

Rakshasi smiled. "Aye, even so, my Lord. Thus told I them. But there be
ever those who doubt. And they murmur that ofttimes the actions of thy
companions are strangely ungodlike. They eat, they sleep like mortals.
From place to place they transport themselves on foot rather than by
instantaneous translation, as all men know is the way of gods. And many
are the questions they ask, when all know the gods are omniscient."

It was not, Ramey had to concede ruefully, not just a chink in
the armor. It was a gaping hole, big enough to drive a Mack truck
through. He and his friends _were_ touring around Chitrakuta like a
bevy of wide-eyed schoolkids, and certainly putting on one hell of an
unecclesiastical show!

"When the gods walk amongst men," he told her firmly, "they conduct
themselves in the fashion of their worshippers. It is no man's right to
question these things."

"Aye, my Lord!" This time Rakshasi's agreement was more swift. He had,
Ramey thought, pulled a successful sandy. "So told I them, yea, and
even my brother Ravana which lent an ear to their impious murmurings.
These are in truth the gods, spake I, come to mete justice and right to
their children. Still--" Here her voice took on a plaintive, querulous
tone--"Still cannot we of Videlia understand why the gods should show
favor to the blue lord of Gaanelia, when it is _our_ people which have
ever been their most ardent followers. All know that the blue ones of
Gaanelia are a cynical, impious race. Theirs is a culture of agnostic
science. Many, indeed, have declared there are no gods at all, but only
primal causes--"

"Hold, my Lady!" interrupted Ramey. "The protector Sugriva is a good
man--"

       *       *       *       *       *

A note of passionate rebellion throbbed in the golden one's voice. "A
good man, aye!" she cried witheringly. "In his feeble way! But they
are a decadent, dying race, the Gaanelians! Where as we of Videlia--"
A tenseness gripped her figure, and the shadowy amber of her breast
rose and fell with her emotion--"are a great and growing race, young
and strong. As the gods," she cried challengingly, "have much to offer
men, so have their followers much to offer the gods! Allegiance and
devotion, aye, and sacrifice!

"Speak you, Lord Ramey--were it not to the gods' own benefit that they
should cast down these weaklings of Gaanelia, and raise to the heights
those who are their own true believers?"

Her meaning was clear. Ramey stared at her with sudden sharp
intentness, a warning bell chiming in his ears. Here was open proof of
the faithlessness Sugriva had feared. A plea for divine approval of
Videlian ambitions. It was a good thing he had come here tonight. He
must nip this movement in the bud.

"The gods, my Lady Rakshasi," he said sternly, "desire naught but
peace. They will neither sponsor nor permit the elevation of one race
over another. All must live in amity."

The golden amazon's excitement died. Her voice lost its challenging
note and became softer, throatier, more insinuating. She stirred
nearer him, and the silk rustled languid invitation. The warmth of her
body touched his own, hip and thigh, and the scent of her hair was a
titillation to his nostrils.

"But, say, my Lord," she whispered, "do not even the gods look with
favor upon those who please them?"

The warning bell was clamoring brassily now. It rose and fell with the
pound of Ramey's pulse. His temples hammered, his lips were parched,
and forgotten now were Sugriva and Dr. Aiken, Red, the O'Briens, all
those who had accompanied him into this strange adventure.

Even the mist-blue eyes of Sheila Aiken were a far memory, colorless
and without warmth.

He choked, "It is ... true ... that even a god might look with longing
upon ... one like you, Lady Rakshasi."

And she was closer still, the warmth of her tempting-near, her sleek,
golden body yielding to his own, her breath upon his lips.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Thou and I, if I delight thee, my Lord," she whispered. "Together
might we raise Videlia into the power and glory which is rightly its
own. With thy mighty arm, and with the strong Bow of Rudra, we will
sweep all others before us. Nor shall we stand alone. For, lo--there is
even my brother Ravana, whose heart sickens with hunger for the goddess
Sheilacita who is in thy train."

Now the warning bell, which had become a faint tolling whisper almost
submerged beneath the waves that engulfed Ramey Winters, burst suddenly
into full, reverberant cry! With one shrugging movement he had thrust
the tawny temptress from him and was on his feet.

"What!" he cried. "Ravana--and Sheila? You mean he _dares_--" His brow
flamed with a sudden, red rage; anger that was darker still with the
realization of the trap into which he had almost let his senses betray
him. "No, Rakshasi! That cannot be! Sheila belongs to _me_! No other
man--"

Then he stopped. For the Lady Rakshasi, too, was on her feet, panting
and furious. The dusty emerald of her eyes was now the cold, burning
green of glacial ice. Even in her outrage, her quick mind grasped the
implication of his words.

"No other _man_, my Lord? Then they were right! Thou are no god, but
only a pretender! And Sugriva has lied. Well, he shall pay for his
deceit. And you, too, poor mortal thing who prefers a pallid shadow to
Rakshasi, you, too, shall regret this night. _Go!_"

She pointed a rage-trembling finger to the door. With a sick
helplessness Ramey realized he had spoiled everything. To stay here
now, to argue with this unreasoning amazon, would only make matters
worse. He left.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the late morning he woke from a tortured slumber to find Red Barrett
leaning over him, shaking him. The brick-top was grinning mockingly.

"Boy, you sure were knocking 'em off. Know what time it is? Almost ten.
Stir your stumps, keed; we got stuff and things to do today. Golly,
your eyes look like a pair of frayed button-holes! If we was back in
our own, honest-to-gosh time, I'd say you was out on a bender last
night."

Ramey said drowsily, "Not a bad idea at that. When we do get back to
our own time, which I hope will be soon, we'll have to give it a try,
Red. A good one."

"Here's your pants," said Red. "Got good news this morning, anyhow.
Know what happened during the night? That big, overgrown hunk of yellow
nastiness and his gang pulled up stakes and scrammed out of here. I'm
sure glad to see the last of him, ain't you? Though I got to admit that
sister of his was a snappy looking--what's the matter, Ramey?"

Ramey, fully conscious now, was pawing anxiously through the tumbled
silks and furs that were his bed. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Have you
seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"The Bow!" rasped Ramey. "Rudra's weapon! It was here last night. Now I
can't find it anywhere. And--" His eyes suddenly widened--"Ravana left
Chitrakuta! Damnation! If he--Come on!"

With the now equally alarmed Red at his heels, Ramey dashed from the
chamber. He hadn't far to go. He found the others--Dr. Aiken, both
O'Briens, Sheng-ti, Sugriva--in the central court on which his room
abutted. They were gathered in a tight knot; as one man they turned at
his cry.

"Sugriva!" he called, "Order out the troops! There's trouble afoot. Red
says Ravana left last night--and the Bow of Rudra is gone with him!
Well, don't just stand there like that, staring at me! _Do_ something!"

But it was Dr. Aiken who answered. There were white lines about the old
man's lips that Ramey had never seen there before. His eyes were hard
and worried. "The Bow!" he cried. "The Bow, too, Ramey? You hear that,
Sugriva--?"

Despair seemed to settle like a black cloud over the Gaanelian's eyes;
his shoulders sagged, and his voice was ominous. "I hear, indeed! And
now is our plight truly perilous. For if they have the Bow, too--"

"What's this all about?" roared Ramey. "What do you mean, 'the Bow,
_too_'? What else is missing?"

Syd O'Brien stared at him morbidly.

"We don't know how they did it, Ramey," he said, "or why. But when
Ravana and his gang pulled out of here before dawn, they not only took
with them the Bow of Rudra. They also--kidnapped Sheila!"


[Illustration: The two factions met on the causeway in furious combat.]




                              CHAPTER XI

                          The Isle of Slaves


"Sheila!" cried Ramey Winters. "Sheila--kidnapped! But Ravana wouldn't
dare! And why should he--?" He stopped suddenly, the full and terrible
import of Syd's words dawning upon him. Again he seemed to hear the
soft voice of the Lady Rakshasi purring in his ears. "'_Thou and I,
my Lord ... sweeping all others before us. Nor shall we stand alone.
For, lo--there is even my brother Ravana, whose heart hungers after the
goddess Sheilacita._...'"

And Ramey saw, now, the full price he was paying for one careless
slip of the tongue last night. So long as he and his companions were
considered gods by the superstitious Videlians, none would have dared
lay a hand on any of them. But he had dispelled that illusion, and the
bold Ravana, aware at last that it was only men with whom he had to
deal, had moved toward the accomplishment of his ambitions.

Ramey's fists knotted at his sides. He cried harshly, "Well, what are
we waiting for? After them! Sugriva--surely you know which way they
went?"

"Without a doubt," admitted the blue lord of Chitrakuta, "to Ravana's
island stronghold of Lanka. And--Kohrisan _was_ organizing a company to
pursue them. But now he cannot."

"Cannot? Why not?"

"The Bow! Did you not say the Bow had been stolen?"

"Yes, but--"

"If Ravana turns it against us," declared the Gaanelian sombrely, "then
are we all destroyed. And the plight of Sheila Aiken is an hundredfold
worse."

"But the Bow ain't working," pointed out Red Barrett swiftly. "Ramey
and me tried it out. Nothing happened."

Sugriva turned to the young airman eagerly. "Is this true, Ramey
Winters?"

Ramey nodded. "I told you about it, my lord, remember? And you said it
was just as well it wasn't operating. I pressed all the triggers, or
grips, or whatever they are, but nothing happened. Nothing that Red and
I could see, anyway. As a matter of fact, we couldn't even figure out
what was supposed to happen."

Sugriva said, "You would have seen, my friend, had a charge fueled the
Bow. I know not where you made this experiment, but believe me, had
its chamber been munitioned, every living thing within range of the
Bow's tremendous arc would have instantly withered and flamed in sudden
death. Never in the world was there ever a more terrible weapon than
that invented by my brother Rudra."

Red said, "You mean the Bow is a sort of a--a heatray, or something?"

"You might call it that," agreed the blue lord. "It might more
accurately be termed a projector of _cold_ heat."

"Cold heat?" snorted Lake O'Brien. "That's rhetorical jabberwocky!
Sounds like 'dark light'!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Aiken raised a thoughtful head. "Yes, Lake, but don't forget--there
_is_ such a thing as dark light. Rays that span distances invisible,
and remain unseen until they touch the object upon which they are
focussed. I can conceive of a cold heat which might be similar. A
fierce, burning ray which does not expend its force until it touches
the living object on which it has been aimed. Is this what you mean,
Sugriva?"

The blue lord nodded. "Exactly, my friend. But not necessarily must
the Bow be aimed at its target. Whatever it touches, that it consumes.
Once--" His eyes clouded and he shook his head sorrowfully--"once,
some decades ago when our colonies were first established, we were
constrained to employ force against a camp of rebel Earthlings who
seized and held one of our citadels. The destruction was--horrible. The
entire fortress was seared clean of life. The very stones in the walls
melted and ran together."

The maid Evavne spoke. "Yes, my lords, the governor Sugriva speaks
truly. This happened even in my own land. There on a lifeless hill
still stands the molten fortress, desolate and parched as if stricken
by the lightnings."[8]

[Footnote 8: "The wrath of Azuria, because the other peoples of this
earth would not turn blue to suit her.... In the vitrified forts of
a few parts of Europe we find data that the Humes and Gibbons have
disregarded. The vitrified forts surrounding England ... the vitrified
forts of Scotland, Ireland, Brittany and Bohemia.

"Or that, once upon a time, with electric blasts, Azuria tried to swipe
this earth clear of the peoples who resisted her. The whitish, or
yellowish, or brownish peoples of Scotland, Ireland, Brittany ... built
forts, or already had forts, on hilltops. Something poured electricity
upon them. The stones of these forts exist to this day, vitrified or
melted and turned to glass.

"The stones of these forts are vitrified in no reference to cementing
them ... they are cemented here and there, in streaks, as if special
blasts had struck, or played, upon them ..." from "The Book of the
Damned" by Charles Fort.--Ed.]

Ramey Winters was chafing with inactivity. Now he growled, "All right!
But even granting the Bow is a frightful weapon, why should that stop
us if it is not charged?"

"That is just the point," Sugriva told him. "It may be charged by now.
There is no doubt but that the lord Ravana knows the manner of its
fueling."

"Manner? You mean it requires some strange kind of ammunition?"

"Even so. That which must be fed into the operating chambers is a rare
and obscure metal. I doubt that in all Chitrakuta there is sufficient
of this precious element to charge the Bow a single time. But Ravana,
having plotted this move for a long time, will have secretly stored
fuel to gorge its lethal maw. We have no way of knowing, of course. But
it would be suicidal to move against Ravana until we _do_ know."

Red grunted, "Then we've got to find out, that's all! If he ain't
got ammunition for the Bow, we've got to close in on him. If he has,
somehow we got to get the Bow back. That right, Ramey?"

But it was not Ramey who answered. The reply sprang from an unexpected
source. From the _bonze_, Sheng-ti, who now moved forward thoughtfully.

       *       *       *       *       *

This was a different Sheng-ti from him who had eked out a squalid
existence in the labyrinths of Angkor Vat. The elderly priest was
clean, erect; eyes which had once veiled lurking mists of insanity now
gleamed with shrewd reason.

"I am a man of peace, O my friends," he said. "Yea, even a priest of
the very God of Peace. Yet much have I seen and learned in this strange
world, much thought since my brain was swept clear of its fog by the
lord Sugriva.

"And methinks the Way of Peace, which is the way of the lord Sugriva,
now trembles under the blows of the Way of Darkness. Surely my Lord
Buddha would advise that in a time like this a man must make a choice.

"So--mark ye! The Lord Ravana knows me not. I have been hid from his
sight throughout the days of our stay here. My skin is yellow as that
of the natives of these parts. Is there not some way in which I might
gain entrance to Ravana's stronghold and there, perchance, regain the
stolen weapon?"

Sugriva said slowly. "That might be possible. Yes ... it _is_
possible...."

"Where is this Isle of Lanka?" demanded Ramey hotly.

"Not far from here. But a few hours' journey. It is a tiny island
securely situated in the center of a great lake which lies to the
south."

"Tonlé Sap!" cried Lake O'Brien with sudden comprehension. "That's the
only great lake around these parts!" But Ramey was still pressing the
ruler of Chitrakuta breathlessly.

"Your people are artists in many ways, my lord. Say, do they not also
know the art of disguise? You have paints and pigments. Can you not
darken my skin, make me seem like a wanderer from the Indies, and let
me accompany Sheng-ti?"

Sugriva nodded. "Yes, it could be done, my son."

Dr. Aiken cried, "But, no, Ramey! We need you here with us. Let
Sheng-ti go alone--"

"I got us into this mess," gritted Ramey, "and it's up to me to get us
out again. There's no use talking, Doc, I've made up my mind. The rest
of you stay here and plan a campaign against Lanka. Sheng-ti and I are
going to get the Bow--and Sheila!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus it was that before the sultry tropic sun hung high in the heavens,
two seeming native coolies shuffled down the road that stretched beside
the grey and greasy Siem-Reap to the lake called Tonlé Sap. Scuffed
sandals shod their feet, loose hats of woven rush shadowed their faces,
and the rudest of garments, tattered and begrimed, hung from their
shoulders. Only, hot and heavy next to his skin, concealed by the
folds of his coolie wrapper, Ramey Winters felt the reassuring bulk of
an Army automatic; sole note, in this strange, forgotten world, of a
civilization left behind--a civilization not yet born.

The scenery about him was not unfamiliar. The slow years work few
changes in areca and coconut. Great, writhing diptocarpus trees flung
air-roots ten feet in diameter across laboring branches; the sluggish
river swelled into stagnant pools aflame with hyacinth and lily; from
the all-engulfing jungle whispered the furtive sounds of hotland life.
Once a mild, incurious water buffalo rose, snorting, from its muddy
wallow to watch their passage; once a gaunt crane rose before them,
lifting awkwardly on wings that flailed the sodden air as if too weak
to bear their burden.

The scenery was not unfamiliar--save in one respect. The road on which
they walked. It was not the typical baked-clay road of the Cambodia
Ramey Winters had known. It was a broad and well-paved highway, sturdy
enough to bear even the transport of a highly mechanized era. Treading
its solid surface, Ramey marveled aloud, as oft before, that such a
civilization should have been lost to man's very memory in the mists of
time.

"I can't understand, Sheng-ti, what can have brought this great
Gaanelian culture to an end. These roads ... those mighty temples at
Chitrakuta ... the city itself! Why, it is a city of millions!"

The aged bonze said quietly. "The jungle is life-in-death, my friend.
It is the mother who destroys her young."

"I know, but--"

"Let Man desert his cities for a decade," said Sheng-ti sombrely, "and
the jungles will reclaim her own. The hardy grass will shatter these
roads, impervious to wheel and boot. The tendril will bruise the rock,
the soft shoot bring ruin to walls which withstand the battering-ram.
Thus ever Nature reclaims such little space as Man borrows for his
brief moment."

Ramey said, "I guess you're right. It doesn't take long either, does
it? Even in our young country, the United States, we have ghost-towns.
Abandoned cities, now overgrown with weeds, already crumbling into
decay." And then, because his soldier instincts always lay closer to
the front of his mind than any other, his thoughts returned to the main
problem confronting them. "What I can't see is just what we're going
to do about Ravana, anyway. If that bodyguard is any sample of his
army, he has a tough force to overcome. Giants, every one of them. And
Sugriva's 'militia' is nothing but a few, scantily-armed companies of
trained apes!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Buddhist priest glanced at him searchingly. "I should not dismiss
them so lightly, Ramey Winters."

"But that's all they are! Monkeys masquerading as men. Talking baboons,
dressed in mens' clothing--"

His companion made a swift, indecipherable gesture. It might have been
one of annoyance; it might have held some unknown religious symbolism.
His voice was sharp, reproving.

"You know not whereof you speak, child of a younger culture! Hark
ye! We of China are old; much lore had we forgotten before your
white-skinned forebears built their first hopeful empire. In our
ancient annals are tales ... legends of those jungle-bred warriors
you call 'ape-men.' And great is the honor our elders paid to them.
The _Chu-King_ tells of a day when their prowess saved all earth for
mankind--"

"Maybe so," said Ramey dubiously, "but they don't look much like
fighters to me. Their captain--what's his name?--Kohrisan; a posing
little jackanapes if I ever saw one."

"And what is Man himself," asked Sheng-ti, "but an ape bereft of
his tail? No, Ramey Winters, you have not read aright the character
of Kohrisan. I have talked with him. I know that beneath that hairy
breast, beneath those over-gaudy habiliments, there beats a heart as
warmly human as mine--or yours. It was a great thing the governor
Sugriva did when he created out of the beasts of the jungle these new
men."

It was Ramey's turn to stare. This was something he had not known
before. A marvel it had not occurred to him to question.

"_Created!_ Sugriva created--?"

"But, yes; did you not know? Sugriva is a wise man. He realized that
the difference between man and the lower ape is slight. And he is a
brilliant technician in matters pertaining to the brain. Kohrisan and
the troops he leads are jungle creatures educated by Sugriva, given
human thought and a knowledge of human tongues by the _vilyishna_.[9]
The governor Sugriva's dream brought to fruition ... a proud, new race
of intelligent beings hand-forged from Nature's rawest materials. A
race of new men."

[Footnote 9: _vilyishna_: A Gaanelian machine which transfers
knowledge from one brain to another by rearranging the electrical
thought-patterns.--Ed.]

"New men!" repeated Ramey. "A race of new men!"

"Yes. But, now--" They had rounded a curve in the road; Sheng-ti's
voice assumed a note of warning--"Quiet, my son! For we have come to
the ferry-port!"

And Ramey saw that the sluggish stream beside which they walked had
now widened, disgorging into a gigantic body of water. Its name he
knew. It was the Tonlé Sap, the Great Lake of Indo-China. A tremendous
expanse of brazen blue, 70 miles long and fifteen wide. And in its
center, secure as if surrounded by barrier walls of steel, nestled
a mist-veiled island which Ramey knew must be the stronghold of the
Martian lord, Ravana. The citadel isle of Lanka.

       *       *       *       *       *

But scant was the attention he could give this place now. For there was
great activity before them. On the shore of the lake, but a few hundred
yards distant, were numberless quais and wharves. These landing-docks
were aswarm with the warriors of Ravana--and others! Small, frightened
Annamese, bewildered little yellow men huddled together in tiny
groups--no, not merely huddled! Chained! Chained in long queues, saw
Ramey, and being herded into an endless stream of ferries shuttling
back and forth across the lake!

He turned to Sheng-ti. "Sugriva was right! Ravana _is_ enslaving the
natives! These men do not _want_ to be taken to Lanka. They're being
_forced_ there!"

"Quiet!" warned Sheng-ti. A frown creased his forehead; he moved as if
to draw Ramey back with him into the shadow of overhanging brush. "This
ruins our plan, Ramey Winters. We dare go to Lanka as freemen, but not
as slaves--"

His warning, his change of heart, came too late. For interrupting him
there came a loud cry from one of the Videlian soldiers. "_Over there!
Two more of them!_" And before the pair could move a step, they were
surrounded and seized by giant sons of the desert planet.




                              CHAPTER XII

                            An Enemy's Life


It mattered little to Ramey Winters that the smallest of the followers
of Ravana towered a good head and shoulders above himself. Given a
moment's time to prepare for trouble, an opportunity to set himself,
he would have gladly matched his wits and strength against that of his
captors. If brute power alone were to be considered, neither he nor any
Earthman could stand against the giant Videlians. But he had in his
belt a Twentieth Century weapon that was, indeed, as the gangsters of
Ramey's era had termed it, an "equalizer"....

But he did not draw his automatic. The attack was too sudden and too
unexpected ... and by the time he felt hard Videlian hands upon him he
did not need the mutely warning glance of Sheng-ti to remind him that
this was one time the adage about discretion being the better part of
valor well applied.

Meekly he permitted himself to be hauled forward to the quai-side,
where waited one apparently captain of those who were shipping the new
slaves to Lanka. This one scowled as he eyed the new captives.

"Well," he roared in a voice of thunder, "and how did you two get away?"

It was Sheng-ti who answered, smoothly, calmly, ingratiatingly. "We
did not 'get away,' my Lord. We have but just arrived. My friend and
I are voyagers from distant Penang, come to seek employment in the
establishment of the mighty Lord Ravana, whose fame has reached our
ears."

"Employment!" The overseer stared at him blankly for a second. Then
his laughter burst in a great guffaw. "You'll find employment, all
right! Thalakka--chain these fools with the others!"

The one to whom he spoke, himself an officer of rank to judge by his
trappings, said, "Chain them, Seshana?"

"Those were my orders."

"Forgive me, sir, but--do you think that is necessary in this case?
These men are not captive slave, being taken to Lanka against their
will. They came here of their own volition ... freely offered their
services." Then, hastily, as his superior's brow darkened: "I am
returning to the island on the next boat myself, sir. If you wish, I
shall see that they are transported thither and turned over to whomever
judges such cases."

Seshana said mockingly, "I had not dreamed there was such tenderness
within your bosom, Captain Thalakka. Be careful your noble sentiments
do not someday send you to languish in the dungeons with that
chicken-hearted fool, Vibhishana. But--" He shrugged--"I suppose
there's no harm in it. Very well, then. Take them away!"

And he went back to his work with lash and cry as the friendly Videlian
led Ramey and Sheng-ti to a boat just preparing to pull out from the
wharf. A boatswain cried the command, a dozen oars spidered the surface
of the blue water, and the great, awkward transport ferry set forth
across the lake. Thus, free men still, but under sufferance only, Ramey
and his friend embarked for the island fortress of Ravana.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was on the journey across the lagoon that Ramey realized for the
first time just how great was the problem of defeating the lord Ravana.

His island citadel lay a good four miles from the shore. Four miles
which, in an era that knew no motorboats, no sea-sleds, must
necessarily be laboriously traversed in open skiffs propelled by
man-power. Even had Ravana not the ammunition wherewith to charge the
Bow of Rudra, his archers would find the occupants of invading craft
easy prey. And if he had, by now, charged the Bow--

In any event, invasion seemed a complete impossibility. For even
should a score, a hundred boatloads of fighters gain the shores of
Lanka, the problem still confronted them of gaining entrance to the
fortress itself. And as the boat in which they were passengers drew
nearer, Ramey saw the high, gray walls of the citadel, the buttressed
stanchions lined with watchful warriors, the mighty gates and ramparts,
and he knew that never in this world could the ape-soldiers of Sugriva
successfully storm this salient.

The single hope remained that he and Sheng-ti could somehow get back
the Bow from Ravana. Then battle might not be necessary. Before the
threat of its use, the giant leader would be forced to capitulate.

As Ramey pondered thus, Sheng-ti was skillfully prodding the friendly
Videlian captain for information that might be of some value.
Admiringly he commented on the greatness of the fort toward which they
oared. The Martian was pleased.

"It is the mightiest fortress on this strange planet," he boasted
pridefully. "Oh, not so strong, perhaps as some on our lovely Videlia.
But strong enough to withstand the attack of any enemy _here_.
Moreover--" He leaned forward confidentially--"Our lord Ravana has just
returned from Chitrakuta with a new and mighty weapon which assures our
lasting invulnerability. A magic bow with the power to destroy anything
which offends its archer!"

Ramey struggled to mask the eagerness in his eyes, drew an expression
of incredulity to his lips.

"A _magic_ bow?" he repeated. "How--how know you it is magic? Have you
seen it shoot?"

"No-o-o," answered the garrulous Videlian reluctantly. "Not as yet. Our
Lord has not seen fit to demonstrate its powers yet. There are certain
spells he must cast upon it yet, I understand. But we know its power.
Our spies have long time told us--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey heaved an inward sigh of relief. Then so far the Martian overlord
had not yet found the time, or the ammunition to feed the Bow's lethal
chamber. But his moment of relief passed as the Videlian continued.

"Not only that, but we have won to our cause even the very gods of this
planet! Know you who returned this morn to Lanka with the lord Ravana?
An Earth goddess!"

"Sheila!" cried Ramey.

But fortunately the Videlian misinterpreted his cry. He smiled
serenely. "Ah, then she is a goddess of your race?"

Ramey said slowly, "She is ... of my race ... yes. And where is this
goddess now?"

Captain Thalakka smiled slyly. "Where else but in the apartment next
to that of Lord Ravana? They say she and our Lord are to be wed. You
hear that, Earthmen? That will convince you that we of Videlia are a
superior race, will it not? When your very gods mate with our people?"

It was well he expected no answer, and well he was not looking at Ramey
as he spoke. For the young airman's eyes were ablaze with anger, his
fists had knotted; he looked very little, at this moment, like the
humble laborer he pretended to be. But the trip was almost finished,
now, and the boat was drawing awkwardly into a slip before the citadel
of Lanka. Wharf, dock and landing-place were aswarm with bustling
figures. Slaves disgorged from their vessels now being driven to their
quarters, oarsmen readying for a return trip to the mainland, warriors
watching the excitement with amused interest ... even courtiers looking
down from an overhanging balcony on the busy scene below. Captain
Thalakka called an order to the boatswain, the craft wheeled slowly,
stirred into its slip.

And as it did so, another boat, sliding from an adjacent dock, swung
with the stream and began to edge lazily toward their own. In an
instant, Ramey saw the danger of collision. He cried, "Look out, there!
Hard a-port--!"

His cry came too late. The second craft nudged into them; not
violently, but with turgid insistence. The oarsmen were caught off
balance; there came the _snap!_ of splintering wood as oars shattered
like matchsticks, a cry of pain as one rower was rammed brutally into
the thwarts. Then another cry ... a shrill scream of terror....

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey whirled just in time to see Captain Thalakka, who had risen in
his place, hurtle out of the boat. Asprawl he hit the water, kicking,
flailing frantically.

Ramey's first impulse was to laugh. Captain Thalakka was far from an
imposing figure _now_. Dripping like a rain-drenched rat, he came up
spluttering. And then--

Went down again! With a bubbling cry of fear!

The laughter died on Ramey's lips as, glancing about him swiftly, he
saw that not a companion of Thalakka's had moved a muscle to help their
brother-at-arms! Instead, their faces were as pallid as that of the
struggling man ... and every one of them seemed to shrink from doing
anything to help.

It took but a word from Sheng-ti to clarify the situation. The single
word, "Drowning! He's drowning, Ramey!"

And suddenly Ramey realized that, incredible as it sounded to an
Earthman, this was the absolute truth! Thalakka was a Martian, born of
a race whose planet had long been well-nigh waterless, a race whose
sluggish canals barely supplied sustenance to the few, hardy plants
that sucked their moisture. And the Videlians did not know how to swim!
Even in a situation like this, where an Earth child could have paddled
his way to safety in the twinkling of an eye, Captain Thalakka's life
was in deadly peril!

To think, with Ramey Winters, was to act. It barely mattered that
Thalakka was of another race, aye, even of another world. In a flash,
the young Earthman was on his feet; then, with a splash, he was diving
after the submerged body of the Martian.

His hands, groping for a hold, found Thalakka at the same moment the
Videlian's frantic clutch found him. Desperate arms wrapped around his
neck, engulfing, swaddling him, choking the breath from his lungs.
The Martian's weight was like a leaden anchor, dragging him to the
bottom. But there came to Ramey memory of lifesaving drill learned in a
college. Instinctively his hands did the proper thing.

Right hand _so_--on Thalakka's left elbow. Left hand _thus_, on the
Martian's right wrist. A twist ... a shrug ... and he was behind
the Martian, treading water, holding the other man's right arm in a
straining hammerlock, gulping in great life-giving draughts of air.

       *       *       *       *       *

After that, his task was simple. With the Martian's face cupped in his
left hand, he kicked out strongly for the boat. Sheng-ti was at the
boat-side to grip his burden, lift him over the thwarts. And seconds
later, rescued and rescuer were being put safely ashore, ears dinning
under the cascading roars of an excited group of on-lookers.

Then it was that Captain Thalakka turned to Winters, held forth his
hand in a gesture that meant one thing on any world.

"I thank you, man of Earth," he said gratefully. "I owe my life to you.
And Thalakka, Captain of the Torthian Guard, will not forget."

"That's all right, chum," grinned Ramey. "A little swim goes good on a
hot day like this. But I'd take a few lessons in the Australian crawl,
if I were you."

He reached up to brush his dripping hair from his forehead. And as
he did so, on his fingers he saw that which brought a sudden spasm
of fear to his heart. For the fingers which had brushed his forehead
were--yellow-brown! The dye! The dye with which he had been painted had
streaked and run!

Even as the knowledge struck him, came corroboration in a cry from the
overhanging balcony above his head. A call in tones that Ramey Winters
recognized all too well, the vibrant, bell-like voice of the Lady
Rakshasi.

"Warriors! Seize that man! Seize him and guard him well! He is a spy
from the camp of our enemy, Sugriva!"




                             CHAPTER XIII

                              Vibhishana


After that, the tide of events welled almost too fast for Ramey's
comprehension, certainly too fast for his peace of mind. Again--as on
the opposite shore, but this time grimly, tightly--he found himself
imprisoned by the powerful arms of Videlian soldiers. He was aware
of tossing a mute, apologetic glance in Sheng-ti's direction, and of
seeing the old Buddhist bow his head, hearing the _bonze_ mutter, "It
is the Will of Him Who watches. You could not have done otherwise, my
son."

Then the Lady Rakshasi herself, a great, golden panther with eyes
glinting triumphantly, was before him.

"We meet again--so soon, my Lord Ramaíya?" she asked mockingly. Then to
the soldiers, "Take him to my brother!"

Ravana sat in his council hall, imperiously enthroned on a dais
ornamented, Ramey could not help but think dazedly, with all the wealth
of the Indies. The Gaanelian lord Sugriva held court in a chamber rich
and luxurious, too, but never had its pomp and circumstance compared
with such ostentation as this. The richness of Sugriva's throne-room
was that of painstaking artistry, hand-wrought by craftsmen whose
hearts were in their work, whose hands loved the tools with which they
labored. But Ravana's throne-room was one vast blaze of opulence!
Rarest gems from the far-flung corners of the globe ... tapestries that
seem to flow with restless life ... teakwood and burnished ebony ...
sandalwood, mother-of-pearl encrusted ... ivory from tushes so huge one
could scarcely conceive the size of the beast which had borne them.

No single man, Ramey Winters knew with swift positiveness, could have
gathered together such a display save at the cost of other men's blood!
Each gem that lent its hue to the array seemed to cry a horrid tale of
death and sorrow; even the fragrance of rare scents wafting through the
room seemed coarsened by an underlying reek of blood and death. Thus
the great hall in which the Lord Ravana held court.

The Videlian overlord was toying with an oddly shaped instrument as
the captives were brought into his presence. A metal arch about three
feet long, supported by a cross-brace upon which was mounted a sealed
cylinder, also of metal. He laid this aside as Ramey and Sheng-ti were
prodded before him, but not so swiftly that Ramey could not recognize
it. It was the Bow--the Bow of Rudra! And--Ramey's spirits lifted--the
very fact that Ravana toyed with it, studying it curiously, was
evidence that so far it had not been charged.

For a fleeting instant the Videlian's eyes shadowed with fear as he
identified the pair thrust before him. Then his eyes lighted with an
expression of unpleasant amusement.

He said mockingly, "And what have we here? It is a swill-drenched
alley-cat--No! By my faith, 'tis a man-god! The one who called himself
the Lord Ramaíya!" He touched his forehead in a sign of taunting
obeisance. "Welcome, my Lord! We had not expected to greet thee so soon
in our humble palace."

Poker, thought Ramey suddenly. The good old Yankee game of bluff. There
was a bare possibility--

       *       *       *       *       *

He took a step forward, his head proud, eyes coldly judicial.

"We have come, Lord Ravana," he declared boldly, "to reclaim our Bow.
Now I offer you a last and fair opportunity. Return it and the goddess
Sheilacita, and we will leave without exacting vengeance for your
impiety."

It was a sandy ... a four-flush sandy with the wrong colored card in
the hole ... but it _almost_ worked. The overlord of Lanka stopped
smiling; his eyes darted troubledly toward his sister. But the Lady
Rakshasi merely laughed, her voice a golden throbbing in the golden
room.

"If my Lord Ramaíya be indeed a god," she challenged, "let him prove
his omnipotence! Let the Bow return itself to his hand of its accord.
Nay, brother. Methinks there be little godlike in this paint-smeared,
skulking spy, nor even in his cringing goddess love."

She almost spat the last words. Hearing the spiteful note in her voice,
Ramey realized that hell, indeed, has no fury like a woman scorned.
The Lady Rakshasi was exacting her vengeance, now, for the moment of
ignominy she had experienced when Ramey had rejected her caresses
for the gentler love of Sheila Aiken. But he said nothing. There
was nothing to say. Ravana, his confidence restored, leaned forward
arrogantly.

"And how came these would-be gods hither?"

It was Captain Thalakka who answered. Plainly he did not understand a
tithe of what was going on. He said, "They approached our ferry-port on
the mainland shore, my Lord, and said they were wayfarers from distant
Penang, come to seek employment in thy service. The--" He nodded toward
Ramey uncertainly--"the white-skinned one saved thy servant's life."

"So?" Ravana chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound to hear. "We wonder
if he can so easily save his own? Well, Earthman--have you anything to
say?"

"One thing," said Ramey. "Have a care, Lord Ravana, lest your lust for
power destroy you. The Lord Sugriva knows your plans, and he will not
stand idly by to watch their accomplishment."

"Thinks he not? And how, pray, does he plan to stay them? You forget,
Lord Ramaíya, that I have now the Weapon. The Bow of Rudra, which burns
and destroys."

"You hold its empty shell," stated Ramey assuredly. "The gods alone can
waken it to power."

"Then," chuckled Ravana, "must I be one of the gods. For already my
captains are gathering the ammunition to feed its chamber. Within the
space of days, the Bow will carry a full belly. And when that moment
comes--then let the Gaanelian weakling, Sugriva, approach Lanka--if he
dares!" Ravana nodded to Captain Thalakka. "Very well, Captain. Take
these swine away--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"A moment!" cried Ramey. "Ravana--the Lady Sheilacita! Where is she?"

Again the Videlian laughed. This time there was a note of pleased
anticipation in his voice. "Concern yourself not about the woman,
my Lord Ramaíya," he gibed. "She awaits my pleasure. Nor shall I
keep her waiting long. As soon as these slight matters of state have
been cleared up, the Lady Sheilacita will receive the great honor of
becoming one of my mates. It is only right and proper, is it not, that
the Videlian colony on your earth should some day be peopled with a
race born half of earthling blood? You see--" he chuckled coarsely--"I
have higher aspirations for the future of your world than has the Lord
Sugriva, who would raise to mock manhood the hairy apes of the jungle.
Careful, earthman! Dare not my wrath!" His warning halted Ramey's
impulsive forward movement. Ravana motioned again to the waiting
captain. "I weary of my guests, Captain Thalakka. Take them away. Place
them in the dungeons to await my later decision."

He lolled back in his throne, signifying the audience at an end.
Captain Thalakka gestured his captives toward the door. As they left
the room, there floated high and clear above the nervous hubbub
of palace movement, the mocking, bell-like laughter of the Lady
Rakshasi....

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey had guessed, from its exterior, that the citadel on Lanka was a
tremendous place. He had not been able to appraise its full enormity
from the outside, though. That he realized as Captain Thalakka led him
and the silent Sheng-ti through corridor after lofting corridor, past
mighty chambers and halls; down, down and ever down into the entrails
of the citadel, into the dungeons festering below.

Ever, as they pressed onward and downward, Ramey had an eye peeled for
the likely spot, the strategic moment, that might offer escape. But
he found none. Lanka was more than a palace, more than mere bulwarked
ramparts of stone. It was an armed camp, seething with a seemingly
endless host of Videlian giants, its population swelled to thousands by
slaves impressed from the children of earth.

So he resigned himself, as he had once before, to a principle of
"watchful waiting." Incarceration was not to be his ultimate fate. The
Lord Ravana had made that point clear and emphatic. So however deep he
might burrow beneath Lanka _now_, there would come a time when he would
again see day. If he waited, laid his plans for that time....

Curiously enough, it was Captain Thalakka who waxed gloomiest as the
trio descended interminable stairs into the black depths of Lanka.
The tall, golden-skinned warrior fumed with brooding restlessness, a
torment that finally would not be restrained. He turned to Ramey, his
eyes haggard.

"Now, Lord Ramaíya," he cried angrily, "am I, Thalakka, Captain of the
Torthian Guard, a shamed and sorrowed man! It is iron to my soul that
I, who owe you my life, should be the one to lead you to a foul and
certain doom!"

Ramey said quietly, "You're just doing your duty, my captain. I
don't hold this against you. But--thanks. It's nice to know that all
Videlians are not brutes."

"Then I hold it against myself!" groaned the Martian soldier. "As for
we of Videlia--" There was a note of bitter savagery in his voice--"Do
not judge us all by him who has seized the throne of Lanka. Many of
us there are who rue the day he usurped the rulership of this colony,
hurling into the dungeons his own brother. Aye, many there are who
would gladly live in peace with you earthmen. Had we but the courage
and strength to do so--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey glanced at him swiftly, appraisingly. "Go on, Thalakka!" he
encouraged. "What do you mean?"

But the Videlian's jaw had set, as if he feared that already he had
said too much. His eyes darted about the gray corridors anxiously,
and he whispered, "Speak softly, man of earth. These very walls have
wagging tongues. But, hark ye! In the foul pits we now approach you
will find another. One named Vibhishana, blood-brother of the Lord
Ravana. Gain him to your cause and--who knows what may transpire?

"For _you_, even though you are my friend and the one to whom I owe my
life, I can do little. But were Lord Vibhishana your pledged ally, much
might be done on your behalf."

"You mean--?"

"I mean," continued the Videlian hurriedly, "that at the middle watch
this night I will come to the dungeon gates. If that third one whose
name I have already told is with you, I can pledge that there will be
guards in the corridors who will turn a blind eye to your passage. And
now--" His tone changed abruptly, became harsh, commanding--"Cease thy
noisy bleating, serfs! Thank your stupid earth gods thy lives have been
spared--Ah! warder, open your doors and rid me of these earthling scum!"

They had stopped, at last, before a huge bronze door at what must
be, thought Ramey, judging from the clammy dampness moisturing the
walls, the stale and foetid air, the very bottom of the fortress. And
at Captain Thalakka's call, came shuffling to them a gnarled, coarse
figure bearing on a great ring the key to the donjon-keep. He squinted
at the captives suspiciously.

"Scum indeed, Captain Thalakka! Why sent our leader these earth dogs
hither?"

"For safekeeping," answered Thalakka, "until he finds time to decide
their fate."

The warder grinned evilly. "Then I shall not have to bother with them
long," he hazarded. "Our Lord Ravana is not one to delay his decisions.
Well, filth--in with you!" His key grated in the lock; with a scraggly
hand he thrust Sheng-ti and Ramey through the portal. "And mind you
disturb me not, or I'll come a-visiting with the lash!"

Again he turned the clef, securing the doorway after them. Then, still
chuckling, he shuffled away. But Thalakka pressed his lips once to the
grill before he, too, disappeared. And the words he whispered were,
"Courage! Tonight!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Being thrust into these dungeons, Ramey discovered, was unlike being
imprisoned in the cell-block of a modern--a 20th Century--jail. Here
were no neat, ordered individual cells, no runways with pacing guards,
no blazing lights, no clean, steel avenues astringent with the odor
of disinfectant. When the gate clanged shut behind him, darkness
surged in to engulf him in a maw of ebon velvet; his feet slipped on
damp masonry, and for a moment a sense of panic fear, instinctive,
unreasoning, gripped him.

In that moment he was glad of the presence of Sheng-ti. For nothing
could disturb the smooth complaisance of the aged _bonze_. His hand,
upholding Ramey, was warm and serene, his voice reassuring.

"Peace, my son! We are at least alone, and in solitude is strength."

Ramey grinned at him, an invisible grin to an invisible companion.
"Thanks, old man," he said. "I guess it's the dark. I went into a
tail-spin for a second."

"It is written," said Sheng-ti, "that darkness is naught but the
shadow of the gods. Yet, behold! Even now it is not dark. See--in the
distance?"

Now that his eyes had accustomed themselves to gloom Ramey saw that,
indeed, there was a faint smudge of light before him. By it he
recognized that they stood at the threshold of but one of a numberless
series of connected chambers; high, vaulted caverns, sturdywalled and
windowless, supported by massive columns which might have been hewn
from solid rock. Now, completely in possession of himself again, it was
Ramey who took the initiative. He gripped his friend's arm, propelling
him forward.

"Where there is light," he said, "there must be men. These dungeons are
not tenantless. Come on!"

And together they picked their way, on feet rapidly growing more sure,
toward the faraway smudge.

As they drew nearer its source, they discovered that the illumination
came from guttering candles, and from small bonfires over which, like
so many wraiths huddling from the frightful chill of Limbo, hunkered
the figures of other prisoners. Many were these, and of all races.
Earthmen and Videlians alike were the exiles of this abandoned gaol.
They did not mingle together, but in little clans: groups similar
in color or in creed, in physiognomy or faith. Although they shared
an identical fate, it was evident by the angry glances which passed
between one group and another, by the bickering of individual leaders,
that there was strife and distrust between these companies.

An example of this smouldering hatred showed itself as Ramey and
Sheng-ti considered which of the groups it were best they should
approach.

       *       *       *       *       *

The apparent leader of one tiny clan, a tall, strong-thewed earthman
whose race Ramey would have identified tentatively as Coptic, had been
muttering to himself audibly. Now he rose to his full height, swift
decision seeming to fan to a blaze the long-contained flame within him.

"Like dogs! Like mangy dogs filthy with vermin they cage us in this
stinking hole! And do we rebel? Nay! Like whipped curs we bow before
the cursed Videlians--when even our food and drink must be shared with
the castoffs of their race!"

He glowered across the room to another fire, gathered about which was
a tiny knot of Videlians. An elderly man looked to be leader of these,
for as the Coptic chieftain let loose his blast, one of the Martian
prisoners stirred, would have risen to reply had not the older man
stayed him.

Fellow of the Copt's clan muttered hoarse approval of his words; from
other groups came rumblings of encouragement. But one prisoner--an
Erse, Ramey guessed, or perhaps a Cym--laughed sardonically.

"And what would you do about it, Tauthus of Cush?"

The mighty one's eyes glinted in the firelight like shards of flint. "I
would talk less," he bellowed in reply, "and act more! I would regain
a vestige of my lost manhood, beginning by wreaking vengeance on those
who are of the race of our oppressors. Like _this_!"

And like a cat leaping, so swiftly that none could move to deter him,
he rushed from his own fire to that where gathered the Videlians.
With one blow he felled a startled Martian youth jumping up to meet
him. Then, gripping the old man in strong hands, he yanked him to
his feet. Light shone on a scrap of metal in his hands, a rude knife
painstakingly wrought from a forgotten file.

"Thus," he roared, "to all Videlians!" The raw blade descended....

       *       *       *       *       *

But if all others stood too stunned to move, not so Ramey Winters.
A fighting-man himself, he had recognized instantly that there was
no-acting in the defi of Tauthus of Cush. The Copt was in deadly
earnest. And even as his arm upraised, Ramey thrust forward boldly into
the chamber. His voice ringing unexpectedly loud in the echoing vaults,
had the explosive vigor of lightning.

"_Hold!_" he cried. "Strike not, son of Earth!"

As a moment frozen in imperishable pigments, everything stopped! The
cry of blood-lusting voices dwindled into shocked silence ... the
upraised arm fell not ... the straining figures locked in fantastic
poses as if carven so. Then with infinite slowness the head of Tauthus
turned. His eyes sought and found his accoster, narrowed menacingly.

"And who are you," he rumbled, "to give commands?"

There was still an automatic beneath Ramey's girdle, a weapon which
the Videlians, unsuspecting of its nature, had not taken from him. But
he made no move to use it. Instead, he stepped forward still farther
that the light might shine upon his features. His face was grave and
anxious, his tone beseeching.

"An earthman like yourself, Tauthus of Cush. And a prisoner. But one
who realizes that in wanton destruction of each other does not lie the
way of our salvation."

"The Videlians," said Tauthus grimly, "are our captors and our foes.
This aged stick is a Videlian--"

"--and a prisoner," argued Ramey desperately, "like ourselves. Is that
not proof enough he is no ally of the Lord Ravana? Evidence that his
foe is our foe? If you kill this man, you do a service to the lord we
hate. Can you not hear the laughter of Ravana at learning his prisoners
fight amongst themselves, destroy each other?"

       *       *       *       *       *

And--the battle of words was won! Tauthus of Cush dropped his blade
into his belt, released his captive sheepishly and moved away. A man of
spirit he was, but he was a man of logic, too. He said thoughtfully,
"There is wisdom in what you say, stranger. But, mind you--" And he
glared at those who were now circling about them curiously--"let none
think cowardice stayed the wrath of Tauthus, or that fellow's guts
shall feed the rats!"

"None shall think that, Tauthus," Ramey assured him. "If I read not the
future wrongly, the time comes, and it not far removed, when each and
every man in this dungeon shall be given the chance to prove his valor."

An eager light flashed in the other man's eyes. He said hoarsely,
"What mean you, newcomer?"

"I shall tell you. But first--how many prisoners dwell in these
caverns?"

Tauthus shrugged.

"Who knows? Three score, perhaps? Maybe more?"

"Can you gather their group leaders, their captains, for a council?"

The Coptic chieftain nodded. "That I can, and will." To decide, with
Tauthus of Cush, was to act. He wheeled away abruptly, began shouting
orders. "You ... and you ... and you! Haste into the farthest reaches
of the dungeon. Gather here all who dare die that they might live
again. Hurry--"

Now the white-haired Videlian, who had stood quietly at Ramey's side
throughout this interlude, turned to his protector.

"Man of Earth," he said gravely, "I thank you. Not for myself, because
my life is of little importance. But for having quelled an act which
might have destroyed us all. Can I repay you in any way? What can I do
to help this plan you have?"

"Nothing just now, thanks," said Ramey. "Later, perhaps--Wait a minute!
You _can_ help me. Point out which of the Videlians is known as
Vibhishana."

The old man smiled sadly.

"That will not be hard, my friend," he said. "For _I_ am--or once
was--the Lord Vibhishana."




                              CHAPTER XIV

                                Escape


Ramey stared at the claimant incredulously. Surely this man could not
be the brother of Lord Ravana! Father or uncle, perhaps. But--

Then, peering more closely at the older man he realized it was not so
much age that had whitened Vibhishana's hair, bowed his shoulders,
creased and lined his cheeks, as it was privation. Privation, worry
and sorrow. And studying the Martian he now could trace a family
resemblance. Vibhishana had a nose as aquiline and proud as that of the
arrogant Ravana, lips full and delicately-turned as those tempting ones
of the Lady Rakshasi. He differed from his younger brother and sister
in that his eyes were warm and friendly, where theirs were intense as a
wind-swept flame, his manner was gentle and self-effacing, where theirs
was haughty. Said Ramey:

"It is so! Yes, I see it now. You _are_ Vibhishana."

"Once Regent," said the older man sorrowfully, "of Videlia's colony on
Earth. Now a prisoner in the citadel I once dreamed would be a refuge
and gathering-place for every race that treads this planet. Aye, it
is a sad end to which my dreams have come, stranger. But who are you?
Whence came you here, and why?"

Ramey told him then, briefly, that which had gone before. Vibhishana
listened eagerly and--what was more surprising--comprehendingly. Not
even was he amazed when Ramey told of the time-machine. He but nodded.

"Ah, yes! That would be the invention of the Gaanelian lord, Rudra. He
was a brilliant one. He invented also a Bow. A frightful weapon. Had it
been mine, never would Ravana have dared rise against me. Where is the
Bow now? Does not Sugriva have it?"

"It is here," Ramey told him grimly, "at Lanka. So far it has done
Ravana no good, because it isn't charged for operation. But he has sent
his men out to find the precious element which operates it. If he gets
the ammunition before we can invade Lanka, I'm afraid the fight will be
over. What _is_ this ammunition, anyway?" It was a question that had
long puzzled Ramey. "Some rare type of explosive?"

"A metal," explained Vibhishana. "What your tongue would call it, I do
not know. We know it as the element _banaratha_. A metal more rare than
perfect gold; yea, even rarer than the dull platinum of Earth's frigid
poles. You are indeed undone, Ramey Winters, if my brother has located
enough of it to fuel the Bow of Rudra." He shook his head sadly. "It is
a shame he brings down upon the fair name of Videlia, my power-greedy
brother. Whether he win or lose, for ages to come shall the name of my
home planet be associated with the thoughts of war, death and conquest."

       *       *       *       *       *

He spoke, thought Ramey with a strange tingling in his spine, more
truly than he knew. And a dim wonderment grew in Ramey that he, a
Twentieth Century man, should listen to a prediction made centuries
before his birth, and recognize that prophecy to have been fulfilled.
For in the world from which Ramey had come, the name of Vibhishana's
homeland, Mars, was invariably, inevitably, associated with thoughts of
war, death and conquest. And this for no reason known to the memory of
living man....

But he said, "Then you shared not Ravana's desire?"

"Shared it!" Vibhishana's voice deepened angrily. "You dare accuse
me--I am sorry, Ramey Winters. You did not mean to offend, I know. But
believe me, never for an instant did I, when I ruled Lanka, harbor any
lust for dominion over your people. With the Gaanelian lord I cherished
the dream that we of the more advanced cultures might help improve your
planet, make it a finer world for your people. All I asked of earthmen
was their allegiance, small territorial rights on which to base a
sound commerce and a solid economy between our two homelands.

"Perhaps--" he continued almost wistfully--"even more than Sugriva I
cherished this hope. For his race, the blue ones of Gaanelia, are after
all of a different stock. We of Videlia, and you of Earth, are of the
same seed. Behold your companion, Ramey Winters. Can you deny that from
the same source sprang the root which was to nourish us both?"

There was, indeed, a great similarity between Sheng-ti and Vibhishana.
Both were tall, both almost beardless by nature, both ochre-skinned.
And the "Mongolian fold," that small, peculiarly creased fold of flesh
which lends obliquity to the typical Oriental eye, was common to both
men.

Ramey said, perplexed, "But--but that would indicate that ages before
_this_ your world must have had intercourse with ours. Yet Sugriva said
his planet was the first to develop space-travel--"

"Even the Lord Sugriva can err, Ramey Winters. The dead past buries
many secrets. We of Videlia have a legend that our civilization sprang
from a planet now vanished from the heavens, a mighty race whose
home-world was destroyed in a frightful cataclysm. Who knows but that
refugees from this earlier world might have emigrated to each of our
two younger ones?[10]

[Footnote 10: Many astronomers believe the planetoids (or asteroids)
which girdle space between Mars and Jupiter are the fragments of a
true planet formerly located in that orbit. In his book _Ragnarok_,
Ignatius Donnelly suggests that this planet may have been destroyed by
a comet.--Ed.]

"But enough of this now. I see the companions of Tauthus are back,
bringing with them the captains. For what reason summoned you them?"

Ramey turned to where Tauthus stood chafing impatiently for this
palaver to end. As Vibhishana had said, the captains had gathered. And
a rougher, tougher, meaner-looking crew, Ramey had never set eyes on
in his life. But they were a sight calculated to warm the heart of a
fighting man. Ramey stepped into their midst.

"Now, this--" he began--"this is my plan...."

       *       *       *       *       *

Without artificial means, it would have been impossible to tell, in
the dungeons beneath Lanka, what hour of day or night it was. No
feeblest ray of sun light ever penetrated this dank depths; skins were
colorless, gums sloughing-sore, and hair without lustre amongst those
who had lain long in the prison.

But the candles spluttering fitfully upon the walls, and the periodic
visits of the gaolers with food and drink, by these had the prisoners
managed to maintain some cognizance of what hour it was outside their
walls.

Thus, at the middle watch of the night, his campaign mapped out
and approved by hastily-selected lieutenants, Ramey Winters waited
feverishly by the outer door of the dungeon.

So long he had crouched at this post, so long counted the beat of
his pulse in eager expectation, that it seemed to him the hour of
appointment must have long since passed. But at last his vigil was
rewarded. There came the clanking of harness, the rasp of sandaled feet
on harsh stone, and the voice of Captain Thalakka.

"Warder!"

"Aye? What is it? Who calls?" The shuffling footsteps of the gaoler.
"Ah, you again, Captain? What is it?"

"A meeting of all prison guards," said the Videlian, "on the fourth
level. I have come to relieve you so you may attend. You may hand over
the keys."

A long silence. Then: "Mighty unusual!" declared the warder. "Nothing
like this ever happened before!"

"These are unusual times. Nothing like an invasion of Lanka was ever
attempted before. But the monkey-warriors of Sugriva are even now
assembled on the mainland shore, and our defense measures must be
studied."

"Say you so!" There came the jangle of metal passing from one hand to
another. "Invasion, eh? Well, I'll be running along, then. I'll have
more prisoners to take care of when this is over, eh, captain?"

And giggling evilly, the warder shuffled away.

Another slow century dripped by before his footsteps disappeared in the
distance. Then came the swift whisper of Captain Thalakka:

"My Lord? My Lord Ramaíya?"

"We are here," Ramey whispered back. "All three of us. Open swiftly!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The key grated in the lock, the door swung open, and momentarily
blinded by the lights of the corridor, Ramey elbowed forward to
freedom. Behind him came Sheng-ti, then Vibhishana, then--

Captain Thalakka so far forgot himself as to loose a little cry.
"But--but what is this, Lord Ramaíya! Behind you! The prisoners! This
I cannot allow! No! For you, to whom I owe my life, I have risked much
that you might escape. But not even for you can I betray the fortress,
my Lord Ravana and my comrades-in-arms--"

But a taller, slimmer figure brushed past Ramey Winters to confront the
protesting soldier. And:

"Nor even for _me_, Captain?" asked Vibhishana gently.

The warrior stared. Just for a moment. Then a look of humility, in
which was strangely mingled joy, flooded into his eyes. He went to one
knee. "My Lord!" he breathed. "My Lord Vibhishana! Is it thy will this
should be permitted?"

"Not only my will," said Vibhishana firmly, "but my determination. The
hour for vengeance has struck. Tell me, my captain--how many of the old
guard stand ready to strike a blow for honor and the elder suzerainty?"

"Many, my Lord," replied Thalakka humbly. "And many more when the news
of thy release bruits about. The corridors leading to the lakeside port
are even now lined with those of my men who love thee above the cruel
Ravana. Thus prepared I for thy escape--"

"And thus," nodded Vibhishana, "shall our earthborn allies return to
rally their forces. But meanwhile I remain to gather about me those who
would fight my cause. Vanguard of my new army shall be those with whom
I languished in these dungeons. Can you arm them?"

Thalakka glanced dubiously at the ragtag aggregation of human flotsam
seeping through the bronze gate. He nodded.

"Aye. Even so, my Lord."

"Then do so. And now, Ramey Winters--" Vibhishana pressed the young
American's shoulder warmly--"for a time we must part. But all of us
know the Plan. We shall create a diversion for your escape. Haste
to the mainland and bring to Lanka as speedily as possible all the
fighting-men Sugriva has gathered. If fortune favor us, we shall
have won a foothold on some niche of Lanka. That spot will be your
landing-place. Now go--and may the gods go with you!"

Ramey said nothing. But his jaw was set in a line that boded no good
for any man who tried to restrain him from his part of the Plan. He
glanced at Thalakka. The captain gestured.

"This way, Lord Ramaíya--"

And stealthily the trio moved upward from the bowels of Lanka, while
behind them a fledgling army surged from pits of darkness and despair
into a world of new hope....

       *       *       *       *       *

Thrice the adventurers passed posts whereat Videlian guards stood
watch; thrice a hasty sign, a word from the Captain Thalakka, caused
these sentries to glance the other way. Only once had they to pass
a warrior whose allegiance was not pledged to Vibhishana, but his
brother. And Thalakka brazened his way past this station with a word of
explanation.

"Prisoners from the camp of Sugriva. Being taken to the Lord Ravana for
questioning."

And at last, having ascended countless stages, they were in a small
chamber through the windows of which blew the sweet, clean night air of
lake waters. Here Thalakka halted.

"This room fronts on the waterside. Beyond that door lies a small,
private wharf, beside which waits a skiff. It is watched now, but
you hide here and wait. I shall return to arm the friends of my Lord
Vibhishana. When this is done, these men and those of my soldiers whom
I can trust will attack the third level garrison of the citadel. An
alarm will draw the guard from the wharf. When he leaves, you must get
to the boat swiftly and flee to the mainland."

Ramey said simply, "We understand, Thalakka. Thank you."

The Videlian captain smiled. "I accept your thanks, Lord Ramaíya, but I
need them not. My heart tells me I have done well. Godspeed to you!"

And he was gone. Sheng-ti and Ramey took concealment in convenient
shadows, and again embarked on the nerve-wracking experience of
waiting ... waiting ... waiting ... until an alarm should sound the
moment for their next move.

It came at last, after so long a time that Ramey's muscles were stiff
with crouching, his palms damply cold with apprehension, his nerves
atingle with flame. It came with a crashing _croo-oo-onge!_ of sound
that smashed through the corridors of Lanka, rolling and echoing,
re-echoing. The beat of a mighty hammer on a monstrous gong.

Then voices shattered the silence of the sleeping citadel, the vaulted
avenues rang shrill with the clatter of armed men racing to their
appointed posts, and--it may have been pure imagination--from far below
Ramey thought his ear detected the harsher cries of battling men, the
faint echoes of weapons clashing in combat.

His every instinct yearned to be part of that combat, but such was not
his rôle in the campaign. Lightly he rose from his hiding place, raced
across to the windows. As Thalakka had predicted, the curious guard
had been drawn from his post by the clamor. By the filtering gleam of
a newborn moon Ramey saw the dock and the tiny, bobbing object at its
side.

"All right!" he breathed to Sheng-ti. "Come on!"

       *       *       *       *       *

And the hopes of his well-wishers were realized. No eye spied them as
they clambered through the portal, over a tiny balcony, and down to
the lakeside. No voice lifted to question them as they unleashed the
rocking craft beside the pier. Elsewhere on Lanka new lights flashed
from a score of windows, the cries of captains rallying their men split
the quiet night. But as far removed from all this hubbub as two gray
ghosts were Ramey Winters and his companion. Silently they slipped boat
from wharf, silently dipped blades into the water. And in the space
of a dozen breaths, they were off to the distant shore on which dimly
gleamed the campfires of the army of Sugriva.

It was a tedious trip for two oarsmen, one of whom had not touched an
oar for twenty years, the other of whose hands was more accustomed to
the slim control stick of an airplane. But dimmer and more shadowy in
the distance grew the isle of slaves, ever nearer and more cheerful
loomed before them the camp toward which they strained. Until at last
they could distinguish figures about the campfires, could almost hear
the voices of their friends. And then--

"Ramey! Ramey Winters!" Sheng-ti stopped pulling at his oars, craned
back toward his friend. "Hark! I heard the crack of oarlocks--"

Ramey stiffened, his feathering oars shipped swiftly. Over the steady
_lap-lap_ of lake water he too now heard that which had alarmed the
_bonze_. He whispered, "Over that way!"

"Ravana's men. The rebellion has been subdued, and they've come after
us!"

Ramey laughed; a short, hard, mirthless husk it was.

"Well, they'll never take us--now! Not while we're alive!" He tugged
from his waistband that which until now he had avoided using; his
automatic. Leveled it uncertainly toward the fear-inspiring sound.
Waited....

And a cold voice gritted on his eardrums.

"You there in the other boat! Who are you, and what are you doing?"




                              CHAPTER XV

                         Land-bridge to Lanka


It is in moments of great stress that man's emotions play the strangest
pranks.

When he heard that voice, Ramey Winters had been on the verge of firing
into the pale heart of mist that engulfed him. Now suddenly his fingers
were nerveless, the automatic tumbled unheeded from his hand, and his
voice cracked with a cry of almost hysterical laughter.

"Red! Red, it's me--Ramey! And Sheng-ti."

Now wood scraped wood, another boat loomed dark beside them, and Red
Barrett's hard, familiar features stared across at Ramey. The redhead's
eyes were wide with gladness; with joyous abandon he brandished his own
pistol in delighted circles.

"Ramey, you old son-of-a-gun! Am I ever glad to see you! We'd just
about given you up for--"

He stopped, hesitant, apologetic. Ramey grinned.

"Dead? Nothing like it, guy. I take a lot of killing. But I wouldn't
like to check out on the friendly accident list. You'd better put that
pea-shooter away before you hurt somebody."

Barrett said, "Hold the boat, chum, I'm coming over." To a dim figure
in his own craft, "Take this crate home again, James. I won't be
needing it no more tonight."

"Who was that with you?" asked Ramey curiously when his friend had
safely trans-shipped. "One of the O'Briens?"

"Syd and Lake? No, they're in a huddle with Sugriva and Doc Aiken and
Kohrisan. My chauffeur was one of them ape-soldiers. You know what,
Ramey? We had them all wrong. You get to know those hairy little guys
and they're okay."

"I've been meeting some people like that," Ramey nodded, "myself. How
strong a force have you gathered?"

Red said, "Gimme them oars, Sheng-ti. You look like you're pooped. Me
and Ramey can take her in from here. You said 'force', keed? Well, now,
that all depends. If we was back in the good old Twentieth A. D. I'd
say it wasn't worth a hoot in hell. Hitler's blitzers would make hash
out of it in something like ten seconds of the first round. But for
this day and age, it ain't bad. About six divisions of talking apes,
and maybe twice that many natives. But the hell with that. How about
you? What have you been doing? And did you get the Bow? And where's
Sheila?"

"I'll explain everything," said Ramey, "when we meet the others. Let's
dock this jaloppy first."

       *       *       *       *       *

"And that," concluded Ramey some time later, "is how things stood
when we fled Lanka. Ravana still has the Bow, but it has not yet
been charged. Sheila is under lock and key in the innermost chambers
of the palace. Vibhishana is fighting to maintain a foothold within
the citadel itself. How his fight is coming along we have no way of
knowing, but it's a damned sure thing he can't hold out forever. We
must come to his assistance, and do it before either his force is wiped
out or Ravana fuels the Bow. Or--"

He shrugged expressively. Sugriva finished for him,

"Or Earth," he said soberly, "will be a vassal state to the Videlian
overlord for the gods only know how many centuries. Yes, Ramey Winters,
we must move--and move fast."

"You have mapped out a campaign?"

"Tentatively. Our native friends are throwing boats together for us ...
boats, rafts, skiffs, anything navigable. Under cover of tomorrow's
midnight we had hoped to have enough of these to land a small scouting
force. A suicide squadron whose sole purpose would be to effect
a landing, open a land salient. If they can hold their ground for
twenty-four hours, we should be able to reinforce with another three or
four divisions."

Barrett glanced at his friend anxiously.

"Well, Ramey? What do you think of it?"

Ramey shook his head slowly.

"It won't do. It's the old story of Britain in _our_ time: 'Too little
and too late.' Sheng-ti and I have viewed Lanka and its defenses.
Ravana has been preparing for this, Lord Sugriva, ever since he usurped
the throne from his blood-brother. Lanka is a gigantic fortress,
protected by a horde of armed and ready warriors. They would wipe out
our 'token army' before it ever set foot within the castle walls."

The blue lord of Chitrakuta bowed his head sorrowfully. "You are right,
my friend. And the fault is mine because I tried ever to espouse the
dream of friendship amongst men, art, beauty. I have failed in my duty
as a ruler and a protector of earth. I should have anticipated this
eventuality and prepared for it."

Dr. Aiken said gently, "It is not your fault, Lord Sugriva, that the
hearts of some are good and the hearts of others evil. But--what _can_
we do, Ramey?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"I'm trying to think," fumed Ramey desperately. "I know we must do
something--and swiftly!--but the fact remains that we stand here
boatless, powerless to move against Ravana's Gibraltar--_Gibraltar!_"
He laughed ruefully. "The Isle of Lanka is more secure from invasion
than even _that_ bit of rock, because it's farther from the mainland."

Syd O'Brien said gloomily, "Yes, but don't forget, Winters, there's an
Achilles' heel to any place if you can only find it. Armies have been
trying unsuccessfully to take Gibraltar for centuries. But it's invaded
every night by those who know how to do it."

Red Barrett stared at the pessimistic twin, puzzled.

"Invaded? Old Gib invaded? What are you trying to hand us, chum? You
mean from the air? But we ain't got no airplanes--"

Dr. Aiken said, "No, Barrett, that's not what Sydney means. He is
referring to a well-known fact which has baffled engineers, soldiers
and scientists alike for many years: the fact that the Rock of
Gibraltar, though a rock-bound island, is 'invaded' and deserted at
will by the Barbary Apes."

"The who-berry which?"

"Barbary Apes. The monkeys whose natural habitat is the African coast,
some twelve miles distant. How these Apes enter and leave the Rock is,
and has been, and probably always will be a mystery."[11]

[Footnote 11: This is not mere imaginative fiction. The mystery of the
Barbary Apes continues to baffle the military men and cartographers of
Gibraltar to this day. These African visitors seem to invade and desert
the Rock at will, despite the fact there is no visible connection
between the two places.--Ed.]

Ramey said impatiently, "Very interesting. But we've no time for
legends now, Doctor. Suppose we--"

He was interrupted by the single member of that assemblage least prone
to voicing opinions. That one was the monkey-captain, Kohrisan. It was
hard to read emotion on his curiously wizened face, but his eyes had
widened as Dr. Ian Aiken spoke. Now he leaped from his seat excitedly,
pushed forward.

"Excuse me, my Lord Janakan," he chattered in that voice which, though
it spoke human words, would always carry a flavor of the jungles whence
he had sprung. "Excuse me--but--these invaders you called 'apes.' Were
they 'new men' like myself?"

"Yes, Captain Kohrisan. Quite like yourself. Save that they do not
speak the tongue of men--"

"The Burrowers!" cried Kohrisan. "I have heard of them not only at this
'Jibra altar' you speak of but _here_--here at the Lake of Lanka! It
may be true, the tales I have heard!" The little warrior was wildly
excited now, beside himself with thoughts incomprehensible to the less
impetuous humans. "Excuse me, my Lords! Your permission to withdraw, my
Lord Sugriva? Thank you!" And without even waiting for the Gaanelian's
acquiescence, he scampered from the meeting.

       *       *       *       *       *

Red Barrett stared after him, amused.

"Nice little guy, just the same," he said. "Kind of whacky, maybe, but
a lot of humans are that way, too. You were saying, Ramey--?"

"I was saying," continued Ramey, "that our best bet seems to be
another attempt to get the Bow of Rudra. We must give up our dream of
an invasion in force. Select a group of our sturdiest fighters, join
Vibhishana and somehow gain our way to Ravana's chamber. Once we have
the Bow--"

"We are still powerless," finished Sugriva. "Hate me, O my friends, for
ever thus disrupting your dreams. But the fact remains that we, no more
than Ravana, have the fuel with which to charge the precious weapon!"

Lake O'Brien, who had been strangely silent for one usually so
volatile, glanced at Ramey quizzically now.

"_Touché_, Winters," he acknowledged. "The Bow is no earthly use to
us if it isn't working. And we have even less likelihood of fueling
it within the deadline than has Ravana. Damn his rotten hide," he
concluded almost as an afterthought.

It was, thought Ramey Winters with a sickening sense of fate
preordained, like standing up against a fighter who outweighed you by
fifty pounds. Whose skill and reach and strength were all greater than
yours. Every time a plan presented itself, logic came rushing in to
overthrow it.

He said, shakenly, "And what is this fuel, Sugriva? Have you none
whatsoever at Chitrakuta?"

The blue lord shook his head regretfully.

"Not an ounce, child of earth. It is too rare. My brother Rudra, with
all his scientific wisdom, succeeded in deriving only a tiny amount for
his purposes from the mines at our disposal. Now all that has been used
up.

"It is a metal. A most precious metal, ash-silver in hue, light as the
down of a swan's breast, smooth to the touch--"

Ramey surrendered. "Okay," he said haggardly. "I'm licked. That's what
Vibhishana told me, too. So I guess my idea wasn't so good, either.
We'll have to think of some--"

"_Sugriva!_" That was Dr. Aiken breaking into the conversation. "The
rare and precious metal you spoke of--"

"_Banaratha_," supplied the blue lord. "That is its name."

"_Banaratha_," nodded the old archeologist. "Would it by any chance
look like--_this_?"

       *       *       *       *       *

And he brought from his pocket an object, handed it to the Gaanelian.
For the first time since they had met him, Sugriva's calm was shattered
into a thousand bits. His mouth dropped agape, his eyes widened, he
rose, hand half-atremble. "But this--" he cried--"this is _banaratha_
itself! The pure metal, the rare and vital gem of metals!"

"Sweet potatoes!" howled Red Barrett. "Now where'd Doc get a hunk of
that boogie-woogie stuff? Give me a gander, Doc!" Then, as he craned at
the object Sugriva so tremulously held in his palm, his tone changed
to one of disappointment. "Why, what's all the shouting about? That
stuff's nothing but plain, old everyday--"

"_Aluminum!_" cried Lake O'Brien, glimpsing it. "Now I understand,
Doctor! Of course it was rare--in this day and age! Until 1886 aluminum
was so rare and so expensive as to be a laboratory curiosity.[12]
Then Charles Martin Hall discovered that an electrolysis of bauxite
dissolved in cryolite did the trick! So that's the 'rare metal' which
fuels the Bow? Then, boys, we're walking ore-mines! Turn out your
pockets!"

[Footnote 12: Few modern laymen realize that aluminum, now so commonly
used by every household, was, less than a hundred years ago a "precious
metal" known only to royal coffers and experimental laboratories.
When a method of obtaining it freely from its native ores was finally
invented, so inexperienced was the general public in its uses that a
company had to be formed to "educate" mankind to its employment. Even
today the many uses of aluminum are not yet decided.--Ed.]

Ramey Winters had no pockets to turn out. He still wore the garb in
which he had first visited Lanka, not having found time yet to change
back to more comfortable garments. But his contribution was not needed.
Dr. Aiken, Syd and Lake O'Brien, Red Barrett, all wore Twentieth
Century clothes. They went to work on themselves, "Like mongrels
scratching for fleas!" as Lake O'Brien put it. And the result of their
self-appraisal was, a few minutes later, a pile of miscellaneous
objects on a table before them which Sugriva declared positively would
not only charge, but re-charge and charge yet again the dreadful Bow of
Rudra!

Tunic-buttons, "luck-pieces" Barrett had picked up in Shanghai, a
belt-buckle, suspender-clips from Syd's gaudy braces ... these were
some of the aluminum items they found on them. The tiny reflector
Dr. Aiken had first shown Sugriva, a waterproof match-box from Syd,
a patent screw-top container of ephedrine-inhalant used by Lake in
hay-fever season ... these joined the growing pile. It was an amazing
assortment of junk. But looking upon it, the time-farers felt new hope
dawning within them for the first time since Ravana's flight from
Chitrakuta. And Ramey cried exultantly:

"We'll go back to the plan I suggested! We'll take the Bow from Ravana
if I have to kill him with my bare hands to do it! We'll reach Lanka if
we have to swim there--"

"But--" chattered a shrill and jubilant voice from the doorway--"it
will not be necessary to do that, my Lord Ramaíya!"

Ramey whirled to look into the grinning face of the ape-captain,
Kohrisan.

"Eh? What's that, Captain? Why not?"

"Because," declared the furry warrior staunchly, "I have won us new
allies and found a better way. We will _walk_ to the Isle of Lanka!"




                              CHAPTER XVI

                               Invasion


"Walk there!" The blue lord of Chitrakuta stared at his small captain
confusedly. "Kohrisan, what mean you?"

[Illustration: Ramey drew back the Bow of Rudra and clutched the firing
lever.]

"What I say, my Lord," grinned the 'new man' exuberantly. "When I
left thee, I went out even into the jungles to call my less fortunate
brothers. They answered my call ... and here is one of those who will
show us the way." He drew back a flap of the pavilion in which they
were gathered. A small, hairy figure edged in cautiously, glanced at
the assembled humans and scuttled to Kohrisan's side fearfully.

Kohrisan chattered to the ape in swift monosyllables which meant
nothing to the others. The beast's tremors died. Kohrisan turned
proudly.

"My brother is a member of that clan which we of the jungles call
'The Burrowers.' They are not dwellers-in-the-trees, like the forest
banderlogs. They make their homes in caves and hollows. Aye, and such
artificers are they in delving that their tunnels put to shame even the
works of their human brothers. Is it not so, O kinsman?"

It was Sugriva, who had spent long years in striving to improve the lot
of these lesser men, who understood Kohrisan's meaning first.

"You mean, Captain Kohrisan," he asked breathlessly, "the Burrowers
know of such a tunnel--to Lanka?"

"Even so, my Lord. And our brother, here, will show us the entrance
to the underground passage." The ape-human grinned, exposing gleaming
fangs. "They are clever builders, my brethren. The eyes of man are not
keen enough to find the spot whence their passage leaves the mainland;
nay, nor even where it disgorges into Lanka's very citadel. But it
exists, even as Burrowers elsewhere built the tunnel which leads from
Afric to the Altar of Jibra."

Ramey Winters struck his hands together gleefully.

"Then this fight's not over yet! It's just started--and the odds have
changed! Come on! Let's see what this tunnel looks like!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus it was, that hours later, as the jet curtain of jungle night
trembled insecurely at its horizon, threatening to rise at any moment
in the pearly flame of tropical dawn, Ramey stood for the _second_
time at the mouth of the cavernous tunnel whose other maw disgorged
into the very heart of Ravana's island stronghold.

This time he was not accompanied by a mere handful of his friends, and
by a single chattering Burrower whose explanations had to be translated
by Captain Kohrisan. Behind him were arraigned six full divisions of
the ape-warrior's troops. Hairy archers, bows gripped and ready for
split-second use, quivers abristle with shafts of feathered death ...
ape-lancers, stalwartly clenching razor-edged spears ... ape-swordsmen,
fully aware of what this battle meant to them and their kind. A great
future, new manhood if it succeeded; a return to jungle savagery for
all their kind if it failed.

Heading these was their commander, Kohrisan. Only human companion of
Ramey on this expedition was Lake O'Brien, who insisted on becoming a
member of the party.

"I'm going with, Winters," he declared flatly. "So take it or leave it!"

Ramey said worriedly, "But it--it's dangerous. We may run plunk into a
detachment of Ravana's soldiers, and be wiped out before we even effect
an entrance--"

"Sure," assented Lake cheerfully. "And we may bump into trolls and
gnomes in yonder tunnel. It looks sinister enough. Stop talking, Ramey.
You're wasting time. If anything should happen to you, there ought to
be another earthman at Kohrisan's side. Anyhow--" He grinned--"I'd
rather walk to Lanka than ride one of those junky boats. I get seasick
easy."

Ramey surrendered, not without a secret pleasure at the gay O'Brien
twin's insistence. He turned for the last time to Red Barrett.

"Got everything straight, Redhead?"

Barrett nodded.

"Check, pal! We let you get a half hour's start. Then me and Syd pile
the other divisions of native soldiers into the boats and row slowly
toward Lanka, making as much of a fuss as we can. That'll attract their
attention, make 'em split up their forces, and relieve some of the
pressure on old Vibby-what's-his-name."

"Right! And don't attempt a landing. Stay out of bow-range until you
get some sort of signal from us. We'll try to clear a landing-port for
you. Well--" Ramey took a deep breath, glanced at Kohrisan--"I guess
we're set. Give the command, Captain."

And with the voluble little jungle-creature beside them, chattering,
guiding, he and the ape-captain led the way into the underground
passage.

       *       *       *       *       *

Had Ramey Winters been in exploring, rather than expeditionary, mood he
would have found much to marvel at during the ensuing march.

Kohrisan had not exaggerated when he had called his Burrower brethren
magnificent artificers. This tunnel, Ramey Winters was forced to
concede, was as great an accomplishment as any ever wrought by
supposedly superior Man. For a short space it dipped downward into
the earth, out under the lake-shallows, on a gentle cline. Then it
straightened, became a passage smooth and straight and true as if bored
by a gigantic drill.

It did not provide quite enough head-room for Ramey and Lake.
Six-footers each, they soon found their shoulders aching under the
strain of walking with heads lowered beneath an arched roofway built to
accommodate dwarfish figures. But this was the only inadequacy of the
tunnel. In every other respect it was perfect. Its floor was smooth and
dry. Its walls were hewn to glassy perfection, and by the light of the
torches the wayfarers bore shone with a strange, azure glow.

How this wonder had been wrought was a question that perplexed Ramey,
but his one effort to learn met with scant success. Kohrisan could not
tell him, and the Burrower would not. Incessant chatterer the ape was,
but he refused to tell this secret of his clan. So Ramey shelved the
problem for the time being, resolving that at some later date he would
try again.[13]

[Footnote 13: The accompanying news-clipping might have helped Ramey
solve the mystery--or might have only furthered his confusion. One
truth shines clearly through the webwork of half-knowledge to which man
is heir: That there exist in this world many ancient secrets as yet
unsolved.--Ed.]

               Gate To Hell Puzzle Solved By Scientists

    Lucerne, Switzerland (AP.)--Five Lucerne mountaineers have cleared
    up the mystery of the "Hellenloch," or "Gate to Hell," a cavernous
    hole in the Niederbauenalp.

    The cavern--from which the road of subterranean cataracts
    emerged--was discovered years ago by a party of Alpine climbers,
    but only a few days ago did scientists venture to descend into it.
    Using a rope 850 feet long, a windlass and crane, three of the
    party of five were lowered into the stygian hole. At a depth of
    300 feet they found themselves in a "glacier-mill," or "giant's
    cauldron," said to be the largest ever discovered. It was an
    immense hollow 36 feet long and 23 feet wide with azure-colored
    walls that _were smooth as glass and that shone weirdly in the glow
    of flashlights_.

Four miles lay the Isle of Lanka from the mainland. Approximately an
hour's march. When his wristwatch told him his force had reached the
halfway mark, Ramey envisioned the scene transpiring on the lake's
surface, perhaps above their very heads. Now, from the numerous
wharves and docks, would be putting out a host of tiny craft filled
with soldiers. A cry would rise from the citadel as these invaders
were seen. Ravana's guards would be calling the alarm ... forces now
besieging Vibhishana's tiny garrison might be diverted ... there might
even put out from Lanka an opposing "navy"....

But he could not concern himself with these things. He and his
followers had their own, allotted duty; upon their success or failure
hung the whole campaign.

"On!" he said to Kohrisan. "Faster!"

And Lake O'Brien, irrepressible even under circumstances as vital as
these, chuckled.

"'Sail on!'" he quoted extravagantly, "'and on! Sail on!'--Hey, Ramey,
old Columbus must have been a bargain-hunter the way he kept yapping
about a 'Sale on!'"

       *       *       *       *       *

Still on they pressed, while moments winged by at a tempo set by the
slur of marching feet. And finally came an interruption to their swift
progress. The Burrower chattered something to Kohrisan, the ape-captain
cried the command to halt. Ramey glanced at him curiously.

"What is it, Captain? Something wrong?"

"Nay, my Lord. But the moment for extra caution is come. Behold the
torch in thy hand."

The torch, which had been spluttering illumination in smoky waves
before them, was now flaring more brightly. Its resined wood was licked
by hungry flames that seemed to leap _forward_.

"Fresh air!" said Ramey. "A draught. Are we nearly there, Kohrisan?"

"Very near, my Lord. It is time to extinguish the torches and move
forward silently."

"But we can't see in this darkness," Lake demurred.

"There will be light enough. See?" Kohrisan smothered his own torch
against a wall, passed word back that all other torch-bearers should
do the same. Soon all the lights were crushed into ash--but still
the passageway glowed with a dull, gray illumination emanating from a
tiny circle dimly seen before them. "The end of the tunnel, my Lords,"
whispered Kohrisan. "The moment for attack is ripe."

"And where does the tunnel emerge?" asked Ramey.

But the Burrower's answer was unsatisfactory. "Inside the palace," was
the only information Kohrisan got from him. Thus, unknowing whether the
next few minutes would see them stepping forward to greet friends or
foes--but with every likelihood pointing toward the latter--the tiny
army of invasion again moved forward. This time lightless, voiceless,
and on creeping feet.

       *       *       *       *       *

But at least a portion of their caution was a waste of energies. They
need not have spoken in whispers. For as they approached nearer and
ever nearer the circle which was the tunnel's exit, there smote their
ears in full, reverberant cry the clash and clamor of battle waging
wildly! Shouts of men, alive and angry, wounded and in pain, dying and
fearful ... the strident clang of metal upon metal ... the _whirr!_ of
arrows seeking fleshy targets ... these were the sounds which greeted
their arrival.

And as they gained the exit, Ramey saw whence originated this tumult.
Also he saw, and with a sense of sick despair, why the Burrower ape had
boasted his clan's tunnel was so well concealed from the search of men.

For it was bitter battle between troops of Vibhishana and Ravana's
hordes upon which Ramey and his rescue squad _looked down_! Down--from
a tiny, frieze-embellished exit-hole near the roof of one of Lanka's
highest chambers!

Fully fifty feet _below_ them waged the conflict ... a battle between
forces hopelessly outmatched. At the front of the decimated rebel group
Ramey recognized men he knew, men who had been his companions in the
dungeon. His great bulk sturdier still in battle-mail, Tauthus of Cush
headed a handful of men desperately striving to hold a narrow doorway.
Left flank of this party was protected by soldiers in the livery of
Videlia ... loyalists rallied by Thalakka, whose sword was among their
own. Even as Ramey watched, an arrow shattered on the breastplate of
the faithful guardsman, and Thalakka tottered and fell, driven to his
knees by the sheer driving impact of that shaft.

A glowering foe, seeing Thalakka's plight, leaped forward, stabbing
viciously at the fallen man. But as his sword lifted for the destroying
blow, the young Martian who had opposed Tauthus yesterday in the
gaol sprang forward to parry it with a thrust of his own. Thalakka's
attacker fell, blood gushing from a great wound in his breast, and even
as he rolled lifeless to the floor, Thalakka was on his feet again.

All this fifty feet below! And they, six fighting divisions, helpless
to aid their friends! Ramey whirled to Kohrisan frantically.

"But how do we get down from here?"

Kohrisan grinned. There was fire in the ape-man's eye now. Ramey
thought that never had Captain Kohrisan seemed less the man, more the
jungle beast, than now. Battlelust seemed to have thickened even his
speech; it was with difficulty he made the human words intelligible.

       *       *       *       *       *

But his words were not directed to Ramey. He spoke to the warriors
behind him. And they, obediently, sprang to their task. One wrapped
his arms round a pillar standing at the lip of the exit. A second
gripped the first ape's legs, and himself slipped over the ledge to
dangle by his companion's heels. A third clambered over the body of
his comrade to dangle a few more feet down the wall. A fourth ... a
fifth....

Lake cried hoarsely, "A ladder! A ladder of flesh and blood, Ramey! Of
course! It is part of their jungle heritage!"

"But--" said Ramey to Kohrisan--"if one of them be killed? Then the
ladder is broken--"

"And it will be rebuilt, Lord Ramaíya!" retorted the captain. "There!
Now it reaches the floor below. Forward!"

Ramey said no more. All warfare is a gamble. This was no more desperate
a measure than that one nation should hurl the soft bodies of men
against the adamant ramparts of machines. Eyes glinting, he let himself
over the ledge and hand-over-hand down the living chain that dangled to
the room below.

He was but one of many. For now there were other chains ... swarms of
comrades flinging themselves down over the bodies of their brothers.
And before his feet had touched the floor, he was surrounded by a force
of more agile ape-warriors, turning to him for command. His voice could
not be heard in the melee, but a gesture was enough.

"Forward!"

And to the relief of the beleaguered loyalists, like a great brown
flood of strength, surged the monkey-soldiers. From the rear they
struck, and there were scores of Videlians who fell without ever
knowing what hand had struck them down. When finally they whirled
to see this new danger descending upon them, already they were
outnumbered. It scarcely mattered that one courageous archer broke a
chain by piercing the key-man on the ledge. Though a dozen tumbled
headlong to the granite floor, instantly a new chain was forged. And in
a trice, the complexion of the battle had changed. Now it was Ravana's
men, instead of the loyalists, who were on the defensive. Hard-pressed,
they withdrew from the doorway they had been attacking. But the moment
their pressure was withdrawn, Thalakka and Tauthus roared their
followers forward.

Thus, trapped between two forces, attacked alike by fresh and weary
troops, the Videlians fell. Though giants in stature, they were no
match for the squat little 'new men' of Chitrakuta. And at length, when
the floor of the huge hall ran slippery-red, when the bodies of dead
and dying formed a dreadful tapestry on crimsoned stone, the remnants
of the doomed battalion surrendered.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then it was that Ramey, his heart great with gladness, raced to seek
those whom strife and a common cause had already bound him into a
brotherhood as strong as that of birth.

To the grinning Copt he cried, "Well done, Tauthus of Cush! This is a
mighty battle you have won this day!"

And the tall man chuckled in reply, "The credit is thine, Ramaíya. You
spoke the truth. There is more joy in this than in squabbling with
these few Videlians who are our friends."

Said Thalakka soberly, "You came in the nick of time, my friend. We
were hard-pressed. Nor is the battle yet won. Only this small corner
of Lanka is now ours to hold. Ravana has yet thousands at his command
elsewhere in the citadel."

"And we have thousands more on the way," Ramey promised him. "Ah, my
Lord Vibhishana! Have your guards watched the lakefront? Are our
troops on the water?"

The elderly ex-ruler of Lanka nodded gravely.

"Their boats hover outside bow-range, Ramaíya. The fleet of Ravana
dared not attack Sugriva's larger force, but they are held in deadlock
unless we can win them a landing-place. Is that thy plan?"

"That is the plan. Thalakka ... Tauthus ... Kohrisan! I leave its
accomplishment to you. Somehow you must succeed in winning some section
of the beach where our reinforcements may land."

"And you, Lord Ramaíya?" asked Tauthus anxiously.

"Where I go," Ramey told him grimly, "one man must go alone. I am
going after the Bow of Rudra, fuel for which I have found. And I
have--another reason. Lord Vibhishana, point me the way to Ravana's
private chambers."

"Us!" corrected a lone voice.

Ramey turned to find Lake O'Brien at his shoulder. There was
determination in the twin's eyes.

"That's right," Lake repeated, "Us! I'm declaring myself in again,
Ramey. And shut up! Damned if you're not the arguingest guy I ever met!"

Ramey said firmly, "No, Lake! I was glad you came along with us
through the tunnel. But this is _my_ job. Because not only is the Bow
in Ravana's quarters but--Sheila is there, too. You won't understand,
but--she means more than anything else to me."

Lake returned his gaze quietly. For once there was no smile on his
lips. He said, "But I do understand, Ramey. Perfectly. Because, you
see, _I_ have known Sheila Aiken for a long time, too."

"But you don't feel--" began Ramey hotly. Then he stopped,
comprehension finally drawing upon him, sympathy and embarrassment
suddenly warm upon his cheeks. "Oh! So it--it's that way? I'm sorry,
Lake. I didn't realize--"

"Neither does she," said Lake O'Brien. "But that's the way it is,
Ramey. And always has been."

Tauthus of Cush was staring at them curiously. Now he said, "I do not
quite understand, Lord Ramaíya. What are you going to do?"

And Ramey Winters answered, "It is a two man job we face. Lake and I
are both going...."




                             CHAPTER XVII

                       The Love of Lady Rakshasi


In the period that ensued, Ramey had reason to be glad that Lake
O'Brien _had_ insisted on accompanying him.

True, the Lord Vibhishana had given him instructions for finding
Ravana's chambers. Had Lanka been other than in a state of siege, Ramey
could have reached his objective in simple fashion. But it had been
impossible to take into account the constant stream of Videlians racing
hither and thither through the corridors of the citadel ... the
guards ... the messengers ... the armed companies marching to take
their emergency battle-posts.

More than once, Ramey and Lake were forced to take refuge in whatever
places of concealment offered. More than once they were forced to
desert entirely the path they had been following, choose a new route
altogether toward their objective. And with each devious turning,
Vibhishana's directions became more obscure and confused, until Ramey,
at last, knew neither where Ravana's chambers lay nor, indeed, where he
himself was!

It was then that Lake O'Brien proved himself an indispensable ally.
Educated in architecture, trained in the hard and practical school of
active archeology, he displayed an almost psychic sense of location.
With fine discernment he _reasoned_ his way through the tumultuous
labyrinth which was Lanka. Up two levels--"_The Regent's quarters are
always in mid-palace, Ramey_"--to a series of marble halls, left to
that side of the citadel facing the ferry-ports--"_stands to reason his
apartment would face the docks, you know_"--and finally, justifying the
precepts of pure logic, into chambers more sumptuous than any Ramey had
laid eyes on since he confronted Ravana in the throne-room.

The passage was swift, but not entirely unimpeded. It was their
good fortune, though, that such Videlians as they met along the way
were either traveling in groups--in which case the clank of their
accoutrement served as noisy warning, sending the two to cover--or were
single guards, set to watch over a strategic doorway. And as is ever
the case where strong walls lend a sense of false security, the guards
had grown careless. This was an error for which two who fought paid
with their lives. Three more were left gagged and bound in places where
they would not easily be discovered.

       *       *       *       *       *

So, at last, came Ramey and Lake to their destination. And reaching
there, they experienced the greatest surprise of their entire,
hazardous journey. For the doors of Ravana's quarters, which they had
fully expected would be guarded by not one man but a whole detachment,
were not only without guard--but half ajar!

Ramey said exultantly, "Our army must have him in a dither! He's gone
out to supervise the fight and left home-plate unguarded!"

Lake said, "It looks that way, but--it's not logical. Ravana's the
kind of guy who looks after his own skin when the going gets tough. If
the battle were going against him, he'd be locked in here with a whole
damned army at the doors to protect his precious hide. I don't like it!"

Ramey chuckled. "Well, I'll be dog-goned! And all this time I thought
you were Lake. Hyah, Syd!"

Lake grinned. "Okay. I guess I do sound like the old gloom-monger at
that. Well--let's get moving!"

And cautiously they crept through the doorway into the first of a
series of connecting chambers which comprised the inner sanctum of
Lanka's regent.

All the great courts lay silent. From afar, as if muted by granite
blankets, still fitfully came to them the sound of distant fighting.
But no footstep, no voice, marred the quiet of this refuge--No!--There
_was_ the murmur of voices! Ramey gripped his comrade's arm, whispered:

"In there! It sounds like--"

Lake nodded, eyes glinting. "Yes! Sheila!"

Feverishly, they crossed the last open space to the doorway beyond
which they had heard the girl's voice. Revolvers drawn and ready, they
inched open this ultimate barrier. As they did so, the faintly-heard
drone turned into speech. Ringing defiance in Sheila's sweet, familiar
tones.

"No! If I were the last Earth woman left alive and your brother the
last male of a thousand worlds, still would my answer be the same! I
want no part of Lord Ravana!"

Came the voice of another, a slow, throbbing voice Ramey Winters knew
only too well. It was a voice which at once cajoled and taunted.

"Because there is--another, O Lady Sheilacita?"

"Perhaps."

"But if this one were to turn away from thee, and seek his pleasure
in another? Say, for example--" In his mind's eye Ramey, though those
who spoke were still invisible to him because of a heavy arras veiling
the half-open doorway, could envision the languorous lids of the Lady
Rakshasi drooping with heavy suggestion--"for example, myself? Then
would your faithfulness waver?"

Sheila's answer was steadfast, unshaken, scornful.

"You speak of impossibilities, woman of Videlia."

"Okay!" Ramey nudged Lake. "_Now!_" And he brushed aside the drape,
slipped forward into the retiring chamber where conversed the two
women. "Well spoken, Sheila! Maybe her Ladyship will wise up to the
fact that Earthmen aren't bought and sold with promises--after a while!
Don't move!"

       *       *       *       *       *

He rapped this last to the Lady Rakshasi as, amber cheeks crimsoning
she stirred to rise.

"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "Sheila, come over here. That's
right. Now, Rakshasi--where is the Bow your brother stole from me?
Speak up! Or by the gods--"

But his answer did not come from the half-open lips of the Videlian
princess. It came from a double source; the eyes of Sheila Aiken
leaping open in sudden alarm, her cry, "_Ramey! Behind you! Look
out!_"--and from a mocking voice accosting him from the chambers
through which he had lately come.

"You want the Bow, Lord Ramaíya? It is right here in my hands--charged
and eager to speak! Would you care to hear its message?"

Ramey whirled. Smiling mirthlessly, the Bow drawn to his shoulder,
advancing toward him was Lord Ravana!

Ramey cried, "He's bluffing, Lake! That Bow's not fueled! Rush him!"

And he ducked into a crouch, leaped a step toward the overlord of
Lanka. But Ravana's sharp command was not delivered in the voice of one
who tries a ruse. It stopped him short, because it was strident and
heavy with assurance.

"_Hold!_ Another step and you die! Not only you but your companions,
also!"

Indecision trembled through Ramey. Then, measuring his chances, he took
the path of caution. There was still a chance Ravana was pulling a fast
one, but--Sheila! He must not needlessly imperil her life, or that of
Lake. He stood still. But he said,

"The Bow is not munitioned, Ravana. If it were you would long since
have turned it against those who storm your citadel. You would not
waste it upon three individuals."

The grim lord of Lanka smiled at him sourly.

"I have said before, Earthmen, you are clever. You are half right
in your conjecture. I cannot use the Bow on those who vainly attack
Lanka--and for a reason not hard to explain. So far I have been able
to obtain but a minute particle of the precious element. Such a scrap
would not hinder an army. But mark me well! It is more than enough to
dispose of you and those others who lead the uprising. So dare not my
patience! _Seshana!_" He called the name, and at the farther end of the
chamber whence he had come appeared that captain whom Ramey had once
met on the mainland shore.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Have a crier call word to my brother, Vibhishana, and to the
Gaanelian, Sugriva, skulking off Lanka's shores in a draggle-tailed
navy of rafts, that I hold as prisoners not only the Lady Sheilacita
but also Lord Ramaíya and the laughing one, Lakshmana. If they bring
not an end to these mad hostilities within the hour, warn them these
hostages die!"

"Yes, Sire!" Seshana vanished.

       *       *       *       *       *

Comprehension overwhelmed Ramey Winters, leaving a bitterness on his
palate.

"Then it was a trap. The unguarded doors ... the open way to these
chambers...."

Ravana laughed. "Aye, a trap, dog of Earth. Sometimes I fear you
children of the green planet are all fools! Imagine a warrior idiot
enough to leave in his wake an enemy unslain, merely bound! Long since
we discovered one you had tied and hidden, learned your intention. The
pathway was cleared that you might readier walk into our midst. And
now--stand aside, Rakshasi! I will dispose of these creatures who have
thrice pitted themselves against me."

Sheila sprang forward with a little cry.

"Dispose! You--you mean you're going to kill them? After having named
them hostages against the surrender of our forces?"

"Even so, my Lady," replied Ravana mockingly. "It is not _my_ folly to
leave unharmed those who have proven dangerous to me."

"But your word, Lord Ravana! Your word of honor!"

"What Ravana does is to be judged by no man," said the Videlian
haughtily.

"You dirty rat!" rasped Lake savagely. "Trick our friends into
surrendering to save us, then shoot us anyway. Well--"

His sidelong glance at Ramey was sign enough. It meant what Ramey had
been thinking. That if they separated, rushed Ravana simultaneously,
one of them might reach him. Ramey's muscles tensed, his lips framed
the starting word. But even as he would have cried it, a warmth brushed
by him. The Lady Rakshasi, a great, golden panther of a woman, strode
past him to confront her brother boldly.

"A moment, my kinsman!" she pleaded. "You cannot do this thing! Have
you forgotten our agreement? You pledged me the life of this Earthman,
Ramaíya!"

"Stand aside, sister!" ordered Ravana curtly. "No longer do old pledges
obtain. Since we struck that pact much has happened. The man has roused
the rabble from my dungeons against me ... threatened my citadel ...
invaded my own private quarters. He must die!"

"He must live!" cried Rakshasi. "Even as you hunger for the Lady
Sheilacita, so do I demand this human for myself! For the other I care
not; wreak thy vengeance upon him if you will. But--"

And there would never, saw Ramey Winters suddenly, be a better
opportunity than this! For sultry-faced, angry, the Lord Ravana had let
the Bow slip from his shoulder. His eyes were upon his sister, his grip
on the weapon insecure. Ramey's voice was like the crashing of a cymbal.

"_Now_, Lake!"

       *       *       *       *       *

With the word, he leaped forward, head low, shoulders driving for the
Videlian's legs as they had driven at the legs of opposing linesmen
years ago. Beside him he felt the reassuring bulk of Lake O'Brien.

Then everything happened at once! His hands met ... gripped ...
tightened about flesh. The body of the giant Martian seemed to totter
above him; a shod foot lashed viciously into his temple, and great
stars sprang from sudden darkness to whirl dazzingly before his eyes.
He was aware of his own harsh, grating breath sobbing through his
teeth ... a roar of rage strangely mingled with terror ... then a
violent blast of flame mushrooming before him. Hot, searing flame that
crisped the very perspiration from his brow, leaving his flesh baked
and raw.

Then the solid thud of a fist meeting flesh ... Lake O'Brien howling
desperately, "My eyes, Ramey! I can't see!" And another soul-sickening
sound. That of a woman's voice screaming in shrill, animal agony ...
dying abruptly in a low, choked, ominous gurgle.

Bruised and shaken, burned and dazed, Ramey staggered to his feet. All
before him was still a blazing sheen of light, but now this dulled,
and he saw that Ravana, still clutching a now-useless Bow, was fleeing
across the chamber.

Ramey's automatic was heavy in his blistered palm. He fired it once ...
twice ... after the rapidly disappearing figure. But in vain. Ravana
had scuttled through the door, clanging it closed behind him.

Then, and only then, had Ramey time to look at the others. Lake was
still beside him, was even now striving to rise, pawing before him as
one who stumbles through a mist. He was groaning, "My eyes, Ramey!
Sheila--I can't see!"

Ramey sprang to his side, lifted him.

"Easy, old boy! You'll be all right in a sec. The Bow going off in our
faces, that's what did it--" But as he stared into his companion's
face, saw that Lake's eyes were wide open, the entire cornea that
covered his eyeballs a fog of smoky-blue, he realized all too well
what had happened.

Lake had looked directly into the flame of the Bow when its charge was
released! And its incandescence flaming before him had blinded him as
surely as if his eyes had been gouged from his head. Perhaps soaked
up--as it had dried every ounce of moisture from Ramey's skin--the
aqueous humor of his eyes. Only Ravana's kick, flattening Ramey,
closing his eyes, had kept the young airman from sharing an identical
fate!

And--Rakshasi?

He glanced about him wildly ... found her ... and turned away,
shuddering. The Lady Rakshasi, great, golden panther whose every
movement had been a lure and a temptation, would move no more. For
upon her lithe and vital body had spent itself the full strength of
the discharging Bow. That which remained of her once breathtaking
loveliness was a blackened--_something_--not pleasant to look upon.

Nauseated, Ramey covered his eyes. Then Sheila was in his arms, crying,
"Ramey! Oh, Ramey, she--she saved your life! Tried to tear the Bow from
Ravana--_Lake!_"

Lake said dazedly, frightenedly, "Sheila--I can't see you! Where are
you? Everything is black!"

Then a new sound rang clear in the farther chamber; the scuff of
hurrying footsteps, the clank of mail. Winters spun to Sheila swiftly.

"Sheila, is there another way out of these chambers--a way leading down
to the waterfront? Yes? Good! We've got to get out of here--and quick.
Take Lake's other arm. All right, Lake, old boy, hold tight. We're
going to get you to Doc Aiken if it's humanly possible!"

And huddled together like three fleeing the storm god's wrath, they
raced in the direction that Sheila pointed.




                             CHAPTER XVIII

                               Stalemate


Many sensations unfamiliar to a man whose work was purely a man's
work had Ramey Winters experienced in regard to Sheila Aiken. From
that hour long ago when she had dragged him from the wreckage of his
burning Curtis on the plain beside Angkor Vat, he had admired her.
Then, beneath the mellow moon of Chitrakuta, he had learned to love
her. Now as they fled, side by side, through the avenues of Lanka, he
discovered that admiration and love were not the only emotions she
roused within him. There was another and stranger bond between them--a
bond of fellowship! Sheila Aiken was no soft, comfortable creature to
be fondled and amused. No clinging-vine, demanding lavish attention.
She was a man's woman--a fighting man's woman--giving as well as
receiving, daring the same risks that confronted her mate. Ready as he
to fight--and if need be, to die--for the cause they had made their own.

And realizing this, noting the cool, earnest haste with which she
directed their passage out of danger, seeing in her white hand the
automatic she had taken from the now helpless Lake O'Brien, Ramey
Winters felt surging through him a sharp, bright glory that this woman
should be his!

He knew, now, that his final doubt had been swept away. Freely, when
this travail was ended, he could ask Sheila Aiken to share life's
future with him. For whatever that future might hold in store, he knew
she would be a strong and steadfast companion.

These were but instincts, scarcely thoughts, racing through his brain
as they hurried down corridors of escape toward that section of Lanka
which--if the gods were kind--their friends still held. This was
neither the time nor the place to speak of such things. Strength must
be husbanded, breath saved, for any danger which might arise. Such as--

Such as _this_! The sound of footsteps in a passageway crossing at
right angles before them. Videlian guards, mayhap. Or worse still, a
detachment of the fighting force!

Again, as several times before, Ramey motioned the girl to silence,
forced her and the quiescent Lake to a spot of concealment until this
new threat should pass. He sought a place wherefrom he might view those
who passed. There was no way of knowing, in this crisis, what fragment
of information might prove of later value. It was wise to learn any and
all details of the Videlian strength, location of troops, designs....

Thus he lifted his head cautiously from behind the tremendous vase
behind which they crouched as the footsteps drew nearer. And thus it
was he saw that which broke a cry of gladness from his lips.

"_Tauthus!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Copt chieftain pivoted. He marched not at the head of an Earthling
party, but beside Kohrisan and before a group of the ape-human's
warriors.

"Lord Ramaíya! You have found the Lady Sheilacita? And--the Bow?"

Ramey shook his head. "Ravana escaped with it, and with his life. But
it is not charged. Nor will it be very soon; that much we have learned."

The monkey-captain moved forward querulously. It was not easy to detect
emotion on his simian features, but a note of apprehension was in his
voice.

"And the gay one, Lakshmana? He is wounded?"

"Blinded," said Ramey succinctly. "He looked into the Bow's discharging
gorge. But--this is not all that remains of our land-force?" He looked
with sudden fear on the handful of men led by his two comrades.

Kohrisan shook his head. "Nay, my Lord. We are but a scouting party.
Lord Vibhishana and Thalakka have pressed Ravana's hordes back to the
vital wharves. Soon these will be ours, and our reserves can safely
land."

"I'm going with you," decided Ramey swiftly. "Someone must take Lake
and Sheila back to Vibhishana, though. One of your men will show them
the way, Kohrisan?"

"I will do so myself, my Lord. With Tauthus and thyself in command, my
company is well led. And there is much information I can bear to the
others."

"Good! But have a care, my Captain. Ravana's men are spread somewhere
between you and our main force. You run a gauntlet of danger."

Kohrisan said staunchly, "I shall be watchful, Lord Ramaíya. We of the
'new men' know how to face danger."

Ramey Winters could never have dreamed--what man could?--that one day
his hand should press the hairy shoulder of a talking ape in firm
companionship. But that is what he did now. And he said, "New men,
indeed, are you and your comrades, Captain. And as worthy of the name
as any."

Plainly, the move was not to Sheila's liking. But she was too good a
soldier to demur. And it was evident that Lake must be taken to a place
of safety. So she turned with Kohrisan; they disappeared, and Ramey
pressed on with Tauthus and the ape-warriors.

       *       *       *       *       *

As they marched, Tauthus pointed out the purpose of their move.

"Our forces have rolled back Ravana's men at every point so far,"
he said. "We hold the northern chambers of the citadel and all
levels below the fourth. Their heaviest concentration, though, is
in the southern sector of the isle. This we cannot storm until our
reinforcements land. Our boats cannot dock until the wharves are ours.
Therefore the wharves must be taken."

"And our fleet?" queried Ramey. "How close does it lie to Lanka's
shores?"

But Tauthus answered that question in the easiest of fashions--by
pointing. For they had come to the end of the corridor, and stepped
through a gateway out onto a balcony. With a start, Ramey realized
where they were. On that same ledge from which the Lady Rakshasi had
seen and exposed him!

Scarce thirty feet below them lay the wharves. And beyond these,
bobbing flakes of black against the sun-silver surface of the lake,
thick as skating-bugs on a stagnant bog, hovered the skiffs and rafts
which bore the bulk of Sugriva's army.

Studying the salient, Ramey saw with dread despair the insurmountable
difficulties his allies had to overcome. From the water, the wharves
were invulnerable. Defenseless soldiers creeping into land on
slow-moving skiffs would be scythed down mercilessly by the bows of
the enemy. Nor was there any safe approach to the walled court wherein
huddled the dock's defenders. Two high and sturdy walls stretched from
the citadel itself down across the beach to the quais. Behind these
ramparts a handful of men could withstand an army forever. And the
Videlians numbered no mean handful. They swarmed the walls darkly. And
at their beck and call, should they find need of additional hands to
do their bidding, were the slaves. Two full pens of Earth's natives,
locked like cattle in runways adjoining the courtyard.

Ramey said, "There's only one place to establish an offensive against
the wharves--and that is from our present vantage-point. But it would
be suicidal for us to try it. Maybe if we went back, gathered a
stronger force--"

An astonished rumble from the throat of his comrade stopped him.

"Now, by my faith--!" swore Tauthus of Cush.

"What is it?"

"That captain. Look at him! Look closely!"

A small detachment, perhaps a dozen Videlians, had just marched from
the interior of the citadel to join the besieged force. Neatly,
swiftly, precisely, they swept across the courtyard. None rose to
question them. The defenders had other things to think of, for from the
southern end of the isle Vibhishana's attackers maintained a steady
barrage of bowfire.

Ramey stared at the squad leader, eyes widening.

"It--it's Thalakka! But why--?"

"_Traitor!_" growled Tauthus deep in his throat. "I knew we should
never place faith in a cursed Videlian. But Tauthus of Cush knows how
to deal with traitors!" His hand flashed to his shoulder, he drew an
arrow from his quiver, set it to bowstring, aimed....

"_Wait!_" Ramey's hand tensed about the Copt's arm. "This is no
treachery but a most courageous deed. See! At the slave-pens--"

       *       *       *       *       *

For suddenly the intention of Captain Thalakka was clear. Full across
the courtyard had he and his men marched unchallenged ... past posts
they might have taken ... and up to the gates of the slave-pens. And
now the little detachment whirled, formed a tight circle before the
gates--and a cry rose as Thalakka gripped the sole guardian of those
gates, hurled him to the ground, and wrenched the keys from his belt!

In an instant, all was bedlam! Too late the Videlian guards realized
what had happened, identified this enemy in their very midst. Men
turned from the walls, a hundred bows turned on the tiny knot of
venturers. Feathered death spangled the court.

But the key had grated in the lock! And the gates were open. And
Thalakka's voice was raising in clarion cry.

"Earthmen! Rise! Freedom awaits the bold--"

His cry ended in midsentence, his mouth formed a round O of
astonishment ... a circle from which, suddenly, a flood of crimson
gushed. His hands leaped to his breast and tore at a shaft buried there
almost to its feathered end ... then he sank to his knees, rolled over,
and lay still.

But not in vain had Captain Thalakka died. For at his words a
tremendous surge, like the lifting of high sea-waters, swelled through
the prison-pens. And scarce had he fallen than a prisoner had whipped
the sword from his hands to spring forward. Another ... and another ...
and the slaves were plunging through the gates like an unleashed flood.

In vain, now, the arrows of the defenders hurtled into the roaring
throng. Where one man fell, there were a dozen to charge forward over
his body. This was no trained army, crisp, cool, efficient. This was a
mob, a mob of men who had tasted slavery--and were now free to turn on
their foes with naked hands and claws.

Like beasts they smashed across the courtyard to the ramparts, crushing
beneath them all who strove to stay their passage. Like animals they
clambered up the walls, flung the Videlians from their posts down to
blood-lusting fellows below who literally ripped the Martian guards
into bits.

And--the ramparts fell! Nor did Vibhishana give his enemy time to
recuperate from this mortal below. Cheers rose from the loyalist camp,
and up the beach stormed the followers of the former regent. Fighting
side-by-side with the rebel slaves, they smashed the last, feeble
resistance of Ravana's garrison. Then a guidon raised aloft, calling
urgent invitation. The host of skating-bugs stirred into motion. And
within the space of minutes, the first Gaanelian craft had moored at
the docks of Lanka!

       *       *       *       *       *

Not at all surprisingly, it was Red Barrett--the scrapping old redhead
himself--who sprang from the first of the skiffs to dock. Close behind
him came Syd O'Brien. The two were met and greeted by Ramey Winters
who, with Tauthus, had scorned any slower method of gaining the scene
of victory than to clamber headlong and recklessly down the rough walls
from the balcony.

Thus, for the first time since ever war's hot flame had breathed over
Lanka, met face to face all the captains. In triumphant conclave they
gathered, all those who actively led fighting forces. Vibhishana and
Tauthus of Cush, Ramey and Red Barrett, Syd O'Brien. Yet was their joy
not complete. For there was one of their number fallen--Thalakka. And
yet another whose part in the battle was ended.

"It's all right, Syd," repeated Lake O'Brien. "It's all right, I tell
you. I--I don't feel any pain. It's just that I can't see."

Syd O'Brien's face was a thunder-cloud of rage. "We will find him,
Lake," he promised. "And when we do--" His strong, freckled hands
whitened on the butt of his revolver. Here was one from whom the Lord
Ravana could expect no grain of mercy should their paths ever cross.

Vibhishana said, "Lord Lakshmana must return to the mainland shore. If
anyone can repair his vision, that one is the Lord Sugriva. And it were
best the girl return, too."

"Me?" cried Sheila indignantly. "I will not! I--"

"Listen, Miss Sheilacita--" Barrett stopped, grinned embarrassedly.
"Golly, listen to that! These guys got _me_ talking thataway now, too!
I mean, Miss _Sheila_--I wish you would go on back and tell Toots I'm
okay. She'll kind of be worrying about me, I reckon. Tell her we'll all
be coming home as soon as we clean up the rest of this mess."

Ramey said, "Yes, Sheila--please go. Because from now on, I'm afraid
this fight isn't going to be very pleasant. Especially--" His eyes were
cold--"for His Nibs!"

So Sheila and Lake returned to the mainland. Kohrisan, having completed
the rally of his scattered forces, now came to join the conclave. And
they took stock of their situation.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We hold now, my Lords," reported Captain Kohrisan, "all the northern
half of Lanka's isle and citadel down to the Sounding Tower which is
in the exact middle of the fortress. The wharves which feed to the
Chitrakuta mainland are in our hands, too. Ravana still holds the upper
levels of the fort, and all the southern sector, as well as the docks
which feed to the opposite shore. But these are valueless to him, since
the major portion of his fleet was captured by our men."

"Then there's no escape for him," grunted Syd. "We have him bottled up
here, eh? Good!"

"But," interposed Vibhishana, "though we continue as the aggressors, he
has _us_ as effectively bottled as we him. We dare not leave the island
nor relax our vigilance in any of the sectors we hold. He still numbers
amongst his followers thousands.

"From now on, it appears to me that the battle must settle into a state
of siege. From chamber to chamber, from corridor to corridor, through
every room and avenue of Lanka must our forces battle for every new
inch of ground."

"And that--" mused Ramey thoughtfully--"is tough going. Suicidal
business, as a punk named Adolph in our age is finding out! A deadly
stalemate, eh, Lord Vibhishana?"

"I am afraid so, Ramaíya."

Barrett said, "But, lookit here--why can't we just pull stakes off
the island entirely? Leave him here to stew in his own gravy, throw a
cordon around the lake and make sure he never gets off to pester nobody
again--"

Syd O'Brien shook his head.

"That won't do either, Red. Tonlé Sap is too big a lake. Seventy
miles long. It would take ten times as many men as we have at our
command to maintain a guard about its borders. Sooner or later,
Ravana and his soldiers would get away. And, besides--" He glanced at
Vibhishana--"there's always the possibility he may succeed in fueling
the Bow once more. This time effectively. And if he does, we're licked.
Isn't that right?"

"Unhappily," agreed the older man, "it is. No, our effort must be
directed toward breaking the deadlock that now exists, somehow rooting
him out of his lair."

Ramey said, "This 'Sounding Tower' you spoke of, Kohrisan--what is it?"

"The needle-which-speaks, my Lord."

"The which?"

"Kohrisan," explained Vibhishana, "has given it the name used by the
natives. It is really a tower from the top-most chamber of which one
can address the entire populace of Lanka in a normal voice, and have
his message reach every ear in full, rolling tones. You have seen the
talking idols of Chitrakuta?"

"Seen 'em?" chuckled Red. "We was their voice!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey said, "I understand now. A sort of magnified 'whispering
gallery,' eh? But, say--that gives me an idea! Lord Vibhishana, did not
Thalakka often say that there were many who would rally to your cause
if they knew you had been freed?"

"Aye, even so, Ramaíya."

"And I'll bet a hair," continued Ramey excitedly, "there are plenty of
soldiers fighting for Ravana _right now_ who would lay down their arms
if they knew who they were being forced to fight! They've been obeying
him blindly simply because they don't know what's going on. If we could
reach the Sounding Tower--"

"--and tell them the truth--" broke in Vibhishana, "it would shatter
the morale of his soldiers. Split them into separate camps. Create
rebellion within his very ranks. Aye, Ramaíya, I believe you are
right! It is a far stronger likelihood, at any rate, than that we can
overwhelm the isle without losing much of our own man-power."

"Then--" cried Ramey, rising eagerly, "why are we sitting here
jabbering? There's a better place to talk from. Let's go! No--not all
of us. You, my Lord Vibhishana, so the soldiers can hear your voice ...
you, Red, and Kohrisan--"

"--and me," added Syd O'Brien. "There's a chance we might meet up with
Ravana on the way."




                              CHAPTER XIX

                              "A New Man"


Like a needle of stone rising from the great, gaunt citadel of Lanka
was the Sounding Tower. This saw Ramey before he and his companions
deserted the open air and dipped once more into the castle itself,
seeking the inner passage which led to the tower's base.

Swift was their passage at first, hurrying through ranks of their
own men, sweeping through corridors and ways whose granite floors
proved all too well the cost at which the advance had been made. Lord
Vibhishana, shaking his head at sight of these grisly scenes, said
sorrowfully, "Though we win our cause, yea, even though the last of my
brother's hirelings pay in full for the havoc he has wrought, not in a
thousand years shall the citadel of Lanka be cleansed of this horror,
this blood and this disgrace. It is a shame upon my soul and on the
name of Videlia that these dead lie about us."

Even the Captain Kohrisan, whose valor Ramey Winters knew well, seemed
shaken by what he saw. He said puzzledly, "Would that the Lord Sugriva
were here to advise me. I cannot understand. Ever it was my belief that
men are kind and noble and good. They are the rulers, the Chosen Ones.
Why, then, must they slay and be slain? Even we of the jungles do not
wantonly kill. For our loins or bellies, for warmth and safety--for
these things only do we attack other beasts."

Ramey answered him gravely, "In your time and in my own, Kohrisan, man
has proven himself more the brute than the mute beasts over whom he
claims superiority. Do not ask me why this is; I do not know. All I can
hope is that you new men will bring to us something of your own jungle
sense."

A spasm passed over the little ape-human's face. As ever, it was
difficult to read what emotion he portrayed. He said anxiously,
"You--you do not mock me, Lord Ramaíya?"

"Mock you?"

"The Lord Sugriva, who gave us human speech, human thought, told us
we were, indeed, 'new men.' But ofttimes I wonder if this be true--or
if he spoke only from kindness and sympathy. It was the habit of Lord
Ravana to taunt me and my brethren. 'Parodies of man,' he called us.
'Poor imitations masquerading in human dress--'"

But his plaint was left unanswered. For now they had come to the
opening at the base of the tower. A spiral staircase loomed before
them, winding around and around the inner wall of the needle to its
uppermost chamber. A swift estimate by Ramey placed the tower's height
at approximately two hundred feet. It was hard to guess accurately,
for the spiral staircase was interrupted now and again by platforms,
rendering the top of the tower invisible from below. Shafts of light
pierced openings at intervals, but for the most part the needle was
shadowy and silent.

       *       *       *       *       *

In single file, with Vibhishana leading, then Ramey, then Kohrisan and
Syd, they started up the staircase. Past one stage ... then another.
A third. At the fourth level the one-time regent of Lanka stopped
wistfully for a moment to look down upon his isle through one of the
openings. What he saw brought a gasp to his lips, and the others
running to his side. He pointed an anxious finger.

"Below! See--warriors approaching the Tower. Was it Tauthus' plan to
send a detachment after us, Ramaíya?"

"It was not!" said Ramey bluntly. He followed the direction of his
friend's gaze, stared, and pulled back from the opening. "I don't like
this."

"What's wrong, Ramey?"

"If I'm not mistaken, that is a detachment of Lord Ravana's men.
They're heading for this tower. We're trapped in here!" He thought
swiftly for a moment. "Well--no use standing here worrying about.
There's only one thing to do. Get to the speaking room and let
Vibhishana put on his little broadcast. If need be, we can call for
assistance from topside. Tauthus will hear us and send a force to our
relief. Come on!"

And at redoubled speed, he plunged forward up the staircase. Past the
fifth level and the sixth. To the last chamber. At its entrance he
halted triumphantly.

"We ought to be all right now. Let them enter if they want to. We can
talk as long and loud as we wish, and they can't stop us. Moreover, if
they try to rush us--"

A grating voice from _behind_ interrupted him.

"I think they will not rush you, Lord Ramaíya. My guardsmen came to the
tower's base for only one purpose. To bottle you within its walls."

And Vibhishana cried, "_Ravana!_"

The Lord Ravana smiled. It was a smile that had no amusement in
it, and little of brotherly affection. He said, "Ah--it is my own
blood-brother! Greetings, Lord Vibhishana. These are giddy heights,
are they not, for one grown used to the cool depths of dungeons?
_Nay, Ramaíya!_" His cry cracked like a whip. "Reach not for the
weapon-which-thunders! Lord Ravana needs not experience the same
danger twice to learn its nature. Hurl it to the floor! Aye, and you,
too--"

He paused, his brow contracting swiftly as he looked into the face of
Syd O'Brien. Something akin to awe broomed his dark features.

"But--but you are Lord Lakshmana! This cannot be! The Lord Lakshmana
was blinded. By my own hands--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ravana was far from alone. Had he been so, Ramey's gun would long since
have barked its lethal message. But behind him, at the entrance of the
chamber they had sought, were ranged a detail of his bowmen, weapons
poised and ready. Now Ramey said, "The Lord Lakshmana--"

"--needs not sight," interrupted Syd O'Brien suddenly, loudly, "to know
that he stands before a dog whom even the lowest gutter might reject.
Where are you, Ravana? My hands hunger for your throat--"

And a swift thrill coursed through Ramey as he realized how Syd O'Brien
had spun to his advantage Ravana's error. For the sombre twin, eyes
fixed and empty, was stumbling forward, groping aimlessly at vacant
space.

Ravana laughed, and easily sidestepped Syd's hands. In his own hands
dangled the useless Bow of Rudra. With this he jabbed the "blind man's"
body tauntingly.

"It will take one with sharper eyes than thine to catch Ravana,
Earthman," he gibed. "Aye, this is a curious web of fish my net has
seined. A blind man, a weakling and an ape!"

"What are you doing up here, Ravana?" asked Ramey.

"What else but setting the trap for what logic told me would be your
next move? It was your intention to speak to my warriors, was it not,
brother Vibhishana? Appeal to them, perhaps, to lay down their arms?
Well--you climbed these heights to speak, and speak you shall. But
mine shall be the commands you relay. Ah--you would still play games
with me, my little mole?" He chuckled and sidestepped again as Syd
O'Brien, still lurching with arms outstretched before him like a
sleepwalker, touched his sleeve. Deliberately he struck Syd across
the cheeks, laughed and stepped back as Syd swung blindly toward him.
"Come, brother! Address your soldiers. Bid them lay down their arms.
Come--"

He crisped a command to his bowmen. They fell back to admit Vibhishana
to the speaking-tower. Momentarily their weapons lowered. And as they
did so....

"_Quick, Ramey! Get the Bow!_"

It was the "blind man," Syd O'Brien. Like a flash, he had sprung upon
the Lord Ravana, gripped the giant's arms in a viselike clasp, spun
him around so he was between the guards and his companions, a living
barrier the Videlians dared not risk assaulting.

And instantly Ramey leaped forward. But fast as he moved, there was one
even faster who raced before him. The small ape-human, Kohrisan. Like
a darting streak of furry brown he was at Ravana's side, wrenching the
Bow from the Videlian's hands, crying, "Back, Sidrughna! We have what
we need! Back!"

He half-pushed, half-kicked Syd O'Brien away. His prehensile arms
locked about the Lord of Lanka like bands of iron. "_Back!_" he cried
again.

       *       *       *       *       *

With a mighty exultation in his heart, Ramey obeyed the
monkey-captain's cry. Herding Vibhishana and Syd before him he whirled
and tore for the steps ... hurtled down them at breakneck speed, ten,
fifteen feet to the lower chamber. His free right hand, as he ran, tore
at his jacket pocket. The pocket in which he carried that which would
fuel the Bow....

Then they were in the midway chamber of the tower, and from both top
and bottom of the edifice came the hoarse cries of Ravana's men. The
chamber had no door. Ramey's gun and that of Syd still lay on the floor
above. The Bow must be fueled! And within seconds--or it would be too
late!

"Kohrisan!" cried Vibhishana. "_Kohrisan!_"

The tiny ape-warrior tumbled, rather than ran, down the last few steps,
threw himself on the floor of the chamber. He was gasping for breath,
crying weakly, "Fuel the Bow, O Ramaíya! Fuel and destroy--"

The cylinder was open. With reckless haste, Ramey pounded the aluminum
objects into it, crammed closed the top. It did not matter, now, that
the Bow was overcharged. Life hung by a tenuous hair on this next
split-second of time. He roared, "Back from the doorway, Syd! Out of
range! _Back!_"

And as Syd charged toward him, there loomed in the doorway Ravana.
A raging-mad Ravana flanked by his bowmen. The Videlian's eyes were
aflame with hatred, fury.

"This time, dogs," he screamed, "you die!"

To his bowmen he howled a command. The archers' arms drew back. And
then--

Ramey pressed the release grip of Rudra's Bow!

       *       *       *       *       *

What happened next transpired so swiftly that none afterward could find
its vision in his memory. There was a whining scream that rose and
tore at the eardrums of all who stood behind the Bow. Then a sheet of
blue-white flame that sprayed from the Bow's wide arch with the speed
of light. Then bursts of crimson, bright and horrible, where had stood
men. A searing hiss ... a crumbling ... the crash of masonry ... a
frightful gust of heat, the backwash of which blistered even those who
stood behind the Bow. And then--silence!

Ramey's fingers fell from the trigger of the Bow as he stared before
him dazed, shaken, uncomprehending. Where a moment before a horde of
warriors had stood beside Ravana in the doorway, now there was neither
Ravana, bowmen--nor doorway! Everything--_everything_ had disappeared!
Even the portion of the town wall beyond the doorway. A great, jagged
hole, whose edges still dripped molten stone gaped where the Bow's
tremendous flame had devoured all.

From the dimness below came howls of terror. There sounded also the
blur of running footsteps as the vanguard of Ravana's army fled the
base of the tower in stumbling panic.

Ramey cried in a voice that cracked with urgency, "Now, Lord
Vibhishana! Now is the time to speak! Up swiftly to the
sounding-chamber!"

The regent nodded, and was gone. Within the space of seconds his voice
was rolling out over all Lanka, speaking words none could help but hear.

"_Hark, Videlians ... Gaanelians ... Earthmen ... all who hear my
voice. It is the Lord Vibhishana who speaks. Long lay I prisoner in the
dungeons of Lanka. Now I am free_--"

"Ramey!" called Syd O'Brien.

"Listen!" replied Ramey. "The sounds of battle below have ended!
Everyone is listening to Vibhishana--"

"--_Ravana is dead!_" boomed the Videlian overlord. "_My brother is
slain, victim of his own lust for power and the dreadful Bow of Rudra.
Lay down your arms, all you who followed him. Amnesty will be granted
all those who_--"

"It--it's Kohrisan, Ramey. He wants to talk to you."

Ramey turned. He had not realized until this moment that the squat
ape-human had not risen from the chamber floor. Now, hurrying to
Kohrisan's side, he understood why. The hairy captain held one fist
clenched beneath his right breast. And from beneath the curiously
manlike fingers of this hand oozed a sluggish stream of scarlet.

"Kohrisan!" cried Ramey. "The bowmen! One of them loosed his shaft
before I pressed the grip--"

The small captain smiled feebly.

"Nay, my Lord," he choked. "It was even before that. In the chamber
above. When I held Ravana...."

"That _we_ might escape! Well, hold on! We'll hurry you down to the
citadel. Medical aid--"

"There is no need of that now," whispered Kohrisan. "It is too late for
medical aid ... my Lord. I did what I could ... Ramaíya. It was what a
man ... a _true_ man ... would have done. Was it not?"

A mist veiled Ramey's eyes, and a tight band knotted about his throat.
He answered huskily, "And why should it be otherwise, Kohrisan? You,
too, are a true man."

"Nay, my Lord! But a _new_ man."

Then his eyes, contented and proud at the end, rolled suddenly back,
thick, Simian lips drew back from bloodless gums, and Captain Kohrisan
was gone. Ramey lowered the tiny body from his knee and stood up.

"There died," he whispered softly, "a human heart in a jungle body...."




                              CHAPTER XX

                          Children of Legend


"But my Lord Sugriva," argued Ramey desperately, "I see no reason
why you should leave Earth _now_. Our battle is won. Ravana is dead,
Vibhishana sits on the throne of Lanka and henceforth there will be
peace between Gaanelians, Videlians, and the children of this planet.
Your guidance and advice are needed if Earth's civilization is ever to
attain great heights. Earth has need of you--"

But the blue-skinned Gaanelian shook his head sadly.

"No, Ramaíya. Earth needs no tutelage from an outside source.
Vibhishana and I have pondered deeply, and our decisions agree. Our
two planets established colonies here with the intention of sparing
your young world the woes and hardships through which our civilizations
passed.

"But our experiment was a failure--nor was this the fault of Earthmen,
but ourselves. I was a weakling and a dreamer; one ambassador from
Videlia proved himself a power-lusting tyrant. It was an evil example
we set those whom we presumed to instruct. Therefore, we shall return
to our own worlds, leaving Earth's children to work out their own
destinies. With me shall go the 'new men,' for now, too late, I realize
it was a dreadful wrong I did them when I made them neither man nor
beast, but part one, part the other."

Vibhishana said soberly, "Sugriva speaks truly, my son. What great Plan
governs the actions of all intelligent beings, I do not know. But this
much is certain: that no one race should presume to set up rulership
over all others. I am a son of cloud-cloaked Videlia, Sugriva of the
desert world. To these planets, when the next spacevessel arrives some
months hence, we shall return--forever. Nor shall men of our planets
ever again set conquesting foot on Earth. That we pledge.

"Perhaps not again shall children of our three worlds meet until,
in future ages, Earthmen have developed a culture equal to ours.
Then, not as rulers and serfs but as equals all shall we form a solar
trinity."

Ramey said, "It is not mine to argue with you. But what is your plan
for us?"

"The decision is yours to make. You may stay here, if you so desire, or
return to the future era whence you came. The time-machine waits below.
You know the method of its operation."

Ramey stared at the huge idol standing on the dais before them. The
great altar of Chitrakuta seemed to await his decision breathlessly,
as did the girl whose hand touched his own. Ramey turned to Sheila.
"Well?" he asked.

"We return," she said simply. "Isn't that what you want, Ramey?"

Ramey nodded. It was his own desire. To return to the world he knew
best. He grinned and turned to the others.

"Well--that's it, then. All aboard, gang. Time-machine leaves on Track
3 in five minutes."

       *       *       *       *       *

But curiously none stepped forward to join him and Sheila. Red stared
at his companions impatiently.

"Well, what's the matter? Doc, are you ready?"

Dr. Aiken coughed apologetically.

"Sheila, my dear," he said to his daughter, "I--I am not returning with
you. I am an old man. There is not a great deal of time remaining in
the hourglass of my years. I would spend those last remaining sands
seeing new things, learning secrets all men have longed to know.
Sugriva has said I may return with him to Gaanelia. It is a temptation
too great to resist. You--you understand, my dear?"

Sheila cried, "But if you don't return, daddy, then neither will we.
Ramey and I will remain with you--"

"No!" the archeologist's voice was firm. "No, you _must_ return!
Someone must carry back to the Twentieth Century a knowledge of what
we have seen and done here in a forgotten age. You bear precious
knowledge, vital information, to Earth's scientists. You alone can read
the cipher of Angkor Vat, tell men whence it came and why, and where
vanished its once mighty populace."

Ramey said, "We alone? But you speak as if Sheila and I were the only
ones returning!"

Syd O'Brien spoke for the twins. He said, "I can't take Lake back to
our time now, Ramey. The machine would set us in a desolate spot,
perhaps in danger. And he is blind. Here he can receive medical care.
Perhaps, later on, after Sugriva has lifted the veil from Lake's
eyes--as he has said he can and will--we will join you again. But for
the time being--Well, you see how it is."

"Then you, Red? You're surely coming with us?"

Red Barrett shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Well, keed--I think maybe I'd better not. I asked Sugriva about Toots,
here. He tells me she couldn't take a ride in the time-machine without
being--well, without having happen to her what happened to Rudra. You
see, she wouldn't have no true existence in the future. So--so I think
I'll just stick around for a while. Me and Evavne is going back to
Britain, where she come from. Maybe I can be some help to them folks
of her'n. Like--" he grinned suddenly--"like teaching 'em to talk good
English instead of that stuff they talk now."

"And you, Sheng-ti?"

The _bonze_ said quietly, "When Sugriva leaves, Ramey Winters, departs
from Earth for many centuries the light of wisdom, peace and truth.
These people, though they were born in a different era, are still my
people. Someone must stay at Chitrakuta to help them re-establish
themselves on a new footing. It is my clear and simple duty to be this
one."

"Were the choice mine, Ramaíya," said Tauthus, "_I_ would visit that
future world of thine. But I cannot. So, like Sheng-ti, I shall go to
my people. Much have I learned here at Chitrakuta; much more will the
Lord Sugriva teach me. Then will I hie westward to bring something of
the Gaanelian culture to my race."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus told each member of the party his intentions. Nor would argument
sway any from his decision. And so it was that, some time later, Sheila
and Ramey stood alone beside the trap-way to the time-machine of Rudra.
Their last farewells had been made, the last hand shaken. Unless in
years to come others should make the journey.

"When you return," Dr. Aiken bade them anxiously, "read well and
carefully the wall-graven scripts at Angkor Vat. Before we leave
Chitrakuta we shall see that all this history is carven on the walls.
That and much other knowledge, lest your memories fail you. Remember!"

"We will remember," promised Ramey. Then he handed Sheila into the
metal cube out of which--was it days, weeks or a lifetime ago?--they
had risen into the strange, stirring world of the past. The trapdoor
closed above them with a _clang!_ of finality. Ramey moved to the lever
which hurled the machine through Time ... pressed it....

       *       *       *       *       *

When the needle had at last traversed the dial, betokening the end of
their journey, Ramey climbed once again to the trapdoor which was the
machine's exit. Cautiously he lifted it an inch ... then a foot ...
then threw it back with a cry of gay relief.

"Empty, Sheila! The Japs have gone. I guess they got tired looking for
us." He chuckled. "No wonder. After all, we were there a couple of
weeks. Coming?"

He helped her from the cubicle. Then, remembering Sugriva's last
instructions, he set the dial of the machine to its return position,
hooked a length of fine wire about the control lever and spun the
length of the wire through the trapdoor into the altar room wherein
they stood.

"This is our key," he said, "to them. And theirs to us. The doorway to
Chitrakuta is always open so long as it remains."

And he pulled the wire. They heard no sound, felt no tremor, but as
if it were a wraith dissolving in weaving mists, the outline of the
time-cube thinned ... wavered ... and disappeared. Only a length of
fine wire, whose dangling end hung curiously taut in midair, lent
reassurance that the way to another world was still open. Ramey coiled
the wire and concealed it beneath the pediment of a statue. Then he
rose, emotions strangely chaotic. A sadness was upon him at leaving
comrades beside whom he had fought and laughed and lived a great
adventure. But he was glad, too, to be back in a world he knew, a world
he could understand....

A call from Sheila roused him from his brief reverie. "See, Ramey? This
was one of the carvings which always puzzled us most. Its meaning was
obscure--then. But now it is simple to read."

And she pointed to one of the huge scenes carven on the temple walls.
The scene of a frightful battle, a battle being waged by apes
strangely garbed in the habiliments of men and towering giants. One
corner of the great stone tapestry showed a fleet of crowded ships
rushing in to a harbor, still another showed an ape-human dying with a
great wound in his breast, while beside him, loosing a lightning bolt
from a gigantic bow, stood a man....

       *       *       *       *       *

"Then they _did_ carve the record!" said Ramey hallowedly. "It--it
gives me the creeps, Sheila. We just left them. We know they're still
alive, and that this artistry is not yet even planned. But here it
is--and here it has been for five thousand years. The story of the
battle for Lanka."

"And its hero?" queried Sheila oddly. "Ramey--do you know the full
meaning of this story? The earth legend which has grown up about it?"

"Legend? You mean there is a legend about _this_?"

"About _us_!" Comprehension, which had been dawning slowly in Sheila's
eyes, now flamed sudden and complete. "I see it all now! All! But
surely daddy must have--Yes! He did--at the end. That is why he
insisted we must return to our time. To clear up the ancient mystery--"

"What legend?" repeated Ramey perplexedly. "It's all over my head,
Sheila. I don't get it at all."

"Then listen! Does this make sense to you, Ramey? '_And there were in
those days four companions, Rama, Bharata, and the twins, Lakshmana and
Satrughna_--'"

"Hey! Those sound like the whacky handles we were tagged with at
Chitrakuta! They called me 'Ramaíya,' and Lake was 'Lakshmana'--the
smiling one--while Syd was 'Sidrughna'--the frowning one--"

"There would be slight changes," agreed the girl excitedly, "over a
period of centuries. Pronunciation and spelling would change, of
course. The legend goes on: '_Rama, by possession of an enormous Bow,
formerly the dreaded weapon of the god Rudra, wins for a wife Sita,
daughter of Janaka. Rama attracts the attention of a female demon,
Rakshasi, and infuriated by his rejection of her advances, she inspires
her brother Ravana with love for Sita._

"'_In consequence of this, the latter is carried off by him to his
capital, Lanka. Rama sets out with his companions to her rescue. After
numerous adventures they enter into an agreement with Sugriva, king of
the monkeys, and with the monkey-general, 'Anuman_--'"[14]

[Footnote 14: The persistent legend of a monkey-leader named 'Anuman
(or Hanuman) is one of the oldest and best-loved tales of Asiatic
peoples. His name and a record of his deeds may be found in the ancient
records of practically all Oriental sects.--Ed.]

"'Anuman!" repeated Ramey. "_A new man!_ So in the legend his fondest
dream becomes his _name_? But what _is_ this legend, Sheila? An obscure
folk-tale--?"

"It goes on," half-laughed, half-sobbed the girl, "to tell of the
attack on Lanka ... the bridge built by the monkeys ... Ravana's death
at Rama's hands! Everything is in it, Ramey--everything we have known
and lived! An obscure folk-tale! It is anything but that. It is a tale
from the _Ramayana_--one of the Sacred Books of the Hindu religion!

"You are--or were--the prototype of a hero worshipped by a quarter of a
billion humans in our day ... the third greatest religion in the world.
You, Ramey, are the god Rama!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ramey stared at her dazedly. "You mean," he said, "that the adventures
through which we have just lived were not of our own making? That they
happened before, ages ago in Man's history?"[15]

[Footnote 15: The reader is recommended to a closer examination of the
_Ramayana_, sacred book of the Hindus, procurable in an inexpensive
edition at almost any well-stocked library. The portion here reduced to
its essentials is but one of many amazingly fascinating sections.

In connection with this, it is interesting to note that the god Rama
is considered to be but one of the seven Avatars (or reincarnations)
of the god Vishnu. Hindu theosophy admits of many things scoffed at
by modern, practical science: reincarnation, demoniac possession and
"invasion of other world creatures" being but a few.--Ed.]

"Yes, Ramey. Don't you see--that adventure has _always_ happened!
This solves the argument daddy and Syd had about the immutability of
Time. What things are, _were_, and always will be. Centuries ago, into
ancient Chitrakuta came seven strangers from a future world. Having
found their way into a Time which was not theirs, it had to be that
when their Time came they must return to fulfill adventures written in
the book of used-to-be.

"Your crashing here at Angkor Vat ... our escape in the
time-machine ... these events had to take place in order that an
ancient legend might be fulfilled. That was our predestined path, and
there was never anything we could have done to change it. It was as
stoppable as a glacier."

"And--and the others? Sheng-ti? Tauthus?"

Sheila's brows congealed. "I do not know--exactly. It is told that an
ancient king of the yellow race, he whose name gave a mighty empire its
name, was called 'Ching-tse.' And Tauthus of Cush--ancient Cush became
Egypt, you know. And the Egyptian records claim their 'light-bringer'
to have been a god named 'Thoth.'..."

       *       *       *       *       *

But not now, nor soon, nor perhaps ever could these strange wonders be
decided. Nor did this seem to Ramey Winters that they should linger
longer, at this time, in the cold, forsaken walls of Angkor Vat. So
gently he drew the girl from before the panel.

"We must go now, Sheila. There is much we must do here, but now is not
the time to do it. Much may have happened since we left. War threatens
Indo-China; for all we know war may have started since we left. We have
the food and blankets Sugriva gave us. A long journey lies before us to
Thailand. To friends and safety. We'd better get on our way."

So stepped the two from Angkor's lonely halls into the green-veiled
sunlight of the tropics. Gray were the walls and spires they left
behind, but grim no longer, nor menacing to two who knew their story.
Someday, knew Ramey Winters, someday when war's insanity had died
in mankind's bosom, they would return to read more fully the carven
messages of friends they knew and loved. Someday....

But not now. Now they must leave gray Angkor and seek their future
beyond the flaming jungle-lands. Long was the way, and dangerous
perhaps; apes chattered in branches carpeted with moss; marsh and
morass, wild beast and wilder man, these were the hazards they must
pass.

Yet somehow they felt no fear. There was lightness in their hearts and
in their steps as hand-in-hand they stepped forward to meet whatever
fate might bring.





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