Astounding Stories, July, 1931

  The Hands of Aten

  A COMPLETE NOVELETTE

  _By H. G. Winter_

  The sharp roar of an explosion thundered through theTemple.]

  [Sidenote: Out of solid ice Craig hews three long-frozenEgyptians--and is at once caught up into amazing adventure.]

  The sleek black monoplane came scudding out of the south, flying lowover fields of ice and snow that were thawing slowly under the heat ofthe arctic sun. After a long time it wheeled, circled gradually, andthen, as if it had found what it had been looking for, came lightlydown and skidded to a graceful halt in a low flat area between someround-topped hillocks. A fur-clad figure emerged from the enclosedcockpit and climbed a low ridge into the wan sunlight above.

  For a while the man looked around, getting his bearings. Miles onevery side stretched the great rough plains of ice--ice that became abroad path of glittering diamonds where it led toward the low-hungsun, far in the south. Perhaps a quarter mile in that direction laythe white rise of a hill much larger than its fellows, probably, theman thought, a volcano. Towards it he laboriously made his way. Histiny figure was only a speck on the far-flung, deserted landscape--ahuman mite, puny and futile against the giant, hostile white waste.

  The sky was clear and cloudless, the sun unusually warm. So warm,indeed, that long clefts, caused by the unequal expansion of the ice,appeared here and there. The man from the plane had not gone more thanfifty yards when he halted sharply. With a crack like thunder, acleft had opened at his very feet--a rift ten feet deep in places,apparently bottomless in others, and very long. Not wanting to goaround it, he slid down one side and, with an ice pick, started tohack a foothold in the opposite bank.

  It was then that the man saw the thing--something sticking from theice just above his head. As he stared at it, amazement appeared on hisbronzed face. He looked around bewilderedly, then peered still moreclosely into the bluish depths of the crystal wall.

  The head of a spear was jutting from the ice. And the spear was heldby a man entrapped within the wall.

  * * * * *

  The details of the ice-held figure were but slightly blurred, for itwas only a few feet from the surface. It was that of a man, and it wasplain that he was not an Eskimo. He was locked in a distortedposition, as if caught unawares by a terrific weight of sliding snow.And he had been caught, seemingly, when in the act of hurling hisweapon.

  For a long time the man from the plane peered at his discovery. Thenhis blue eyes followed slowly the direction in which the spear waspointing, and he gasped, and took a few quick steps further down thecleft. There, in the opposite wall, were two more bodies.

  These, though, were of man and woman. They were even closer to thesurface of the ice. Crouched over, the man's left hand was craned asif to protect his companion from some peril--from the cataclysm thathad trapped them, it might have been. Or perhaps from the spear of theother.

  The fur-muffled figure stood motionless, gazing at them. His ice pickwas held limply, his eyes were wide. Then, suddenly, the pick wasgrasped firmly, and flakes of ice flew under its level blows as hestarted to carve his find from their frozen tomb.

  The man was trembling with wild excitement when at last the stiff formof the woman was extricated. She was not so much a woman as a girl,really--and she was beautiful. But the man from the plane evidentlydidn't care so much about that; nor even her almost miraculous stateof preservation. He rubbed away some of the coating of ice from herface, and stared most intently at her forehead. Then he stood upright,and said, simply:

  "Well, I'll be damned!"

  * * * * *

  If Wesley Craig had been merely what he was listed as on the roster ofthe Somers Arctic Expedition of 1933--that is, a geologist--he wouldnot have been so astounded. But his life work, really, wasarchaeology. He had spent years delving in the ruins of ancienttemples, especially, those of old Egypt. He knew the ancient languageas well as anyone knew it, and was familiar with every known detail ofthe civilization of the Pharaohs. And, being so, he was now properlyconfused. For every bit of his knowledge told him that this girl, whomhe had found in the wastes of the arctic, was of Egyptian stock.

  A certain tiny hieroglyph traced on her smooth forehead--the intricateband around her fine hair--the very cut of the frozen robe shewore--Egyptian--every one of them!

  Yet, stubbornly, Wesley Craig wouldn't admit it. Not until he had cutthe two men from the ice and hauled all three laboriously up the sideof the cleft and stretched them out on the level ice, did he have to.He couldn't deny it, then. In some mysterious way, Egypt was connectedwith the three rigid bodies.

  For the two men were garbed as warriors, and their helmets and harnessand sword-sheaths were indisputably of Egyptian design.

  There, however, the similarity between the two ended. The one with thespear was big-muscled and burly; the other much slighter of build.This latter, Craig guessed, had been fleeing with the girl when icydeath had overwhelmed them.

  * * * * *

  But he did not then try to go into that, the story that some suddencataclysm had cut short. His fervor, as an Egyptologist, was afire. Hewas burning with eagerness to get these bodies back to the main baseof the Somers Expedition, some three hundred miles south. Into thelearned circles of Egyptology, of archaeology, they'd throw abomb-shell that would make nitroglycerine seem like weak tea.

  Craig couldn't taxi his plane closer; he would have to carry them toit; and to do this he began to carefully massage all the larger piecesof ice from the girl's limbs and clothing, to make her lighter. At theSomers base they could all be re-frozen, to maintain their perfectpreservation.

  It was while he was diligently rubbing that he fully realized thegirl's beauty. Delicate, cleanly cut features; fine, large eyelids;tiny, slender hands. Save for her icy pallor, she might almost havebeen merely asleep as she lay on the snow.

  Wes Craig finished massaging the girl and then went on and did thesame for the two warriors. For an hour he carefully and reverentlyreleased them from the reluctant fingers of their icy death, and hewas a little tired from his exertions and his great excitement when atlast he finished and stood erect, resting. But he did not stand quietfor long. A sudden gleam lit his eyes: a mad idea had come to him.

  "Won't hurt to try!" he muttered excitedly, and the next moment hislithe figure was running over the slippery ice bank to his airplane,out of sight behind the nearby hillocks.

  * * * * *

  Wes Craig worked from a sub-base on his sole expeditions to chart thevarious mountains and ranges in the islands off north-east KingCharles Land, within the Arctic Circle. He had only one partner, amechanic, who stayed behind on his shorter trips. And therefore allmanner of emergency devices were stowed in the cockpit of his plane: atiny folding tent, an amazingly light sled, a large store ofcompressed food--and a large vial of Kundrenaline and a hypodermicneedle.

  Kundrenaline was still somewhat of an unknown quantity in 1933. Kund,the German, had developed it but a year before. The fluid was alreadystandard beside the operating tables of the world's most modernhospitals, so valuable had its qualities proven to be. It had actuallyrestored life after hours of death. A complex mixture of concentratedadrenaline and highly compressed liquid food, it gave a tremendousstimulation to the heart, at the same time providing the body withenergy food to withstand the shock.

  It was meant for emergency use on the Somers Expedition. But Wes Craigwasn't going to use it for that. He was going to use it for anexperiment--a crazy experiment, he told himself. Fish--many forms oflife--withstand freezing in solid ice without hurt. Human beings--? Itwouldn't hurt to try, anyway, his mind kept repeating.

  Fifteen minutes saw him back beside the rigid bodies, and kneelingover the girl. The sun had warmed her body somewhat, and theglistening rheum of frost had melted from all three. Hardly breathingfrom his suspense, Wes filled the needle's chamber full and plunged iti
nto the firm white flesh just above the girl's silent heart.

  A short laugh came from him--an ironic laugh. It seemed idiotic toeven think of restoring her to life, even if she _had_ been dead onlya week or so. It was quite--

  And then his thoughts stopped.

  "My God!" he said suddenly.

  For a tide of faintest color had surged through the girl's wan cheeks.And her slim figure had stirred perceptibly on the sheet of ice!

  "By heaven, she's coming to!" Craig muttered unbelievingly.

  * * * * *

  Pressing his ear to her chest, he detected a faint and labored beatingof her heart, stirring from its cold sleep as the terrific stimulationjolted it back to life. The girl's eyelids flickered; a tiny sighescaped her full lips. Craig took off his heavy parka and laid it overher. Trembling with tremendous excitement, he tore himself away fromthe miracle of re-created life, and strode to the body of the youngman who was apparently her partner.

  Again he administered the Kundrenaline. Then he went to his firstdiscovery--the heavily built, powerful warrior whose spear had stuckout of the ice. The hypodermic was once more filled, and the fluidplunged into his body. Even as a faint moan came from the younger man,the warrior's heart started to beat.

  Perspiring, breathing quickly, vial and needle still in his hands, Wesstood off and surveyed the three.

  The girl's hands were moving fitfully; strange, racking gasps camefrom her throat. The other two were similarly affected. Almostfrightened, held motionless by the weirdness of it, the Americanwatched.

  The heavily built warrior was tossing in a series of convulsions. Hislegs kicked out spasmodically, arms jerked and clenched, and thehelmeted head rolled from side to side. Then the man lay still for aslong as a minute; but, just as Craig was about to go to him, his legstensed once again, and, staggering drunkenly, he got to his feet.

  He looked around wildly, but did not see the dumbfounded Craig, forhis eyes fell on the figure of the younger man. He too had risen,swaying on weak legs. And the girl was sitting up and staring at thetwo of them.

  * * * * *

  And then, grotesquely, preluded by a cry from the woman, the tragedywhich death had once cut short was enacted out, there on the roughsheet of ice and snow.

  The man with the spear fixed his eyes on the girl's young partner,raised his weapon, leveled it unsteadily, and tossed it weaklyforward. The pointed end clipped its target and sent him reeling, witha thin trickle of slow blood running from his right shoulder. The girlstaggered to her feet and ran between the two. But the big warrior'shand swept her aside, and a short sword leaped from its sheath at hiswaist.

  Wes was stupidly staring, unable to move. The combatants were utterlyunconscious of him. The younger one, painfully wounded, drew his ownsword and swayed forward to meet his enemy.

  The fight was grotesque. Both were weak, unsteady. The short swordsstabbed slowly, missing by yards in their drunken course. Hatred wason the big man's dark face, and a fierce lust for blood. It was onlywhen the weapons clashed loudly together that Craig came out of hisdaze.

  "Stop!" he yelled, jumping forward. "Wait! Stop!"

  All three turned and looked full at him. And then death, which hadbeen banished for but a few minutes, swooped swiftly once more on theyoung man. While he stood peering, bewildered, at Craig, the hugewarrior steadied his blade and drove it home through his unguardedchest. The man slid over the edge of the ice into the cleft below.

  The girl shrieked again and went down to his fallen figure, while thevictor waved his bloody sword aloft with a shout of triumph. Then,without hesitation, he leaped at the American.

  Wes was taken wholly by surprise. He dropped the vial of Kundrenalineand the hypodermic, and he heard them crash and break at his feet ashe fumbled for his automatic, in a holster at his belt. But thewarrior was upon him. His crimsoned blade swung high, gleameddownward, and smote Wesley Craig square on the side of the head.

  Lucky for him, the flat of the sword had been used--but it was enough.The American reeled under the terrific swipe. He had a last glimpse oftwo inflamed eyes, of a savage, contorted face; then the universalwhiteness went black, and he fell, and the whole incredible scenepassed from his consciousness....

  * * * * *

  Just how long he had remained unconscious, Wesley Craig had no meansof determining. His head was hurting devilishly; for a moment hethought that his plane had crashed, and that he was lying in thewreckage. Then he tried to move his hands, and found that he couldn't.They were bound. His eyes opened.

  He discovered that he was lying flat on the ice, hands tied behind hisback. Somebody was moaning softly. It was the girl. She too was tied.Wes tried to sit up; and a hand grasped his shoulder tightly andyanked him to his feet.

  The big warrior who had felled him, his bloody sword still in hand,stared closely at the American, and fingered his fur jacket curiously.Presently he muttered a few words in some strange tongue. When Craigdid not reply, he again spat out the words, his dark brows bunchingmalevolently. And this time Wes understood part of what he said.

  He was speaking ancient Egyptian!

  That proved it. These three, who but half an hour before were dead andentombed in the ice, _were_ Egyptians. Trying to cope with hisreturning bewilderment, Craig racked his brains for remnants of thedifficult language. And finally said laboriously:

  "Who--who art thou?"

  A torrent of words broke from the warrior. Only a few wereunderstandable.

  "Shabako--Pharaoh Shabako!" And he repeated Craig's question: "Who artthou?"

  The girl was sitting up now, and peering at the American. Her eyeswere still tear-filled, for the dead body of the young man was at herside. She cried out a warning, and Craig caught most of it.

  "Be careful, Stranger! He will slay thee as he slew Inaros!"

  "Answer me! Who art thou?" repeated the warrior angrily. His patiencewas short; he played with the hilt of his sword.

  "I come," said Wesley Craig slowly, groping for words, "from a farcountry. I found the three of you in this ice--dead. I brought theeback to life."

  * * * * *

  There was an astounded silence. Then the man who called himselfShabako deliberately cuffed his prisoner on the cheek. "Blasphemer!"he roared. "To claim the powers of the gods! Thou shall die for that!Yea, the ice entrapped me when I was about to slay the guiltyInaros--but our mighty god Aten restored me to life! Enough! Thepriests shall deal with thee!"

  He jerked the trembling girl to Craig's side, and with a prick of hissword in their backs made them go forward. The American was toobewildered to think evenly. Why, the god Aten was the Sun God!--thedivinity Egypt worshipped in five hundred B.C.? How had thesewarm-blooded people come to the far north? Where did they live? Andwhat fate lay in store for him?

  He felt none too optimistic about his position. He knew that it wouldbe two weeks before Somers, at the main base, would become alarmed athis absence. Unless, of course, the mechanic at the sub-base tried tobeat his way back on foot, which was only barely possible.... Then hediscovered that his automatic was still in its holster; it wasslapping against his thighs; and he felt more hopeful.

  The girl trudged tiredly at his side. Shabako was a few feet behind,grumbling and urging his captives along.

  "Where does he drive us?" Craig asked softly. "What is thy name--andwhy did he slay thy companion?"

  Her frightened eyes slanted towards his face. "To the Temple of theSun God, Stranger," she whispered. "And there--" She broke off, to getcontrol of the emotion she was feeling.

  "There--what?"

  "The God's awful hands!... Taia is my name. I do not know how I amonce again alive, when a short while ago I was dead--but it mattersnot. I am a priestess of Aten, a virgin of the Temple. Inaros, he--hewho lies behind--dared to love me. But a few hours gone he committedsacrilege, hiding in the Temple, so he could watch me. Pharaoh Shabakoch
anced on him, threatened death to us and pursued us out here. Andthen of a sudden, when Shabako was hurling his spear, we wereentrapped ... and died...."

  It was a strange story of forbidden love, one that might have beenenacted in age-old times beneath the shadows of the pyramids. Craigbegan, "How did--" but a harsh voice cut his question short.

  "Silence, infidel! Stir thy feet! This ice cools my blood!"

  * * * * *

  The American's plane, hidden from view behind the hillock, was leftfarther and farther in the rear, and Wes was surprised to find that hewas being driven up the very slopes of the ice-covered hill he hadcome to investigate.

  At the top, he saw that the hill was a volcano, as he had guessed.There, in the center, was a wide gaping hole from which, in past ages,fiery streams of lava and ashes had belched forth. He was amazed tosee that rude steps had been hacked in one side of the great cleft,and that they led sharply downwards. A faint warmth reached him, andhe observed that there was but little ice in the crater cup, and noneon the rocky walls where the hewn steps led down. It was here thatthese warm-blooded people lived!

  As soon as Taia reached the steps she began to descend them, but Craigwasn't so docile. He told himself that this was his last chance; oncebelow, surrounded by numbers, there might be no opportunity to strikefor freedom. His eyes narrowed as he groped for a plan. If he couldbutt his brawny captor, strike him fairly in the solar plexus, and,while he lay helpless, cut his bonds with the sword....

  He whirled around. Reverting to football tactics, he tensed his lean,hard body and plunged squarely at Shabako.

  The Pharaoh was taken completely by surprise, and went sprawling; butthe sword did not pitch from his hand. He had received a stiff, shrewdblow, but only a glancing one, for he had twisted his body at the lastsecond. Now, sputtering with wrath, he scrambled to his feet andwhipped back his blade for a killing slice at the American.

  It was Taia who saved him, then. In a flash she threw herself againstthe sword arm and deflected the sweep.

  "Wait, O Pharaoh!" she cried breathlessly. "The priests will claimthis stranger; 'tis they who must decide his fate! Do not kill himhere!"

  Shabako's face was livid with wrath; rage choked him; but he paused.The girl's aptly timed words had told. He was obviously not decided asto what to do. There was a pause, while the sword pointed straight atCraig's chest; then, grumbling, the Egyptian let down his weapon.

  "But try no more of thy tricks, dog!" he said harshly. "Else thy deathcome before its time!"

  Taia glanced appealingly at Wes. Her eyes were half-frightened. Craigsmiled wryly. "Lead on!" he said.

  * * * * *

  Years of time fell away with each of their descending steps. Egyptstirred under the dust of the centuries; Egypt lived again, though ina sad mockery of her former glory. It was like a descent into a newworld, yet a world that was, at the same time, as old as man'scivilization....

  Fifty or more steps they trudged down, then came suddenly to two darkcorridors, both of which slanted steeply into the bowels of the earth.The one they took was mystic with deep shadows thrown by flaring oillamps, cunningly imbedded in the walls of rock; and immediately intoWes's mind came the memory of a corridor he had once walked through inold Egypt, a corridor that pierced to the heart of a pyramid and thesomber vault of a mummy who had once been revered as the PharaohAknahton. In his nostrils now there seemed to be that same, musty,age-old smell; the same hushed gloom was about him; his eyes saw dimlyon the walls the same rows of hieroglyphs telling of long-past deedsof warriors and priests.

  But there the similarity ended. In Egypt it had been a dead Pharaoh;here, though even yet he could hardly believe it, a livingone--living by grace of modern science--walked warily behind him, anda living virgin of the temple at his side. The sword of the Pharaohwas pricking his back.

  The passageway they trudged down became one of many. Others angledfrom it frequently, all dark, all hushed, all seemingly devoid ofpeople. The volcano--extinct, almost surely, for the warmth was onlythat of the earth--was honey-combed with corridors. The marvelousingenuity of the Egyptian race had come into play in fashioning thiswarm home in the barren arctic wastes. But Craig's ever-alert eyeswarned him of what was to come. The characters, the hieroglyphs, therude forms of Egyptian gods on the jagged walls were of degeneratecharacter--and always, when degeneration sets in, the cruellest formof worship has been chosen. The worship of Aten, the Sun God, Wesrecalled, was one that demanded human sacrifice....

  * * * * *

  Still they went down. Savage crevices, split in the days when thevolcano roared with fire and gushing lava, were skirted; crudeladders reached down ever-recurring pits, beneath which there wasalways another corridor, and always leading down. Craig could notreckon the depth they must be at; he knew that the heat was growing,though, and that his skin was wet with perspiration beneath his furs.He started to ask Taia the question that ceaselessly tormentedhim--how her race had come to the arctic; but a prick from Shabako'ssword silenced him.

  Then the passageway they were in widened. There was a bend just ahead.Through the gloom came the sonorous chant of many voices.

  "The Temple!" whispered Taia.

  They turned the bend, and saw, ahead, lit by a thick cluster of oillamps which threw a broad swathe of yellowish light, two tall columnsof corrupt Egyptian design. They framed the entrance to the Sun God'sTemple. The full volume of a chant of worship from inside pouredthrough them.

  Shabako's sword brooked no pause. He drove his prisoners straightthrough.

  A host of impressions thronged Wes's bewildered eyes: a huge,misty-dark room, columns lining it--the vague form of a great idolsquatting at the far end, massed people bowed before it--a weird chantrising into murmuring echoes along the high, dim ceiling. There werepriests standing rigidly in front of the idol, their hands stretchedhigh; and every eye was upon them. None saw the three in the doorwayuntil a roar split the drone of worship.

  "Way! Way for thy Pharaoh, Shabako the Fourth!"

  * * * * *

  Shabako had stepped for the moment in front of his prisoners. Hissword blade was waved aloft; his bawl rudely interrupted the ceremony.The chant stopped, and silence fell as the priests whirled around. Theworshippers, too, turned and stared at the man who had broken theservice with his imperious command.

  "Way!" the vibrant voice cried again. "Aside for thy Pharaoh, whoreturns to the shrine of Aten, Father of Life!"

  Some sixty bewildered faces peered at the man. The silence of theburied Temple was solid, awesome. Through the mist of wreathingincense-smoke and heavy shadows the giant head of the idol stareddown, cruel in the coldness of the rock it had been chiselled from.

  But a pathway cleared in the thick of the crowd, and, without a glanceto either side, Shabako's proud figure strode down it, driving hisprisoners before him.

  Craig heard low gasps of astonishment, glimpsed the people fall backas he walked forward, saw the amazement in their eyes. The statue ofthe god seemed to grow as he neared the altar; it was in squattingposture, with hands outstretched, one above the other. The Americanwas to learn the reason for that position later. Now he had only afleeting impression of it, for a man stepped from his ceremonialposition beside the god's feet and met Shabako halfway.

  His face was thin and cunning, with slanted rat's eyes. Ornatehead-dress and stiffly inlaid robes denoted him to be the High Priest.He held a claw-like hand high.

  "Hold!" he bade shrilly. "Who art thou to come thus into the Temple,calling thyself Shabako--Shabako, who has been dead these twentyyears?"

  * * * * *

  The words were a thunderbolt of surprise, both to the Pharaoh andTaia, and to Wes Craig. He could not see Shabako's face, but he sawhis tall form pause, and his tensed muscles relax.

  "Dead ... these twenty years?" the Egyptian at last repeated slowly,struggling
to overcome the shock. "Why, 'twas but a few hours ago thatI left this Temple, in pursuit of--" He peered at the priest's slyface. "Who art thou?" he demanded suddenly.

  "Hrihor, High Priest of Aten."

  Craig heard the girl whisper something, inaudible because of hersurprise, but Shabako's bewildered voice cut in:

  "Hrihor! It cannot be! Thou art not Hrihor! When last I saw Hrihor, hewas an under-priest of twenty. Ay was High Priest of the Temple! Callhim! Where is Ay?"

  "Dust," said the priest. "Dust these ten years and more."

  Wes's senses were reeling. The bodies in the ice--he had taken it forgranted they had only lain there for days; a week at most. That theyhad been entrapped for twenty years was incredible. Had he known that,he would not even have thought of using the Kundrenaline. Twenty yearsago he had been a boy of eight; it meant--Lord!--it meant the youthfulgirl beside him was twice her age; and Shabako an old man! Old--yetyoung! Fantastic, unimaginable--yet true!

  He saw Shabako pass a hand over his face, as if his body were suddenlytired; but the next moment it tautened again and he swung around. Hisface was unreadable. A multitude of conflicting emotions struggledthere. He strode to a group of several of the older men.

  "Look at me!" he cried, facing them squarely. "Look well at myfeatures! Am I not he who twenty years ago--as the High Priestsays--pursued the priestess and her lover into the land of ice? Am Inot the man who ruled thee? Am I not Shabako? Is this not thepriestess, Taia?"

  They stared at him. Remembrance suddenly gleamed on their faces. Athin, cracked voice shrilled:

  "Yea! Thou art Shabako! Thou art Shabako as he was twenty yearsago--old, yet without the lines of age on thy brow! And thepriestess--well do I remember her. That is she!"

  A hand pointed at the trembling girl; all eyes centered on her. TheHigh Priest's mouth dropped open, and he believed.

  * * * * *

  Then Shabako breathed deeply, drew himself up and with kingly dignityfaced the ranks of his people, sword again held imperiously aloft.

  "Thou hast seen!" he cried. "Thou hast heard! Here is the guiltyTaia--and here am I, returned to thee, still with the strength of myprime! As I was about to slay the rash Inaros, the ice entrapped us,and for twenty years we lay thus, while my spirit pursued those twoguilty ones across the River of Death. Then Aten aided me, filled myveins with His holy fire and melted the ice from our bodies. We livedand breathed again. With His divine help I slew Inaros and brought thetransgressing virgin back to the Temple. Twenty years have passed--butof years Aten thinks nothing. Give praise to our God!"

  A breathless silence swallowed his shout. Then a mighty roar burstout, an exultant roar that soared up past the impassive image of thegod and rolled in thunderous echoes along the roof. "Praise to Aten!Praise to Aten!"

  Wesley Craig smiled wryly. He could hardly credit the Kundrenaline'spower in wiping twenty years away; but it was evidently true. Shabako,he saw, really believed the superstition-conceived story he had justspun, so--now what?

  The High Priest was staring at him malevolently, his slanted eyesfastened on his garb of furs. His weedy voice pierced through theechoes.

  "O divine Shabako," he questioned shrilly, "who is this stranger?"

  The Pharaoh's glance was contemptuous. "A blasphemer," he saidharshly. "One who dares claim--"

  But Wes had understood the question. He stepped forward. Frankly andsimply, he told his story.

  "I found thy ruler and the maid and her lover in the ice, entrapped,"he concluded. "I cut them out and, with a fluid which is of commonknowledge in my country, restored them to life. I told this toShabako, but he overpowered me and--"

  "Hear thou!" bawled the Pharaoh, furiously breaking in. "Blasphemy! Heclaims the might of the God! Back, dog, lest I kill thee here myself!"

  Wes saw how hopeless it was; he shrugged and stepped back. He read alltoo plainly the hatred in Shabako's eyes; his frank story had alsoapparently inflamed the High Priest against him. There was not afriend in the whole Temple, save the girl--and the next moment Hrihorwalked to her.

  His slanted eyes ran over her figure. A sneering smile appeared. "So!"he observed mockingly. "Taia is returned to the Temple! Yes, well do Iremember thee now--the scornful cast of thy mouth, the proud bearingof thy head. Even Aten thou were scornful of, I remember. Atenremembers too!" He turned slightly. "Listen, O Shabako. Three days agothy elected successor, Siptah, died. We had met to choose a new ruler.But, by the will of the God, thou art returned and art again Pharaoh.Thy people are grateful to Aten. In twelve hours a sacrifice shallproclaim our gratitude." His crafty eyes again swung to the girl."There!" he shrilled, "--she pays for her sin. She is the sacrifice!"

  There was a great shout from the crowd, but the words that Shabakothen cried savagely were plainly audible to Wes Craig.

  "Aye. Taia. O High Priest--and the blasphemous stranger, too! Bothshall die in the hands of Aten!"

  The priest nodded, smiling cruelly. "'Tis well, Shabako. Both shalldie!"

  Taia's frightened eyes met Craig's, then lifted to the form of theidol. He too peered up at it, and for the first time its hideousnessand the cold-blooded cruelty of its design struck him.

  The rudely carved figure was a full forty feet high. The impassiveface, horrible in the lifelessness of rock, stared unseeingly down onits worshippers. One gross black hand was held some ten feet above thepalm of the other, and, inserted in its palm, was a long, keen-pointedblade. The living sacrifice would be tied to the lower palm; theupper, by some trickery, would be made to slowly descend....

  * * * * *

  A surge of panic swept over Craig. In his mind he saw the slight,helpless form of the girl strapped to that grim paw, saw the knifeinch down, saw it touch and prick and finally drive through her heart.And it would be the same for him! A flame of blind fury burst in him,making him reckless; mad.

  "The hell we die!" he yelled, in English, and with a great bound hewas at Taia's side. A priest leaped for him, but Craig shot a foot outand sent him sprawling. Then, with eyes flaming and legs outthrust, hestood in front of the girl, facing the worshippers.

  "Fools!" he roared. "Listen to me! My words are truthful! I do notlie, as does thy Pharaoh! I can prove that which I say! I can--"

  "Take him!" the High Priest shrieked. "Forward! Take him!"

  Craig could handle one or two, but not a dozen. A mass of men, women,soldiers, priests, swept at him. There was a brief moment of struggle,of oaths and shouts and excited yells from the crowd in the Temple,till something thudded into the American's head and he went down. Feettrampled him; men surged over him; then blessed unconsciousnessen-wrapped him, and he knew no more.

  He did not hear, as did Taia, Shabako's command:

  "To a chamber with them! Guard them well, till the time of sacrifice!"

  * * * * *

  A small party, led by the stocky figure of the captain of thePharaoh's guard, wound its way through a network of corridors, pastjagged walls down which water slowly dripped, across a swaying bridgeof hides that spanned an awful chasm in the volcano's very heart, andcame at last to a large dark hole in the rock.

  The captain turned. "In there!" he commanded harshly. The two figures,man and girl, were dumped like sacks of flour into the gloomychamber. The men who had carried them turned and tramped away; thecaptain faced one who had stayed.

  "Guard them with thy life, Sitah. Thou knowest the payment forcarelessness."

  Sitah nodded grimly. He was fully armed, with spear and sword. He satdown outside the dark hole, and the captain retraced his steps. Thepad of his feet on the floor died away, and then, for a long time,there was silence.

  Perhaps every five minutes Sitah turned and stared down into the holebehind, ears craned for the slightest sound. But none came. The twoinside, no doubt, were asleep.

  It was very hot, down in the deep-buried corridor, and though Sitahwas accustomed to the heat, he soon found
his eyelids drooping and hiswhole body crying out for sleep. But he did not go to sleep. He knewtoo well what would befall him in Aten's hands if he did. He had seenmany old men and women die in those hands, on ceremony days--oldpeople who croaked in helpless agony as the keen knife blade droppedslowly down toward them, paused a second, inches from their hearts,and then plunged in with a rush. Old men and women, useless, theiryears of service gone. Yes, and many unwanted girl children....

  That was what the Sun God demanded. His hands reached ever for humanbodies. It was cruel, but he was a god; and who was to question thewill of a god?

  * * * * *

  Sitah was very glad when, after six hours of lonely vigil, anotherguard relieved him and took his place outside the dark hole. Sitahspoke humorously to him, a grim kind of humor, as befitting one whohas seen much death.

  "They sleep, Hapu," he said, nodding into the prison. "But soon alonger sleep will come for them--the sleep of the knife!" He chuckledas he made his way far below, to his bed. A few hours of rest and hewould be in fine fettle for the ceremony.

  The relieving guard grunted and peered into the cell. He saw two darkfigures outstretched, mere blobs of black, a little blacker than theshadows. Yes, they slept....

  He sat down on the bench Sitah had just vacated. He had four hours towait. Then the priests, led by Hrihor, would come, and the ceremonywould begin, and the god's hands would move together. It would be afine show! He looked forward to it keenly. It would be delicious tosee that girl Taia bared to the knife. It would please the god: seldomdid his hands hold such a beautiful sacrifice. And the queer stranger,too--he would probably die very noisily. When he saw the knife slidingdown, he would regret his blasphemy and shriek for forgiveness!

  For along time Hapu sat quite motionless. He was a good watchdog.Hours passed; his vigil was nearing its end; the priests would sooncome. Soon--

  A slight noise came from the cell behind him.

  He whirled around. The noise came again, louder. A voice cried out.

  "Water! Water! I am dying!"

  Hapu grunted. It was the stranger's voice. The stranger must not die;it would spoil the ceremony; Aten would be wroth. He stared into thehole.

  One of the figures was tossing, writhing painfully. The agonized cryechoed again. "Water! Please! I am dying!"

  Hapu strode into the cell.

  For a moment he stood still, peering down at the tossing figure. Hisbrain suddenly shouted alarm. This was no human body! "What--" hebegan.

  But the question was never finished. Something hard crashed into theback of his skull; his spear dropped with a clank, and he slumped tothe floor.

  * * * * *

  Out of the shadows, behind, a man emerged and bent down over theoutstretched figure of the guard. A smile appeared on the man's leanface: the guard was out--cold. It took Wes Craig just a moment toascertain this; then he tiptoed over to a dark form that lay on thefloor--the girl, whose pale, anxious face peered up out of theshadows. Craig cut her bonds with the guard's sword and raised her toher feet. She stood close to him, clinging to him, trembling, almostnot believing she was free.

  Her eyes were filled with awe as she looked up into the American'seyes. "First thou didst restore me to life," she whispered, "and nowthou hast broken thy bonds. Surely, thou must be a god!"

  Wes smiled. "It was simple, Taia. Look! This buckle on my belt--'tissharp. I edged it round and cut the rope. It was slow work, else wewould have been free long before."

  "But I saw thee toss and writhe on the floor, and cry out for water!"

  Craig kicked a pile of furs that had been heaped one on top of theother, and tied together with thread from an unraveled woolen mitten."This was my body," he said coolly. "Furs. The cell must be astoreroom for them--lucky for us. I was standing with a rock in myhand near the door, when I cried out for water.... We shall not die inAten's hands, Taia! See--I have a sword. With luck--"

  There was a warmer quality than reverence in Taia's eyes when shespoke--though she did not realize it. "Then come quickly, O Stranger!"she said. "The guard has been changed once; the time for sacrificenears!"

  Craig nodded. Only a sword was in his hand; his automatic, he found,had been taken from him while he lay unconscious in the Temple,probably desired as a curious heathen object. The discovery, made whenhe had cut his bonds, had been a serious blow to his hopes: with asword, he was only a human being, but with a gun he might have passedas supernatural to this primitive race.

  But it could not be helped. He peered to each side, gestured to thegirl, and together they started up the sloping incline of thecorridor.

  * * * * *

  The heat of the earth was great, down where they were, and it made thepassageway muggy and odorous. Fitful shadows were flung by widelyseparated oil lamps as they pressed forward--grotesque splotches ofblack that half a dozen times tightened the American's grasp on hissword, sure that a guard had come upon them. He knew that their marginof time in which to effect escape was small, and he graduallyquickened their pace, sacrificing caution for speed. Taia's hand wasin his left; and he had just turned to her to ask if they were takingthe best course up to the surface, when suddenly she stopped short.

  "Hearken!" she whispered, frightened.

  Wes craned his ears. For a moment there was nothing but silence. Thena faint sound trembled through the shadows. It could only have beenthat of many approaching footsteps.

  "The priests!" Taia murmured, tightening her grip on his hand. "Theycome!"

  There was a sharp bend in the corridor fifty feet ahead; from behindit a growing clatter of sandals echoed through the rock-walledpassageway. Craig paused, irresolute. "Are we blocked, ahead?" heasked.

  "Yes," her low voice hurriedly told him. "But we can go back, crossthe bridge of the chasm and go up the other side. But others may bethere, and--"

  A shout cut her words short. Dim figures appeared around the bend inthe passage. They were discovered!

  Wes Craig's face set grimly; he worked his hand into a good grip onthe sword handle, looked levelly at the gathering crowd ahead andsaid:

  "I think it best to face them now, Taia. I can hold them for minutesat least; thou canst perhaps escape. Rest assured I shall take thatHigh Priest with me, when I cross thy River of Death!"

  "But where can I go?" cried the girl. "Nay, Divine One--I shall stayat thy side!"

  * * * * *

  The excited yells of Hrihor, urging the others forward, came plainlyto their ears. Swords glittered in the gloom of the corridor, and likea foam-tipped wave that slowly gathers speed the group of priests andsoldiers charged down on the man and girl. Craig saw that she wouldnot run.

  "Then come!" he shouted, and swung her around. With desperate speedthey retraced their steps. They soon passed their cell, and recklesslyleaped through the deceptive shadows on the far side, on down thecorridor.

  The High Priest and the others followed close behind. His crafty facewas distorted with rage, and he kept screaming to his men: "The wrathof the God on thee if they escape!" Craig's ears caught that, and hefound time for a bitter smile. _If!_ If only they had left him hisautomatic! A few bullets flung into them would even matters a trifle.

  The corridor twisted and slanted ever downward. They panted around acorner and came to the brink of a dark pit. "Down!" cried the girl.She led the way, nimbly dropping down the fifteen-foot rawhide ladderthat was there. Halfway down the ladder Wes reached up with his swordand cut it from where it was fastened. He fell to the bottom of thehole with a grunt. As he extricated himself from the ladder'sentangling meshes be yelled up, "Come and get us, you cutthroats--ifyou can!" and was off after the lithe form of the girl.

  * * * * *

  But the action helped them but little, and added only a few feet tothe distance between them and their pursuers, for they boldly made thedeep drop without sending for another lad
der. Taia was sobbing forair, and Wes himself beginning to feel the bitter pang of hopelessnesswhen they rounded a corner and came to a great chasm--a wide cleft inthe very heart of the volcano. A terrific heat came from its maw ofunbroken black, and a peculiar, choking odor, sulphurous. Across itwas a slender framework of hides and thongs--a mere catwalk over theterrible depths below.

  "You first!" Craig snapped, and as Taia started across a spear camehurtling from the mob behind, and clanked against the rocky wall onthe far side. Nimbly Taia sped over the bridge, and Wes, the yells ofHrihor and his men loud in his ears, followed.

  Midway a long spear snaked after him. It missed by inches, and wentpitching into the gulf. In his haste he caught his foot on theinterlaced thongs, stumbled and almost fell--which saved his life, foranother spear streaked through the very spot he had been a secondbefore. Then he was across, and his sword was flashing in vicioushacks at one of the two main supporting thongs of the bridge.

  The hide was tough, but Craig's strength was that of a desperate man,and in several mighty strokes he severed it. The framework slumped toone side, held only by one thong. Hrihor, half across, croaked insudden horror and sprang back as he saw the stranger raise his bladeto carve through the other support. But even as the sword swept down aspear streamed from a warrior's hand and thudded against Wes's rightshoulder.

  His sword jarred loose. It fell into the chasm.

  "Thou art hurt!" cried the girl. Wes grinned wryly.

  "Nay," he said, "but weaponless. Lead on!"

  * * * * *

  They were now on the other side of the chasm in the tunneled volcano.The priests had hesitated a moment when the bridge had slackened; butnow, seeing the weaponless man and girl disappear in a tortuouscorridor ahead, they sidled across the damaged catwalk after theirfierce leader.

  "They will go past the Temple!" Hrihor shrilled. "It is Taia who leadshim: again she tries to escape to the land of ice! Follow--up here!"

  His words were true. The corridor that led by the Temple was the onewhich led to the only other passage up to the crater of the volcano.

  But Taia had guided Craig only a few steps past the place of worship,now a silent vault of impenetrable blackness when, turning a corner,the American felt her shrink back.

  "Shabako comes!" she told him faintly.

  Quickly he verified it. Led by the Pharaoh himself, a party ofsoldiers was coming down the corridor some thirty yards away. Even asWes saw them, they saw him--and Shabako's roar of sudden alarm tingledhis ears.

  Priests behind, soldiers and the blood-lustful Pharaoh ahead. Theywere cut off, blocked, trapped. There was no nearby branch passage torun down; there was no way to turn. It was the end of the game.... Butno, not quite, Craig told himself grimly. His sword was gone, but hisfists would tell on them before he went down, before the paws of theidol finally claimed him....

  He stepped before Taia, clenched his fists, and waited the shock ofthe charge.

  * * * * *

  He could see the fury in Shabako's narrowed eyes, so close were they,when a soft hand pulled him back. It was Taia's.

  "Come!" she whispered, and darted swiftly back to the gloomy,shadow-filled entrance of the Temple. And wondering, Wes Craigfollowed.

  She glided through the pillared portal and was immediately swallowedup by a shroud of silent, velvety darkness. Wes could not see her, buther soft hand touched his arm lightly to guide him forward, and hesensed the girl's warm body close to his. Where was she going?Inevitably they would be trapped in the far end of the Temple, beneaththe very hands of the idol--or so he thought. But he trusted her, andwent on.

  A shout came from the entrance. "They went in here!" someone cried,and the two heard Shabako detailing swift instructions to hismen--instructions which were cut short by another clatter of feet andthe approaching voice of Hrihor. Priests and soldiers had joined, aconfusion of men, most of them hanging back, half afraid to ventureinto the well of blackness that was Aten's abode on earth.

  But the Pharaoh whipped them into discipline with the harsh tones ofhis voice, and strung them into a close line, to advance slowlythrough the Temple. "Have thy blades ready!" he added. "They cannotescape us now: they are trapped. Forward!"

  * * * * *

  Nothing could get through that line. It was like a fine-toothed comb,with every tooth a man. Craig saw it coming, and knew that he and thegirl could not go much farther back, for already he sensed himselfdirectly beneath the looming figure of Aten. Yet the gentle touch ledhim on--around and past the idol into the furthermost corner of theTemple. It was then that Taia paused, felt around, and placed Craig'sright hand upon some unseen knob in the wall. Her faint whisperhurriedly explained the purpose of the knob as Wes drank in her wordseagerly.

  "There is a secret room behind the idol, from whence the priests apethe God's voice and move his hands at sacrifice. A priest should bethere e'en now, ready for the ceremony. Thou must overcome him, DivineOne, and we too can hide therein. Hrihor dare not search for us therewhile others are present, for e'en Shabako knows not of the room.Quick, then--they come! Thy hand is on the latch of the secret panel.I follow thee!"

  Wes pressed the girl's hand tightly and his body tensed. Then, withouthesitation, he jerked the secret panel back. A faint glow of light layahead, and he plunged into the tiny room that lay revealed.

  An alarmed face stared up--the priest! Wes leaped at him, his steelyfingers thumbing into the man's throat and throttling its scream to agasping choke. All the American's pent-up fury went into a lunge thatthe priest could not begin to stand against. He was bowled sharplyover and went down. Craig on top, and there the fight ended assuddenly as it had begun. The priest's head thudded into the smoothrock floor; a convulsion quivered his body; he moaned and lay still.

  A grim flicker in his eyes, Craig got up and looked around for Taia.Then astonishment and cold fear swept through him.

  The secret door was closed--but she was not inside!

  * * * * *

  "Now what--" Wesley Craig gasped.

  He did not dare finish the thought. He glared around, much as atrapped tiger does, his brain a turmoil. His eyes fell on a ladderthat led up from the floor to a niche in the left wall--a slit aboutforty feet high, a pool of darkness, shadowed from the thin tongue offlame that lit the room. Only half realizing what the slit was, Wessprang forward and leaped up the ladder. A platform was built high upinside the niche, a place for a man to stand on. The American reachedit, pressed himself forward, and peered through a tiny hole that wasin the rock ahead. He knew it ought to command a view of the Temple.

  But if it did, Craig could see nothing, for there was no light in thehuge vault outside. For minutes the brooding silence was not broken,save by an occasional scraping sound made by one of the searching lineof men. There was no hint of the girl who waited beside the hideousfigure of the god, nor of the network that gradually closed in on her.

  But suddenly the silence was shattered by a shout.

  "I have her!" someone yelled. Then came a multitude of sounds. Thepiercing voice of Hrihor was audible above them all.

  "Light the lamps! Hast thou the other, too?"

  "Nay--he is not here."

  "Not here? What--"

  * * * * *

  A spark of light made an erratic course from the Temple door: someonewas bringing a flame to light the lamps. A moment later there was aflare of yellow light as the oil in a large wall lamp caught fire, andthen the darkness melted further before a wave of light from theopposite wall. Now could be seen the warriors who, with gleamingoutdrawn swords, were clustered around the girl. Shabako was grippingher arm and shaking her roughly: the High Priest was drawing to astop before her, to stand glaring at her with hate-inflamed eyes.

  "Tell us!" roared the Pharaoh. "Where is the man?"

  She looked at him levelly. Her eyes were quite calm, a
nd she breathedevenly. There was a glorious light in her eyes as she replied.

  "I will tell thee," she said; "though thou wilt not comprehend. Hevanished. Vanished, even as a god. He was here beside me, in thedarkness and then suddenly he was gone. But why not? For he was agod...."

  The soldiers gaped at her. Silence came down in the Temple. The HighPriest did not break it, but only stared closely at the girl with eyesthat suddenly had something more than hate in them--comprehension, anda trace of fear....

  But the Pharaoh Shabako's eyes were only wrathful, and he shouted:

  "A god? Vanished, sayest thou? Lies! Lies! But thou canst not lie toAten! The God knows of a way to loosen thy tongue!"

  Despite herself, Taia shuddered. She knew that way.

  * * * * *

  Gradually the Temple was filling with other worshippers come to seethe sacrifice, and soon there were sixty or seventy of them. The menoutnumbered the women two to one, and none of them was very old. Fiftywas about their age limit--and those who were near this age werereluctant to let their eyes rest on the hands of the idol. When theydid glance at them, and at the cruel knife blade in the upper one,fear showed on their faces. There were also very few children....

  Hrihor's thin features grew unreadable in the coldness that settledupon them. He was now in the role of High Priest: apart, separate fromthe common mob before him; interpreter of Aten's divine mysteries:playing his part of one who listened to a god's awful whisperings.Impassively he superintended the binding of Taia by a priestess, whotightened the cords around the girl's slim body with claw-like hands,a gleam of unholy anticipation on her fleshless, soured face. Then theHigh Priest turned from the altar and faced the crowd of people.

  "Silence!" he commanded. "Silence, before thy God Aten!"

  A hush fell instantly. Their eyes centered on the bound figure of thegirl, standing just beside the lowermost hand of the idol that wouldpresently claim her. Her face was very pale, but none could detectfear in it. There was an uneasy stir, a shifting of feet, a mumbling,as her fresh young beauty struck the watchers. Somewhere a manmuttered that she was very young to die. Aten had returned her once:perhaps the God did not wish her to perish.... His neighbor demurred.And the ceremony went on.

  Ornate but crude censers were in the hands of two priests; the incensewas lit by long tapers, and its acrid odor wound up in wavering purplespirals of smoke. On each side of Hrihor were five under-priests, eyesstiffly on their superior's impassive face. The soldiers had retreatedfrom the altar and now were massed in the rear of the Temple, theirspear blades glittering dully above their heads.

  The High Priest raised his hands slowly, and stared with glazed eyesinto the gloom of the ceiling, high above. "Praise!" he shrilled."Praise to Aten!"

  * * * * *

  The assembled worshippers joined him in the chant of sacrifice. It waslow and soft, and, at first, almost drowsy, like the slow stir of atropical wind through palm leaves. But soon it quickened with risingtones from perfectly concerted voices; it soared up; its tenorchanged; it became fierce, lustful, eager for blood, eager for thesacrifice, a heathen chant shrilling for sight of a girl's body in thegod's, awful hands.

  And it died in a sad, discordant moan on an expectant note....

  Hrihor's body, stiff and rigid in its ceremonial robes, did not seemhuman as he stretched his arms straight forward and wheeled silentlyto the huge idol of stone. A full two minutes he stood without so muchas flicking an eyelash; then, not shifting his glazed stare, heharshly intoned:

  "Ages ago our ancestors set out from the homeland of Egypt in a greatgalley, bound for the barbarian countries of the north in quest ofmetal. But storms seized upon them, drove them far from their course,till at last, weak from hunger, they came to this land of ice, wheretheir galley was wrecked and they were cast ashore. At first all wasdark; then came the Sun God Aten's life giving rays, leading them tothis mountain, which they inhabited and in which they carved thisTemple wherein to worship the God who had saved them. The lord of thegalley was the first Pharaoh; the priest of the galley was called HighPriest; the Pharaoh took a concubine to wife--and thus was ourcivilization begun.

  "There were virgins of the Temple, holy, set apart from man, sacred toAten. Never did one betray her sacred trust--never, until Taia fled tothe land of ice with the sacrilegious Inaros. Our mighty Pharaohpursued them, and after twenty years, by Aten's special grace, slewthe man and brought the maid back to pay for her transgression. Neverbefore has this happened."

  He paused, waiting. An under-priest spoke; evidently following someritual.

  "Here is the priestess, O High Priest of Aten! What penalty must shepay?"

  "Death in Aten's hands!" the cold voice shrilled instantly. "The Godwills it!"

  * * * * *

  But now came an interruption, unexpected and disconcerting to thewell-laid plans of Hrihor. The voice of Pharaoh Shabako cried out:

  "Another came with this priestess--a blasphemous stranger! He liesconcealed; the maid will not tell where! High Priest, let her betortured in Aten's hands until she reveals where he is!"

  For a moment Hrihor lost his mask-like rigidity, of expression. Hiseyes shifted nervously. But Shabako was not to be denied. Again berepeated his demand.

  "We must pray to Aten to make his hand descend on her, prick and gashher, till she divulges!"

  A murmur arose from the people in the Temple: they approved thetorture. Hrihor, obviously reluctant, was forced to comply.

  "O mighty Aten," he cried, turning to the idol, "thou hast heard ourPharaoh. We pray to thee to lay thy hand on the priestess Taia, tillshe tells where the stranger lies concealed!"

  Shabako nodded in approval. While a mumbled prayer rose, four priestsstrode to the girl, lifted her slight form and flung it on theupturned lower band of the idol. They strapped her there securely, herbreast but ten feet below the waiting knife. Even then she did notstruggle or cry out.

  She did not know who had won the fight inside the secret room, but herheart told her it was the mysterious stranger, for was he not agod?--She would not be afraid, for he would surely reveal hisdivinity, and save her, even as he had from her twenty-year death, andfrom her bonds in the cell where they had been imprisoned....

  The softly chanted prayer surged through the Temple. Hrihor's slittedeyes were on the knife in the upper palm of the idol. Suddenly heflung up his arms, and cried:

  "Now, O Aten!"

  The prayer stopped. With fearful interest the people stared at thedagger, at the inert figure of the girl--the more elderly seeing inher a hint of what was to come to them when their days of service wereended.

  The knife started downward.

  * * * * *

  Taia's eyes were closed. Her breathing was even and regular. She didnot seem at all aware of the shaft of steel that slowly, in the hushedgasp from the audience, stirred with the stone hand that held it andmoved deliberately downward.

  To the silent crowd of worshippers it was a religious phenomenon, andwell calculated to strike fear and awe into their hearts. The movingidol seemed to be a living thing, motivated by the unseen spirit ofthe god it represented, who caused the massive upper hand to executehis will. Its movement was slow and clumsy, and close listeners wouldhave heard a slight creaking noise from somewhere behind it--but theears of the worshippers were deaf from the fear and the horror inwhich they were vicariously participating.

  Slowly the hands came together, until the long, wicked shear was but afoot above the bound girl.... It dropped to within inches of herflesh....

  And there it stopped.

  Then, before the amazed crowd could realize what was happening, beforeeven Hrihor could control the surprise that raised his browsincredulously, the palm in which the blade was implanted slowlyretraced its course and returned to its original position.

  A breathless silence reigned in the Temple. The hand was motion
less.It did not stir again.

  "The God will not touch his priestess!"

  It was a faint, awed whisper that came from someone amongst theworshippers. But Hrihor heard it, and so did the other priests. Whilethey stared at each other, utterly at a loss, the whisper was taken upand repeated on all sides.

  "The God will not touch his priestess!"

  * * * * *

  The High Priest sensed the crowd's conviction, and sensed them turningagainst him. His beady eyes glanced around nervously. His lips a thinline, he called to his second ranking priest in a tense whisper, and,when the other came to him, muttered in his ear:

  "'Tis the stranger, hiding in the secret chamber, who does this! Hehas overcome our brother there, and now controls the levers! And Taiaknows it; and if she reveals it to the people our hold will be broken!She must be killed!"

  "Yes! But how? We must be quick!"

  Hrihor's crafty face set cruelly. "I know a way. Watch thou...."

  He strode to the fore of the altar and flung his hands high. A shrillshout from his thin lips cut the uneasy murmuring short.

  "Hearken! Aten will not torture His own priestess! He will not maimthose who have sworn their lives to Him!"

  The silent crowd waited for his next words. He screamed savagely.

  "His High Priest must perform the rite! Aten has appointed me to beHis instrument of vengeance!"

  A gleam of unholy exultation was in his narrowed eyes. His faceworked: he thrust a hand inside his ornate ceremonial vestment.

  "By Divine Will," he cried, "this knife in my hand is the knife in theGod's hand!"

  And he whipped a long blade from the robe.

  Never before had such a ceremony been held in the Temple of Aten, theSun God. Never before had the hand of the god paused above the livingsacrifice and deliberately risen again without tasting blood. It wasmiracle upon miracle; half-bewildered, Pharaoh Shabako and the herd ofcommon people alike waited for what would come next, their HighPriest's savage words somewhat reassuring them that all was correct.

  They saw him clench his dagger tightly and with slow steps advance tothe side of the helpless girl. Glaring down at her, he swung the bladehigh. It poised directly over her heart. It would not torture her,Taia knew: it was death that she read in the High Priest's eyes. Sheclosed her own, and thought of the stranger; she breathed a silentprayer to him. She waited.

  "In Aten's name!" screamed Hrihor, and brought the dagger down.

  * * * * *

  At that second the sharp roar of a sudden explosion thundered throughthe Temple, and the startled worshippers saw, slowly trickling fromthe right eye of Aten, a curling streamer of gray smoke. They did notknow what had happened. And not until, after a moment of fearfulsilence, they saw the expression on Hrihor's face change to greatsurprise, and saw his right hand relax and drop the dagger to thefloor, did they comprehend that he had been struck down.

  He clutched at his side, staggered, twisted round, and fell fulllength before the feet of the god whose representative he was.

  A frightened woman close to the altar saw a dark red stain on hisrobe, and a scream from her lips pierced out:

  "He is dead! Killed by Aten--whose eyes have looked death! Oh!"

  She flung herself flat on the floor, and the others, back to thesoldiers in the rear, did likewise. The priests clustered together ina scared group, staring fearfully at the right eye of the idol, fromwhich a wisp of smoke was still trailing. None dared approach theoutstretched figure of the High Priest. Only Shabako dared look athim.

  The Pharaoh clutched his sword tightly, muttering uneasily to himself.Not a sound came from the prostrate multitude. The slow echoes of theexplosion died away; again the heavy silence fell. Then Shabakosuddenly stared around, and peered up at the stone image of the god.

  * * * * *

  His ears had caught a sound. It was a panting and scuffling noise, asif men were fighting. It grew, even though muffled by apparentlyintervening rock. The beginning of a scream, cut short into a choke,added to its volume. The worshippers far back in the Temple heard it,and looked up. There was a muffled crash--then another crash ofthundering noise, similar to the one that had come from the god's eye.

  But this time no smoke eddied from the eye. The explosion echoedthrough the Temple and died away, while all the time Pharaoh Shabakostared at the idol. Slow comprehension broke through the bewildermenton his face. Suddenly he swung around and gripped the cowering form ofthe second ranking priest, who stood near him.

  "From whence came those sounds, Priest?" he hissed. "Tell me!"

  The frightened priest gibbered unintelligibly, but there was a guiltylook on his face which spurred Shabako on. He shook the man and roaredthe question again. Then the priest spoke.

  "They came--from--the secret chamber," he stammered.

  A gasp rose from the crowd behind. But before they could master theirastonishment, Shabako had whipped his sword from its sheath and sprungup the altar.

  "Show me this chamber!" he cried.

  * * * * *

  Up on the platform in the secret room, his eye glued to the hole thatwas the eye of Aten, Wes Craig had seen and heard everything that hadtranspired. He had been shocked to see the brave thing Taia hadsubmitted to, rather than divulge where he was hidden. Sacrificingherself, so that he, a stranger, might have a few more minutes oflife! It hurt.

  He had climbed down from the platform and glared around the lowerfloor of the secret room again, scanning shelves that were crowdedwith scores of curious objects, sacred relics, properties to aid inthe manipulation of the idol and other unidentifiable things--lookingfor a potential weapon. If the girl had to die--and he--it would bebetter to go out and meet his enemies, taking some of them with him infull fight.

  And then his heart leaped madly at the sight of something lying on oneof the shelves.

  A stumpy black shape, it was, with a short barrel of cold blue steel,and it looked as much out of place in that chamber as did the fur-cladman who stared half-unbelievingly at it. It was a foreigner, as hewas, in the gloomy corridors and chambers of the race that worshippedAten. It too was American. It was a friend--his automatic!

  To Wes Craig, bewildered and tired and sadly without hope, it almostseemed to be alive, smiling at him with its wicked round mouth. Hepicked it up, and it bolstered his courage, his hope and his energyenormously. At once he leaped to the closed entrance-door and felt forthe lever that opened it. But there he paused a moment to think.

  There was only the faintest chance of fighting free with Taia now.There were at least thirty men outside, and he had only seven bullets.And then he remembered where he was, and what the purpose of thesecret room was. He remembered, also, a certain nervous expression onthe High Priest's face that he had just seen....

  He swung around and inspected the levers and crude wheels of wood thatled to a handle up in the niche, shoulder-high to whoever might standon the platform there. He had had experience with certain idols inEgypt. He remembered particularly one that had been worshipped in adegenerate age--its hands, its eyes. And then he stepped over thesprawling body of the still unconscious priest and climbed to theplatform and his peep-hole again.

  As he pressed himself forward in the niche, and applied his eye to theslit, he gently fingered the handle of the large lever right besidehim. And he also measured the size of the slit in the right eye of thegod....

  * * * * *

  Craig had not minded shooting the murderous High Priest Hrihor, but hedid not want to kill the under-priest in the secret room. He had hadno choice in the matter. At the tensest moment in the dramatic scenein the Temple, just when he had been hoping that the mysterious deathhe had sent to Hrihor would frighten the worshippers away, he hadheard a slight rustling sound behind him, and had turned just in timeto see a hate-distorted face within feet of him, and a shortcurved-knife upraised
to strike him in the back. It was the priest,whom he had left unconscious below, now revived and coming to killhim.

  Wes could have shot the man then and there, but he knew the thunder ofhis gun would betray his presence; so, using the weapon as a club hehad struck out at his attacker and tried to block the thrust of theknife. For a moment he was successful; but the knife proved the betterweapon in the close rough and tumble scuffle that ensued and, with itspoint at his very throat, Wes had been forced to shoot.

  He had killed the man instantly, but he felt no slightest relief. Likea tiger--even before the crashing echoes had died away in the littleroom--he sprang back to his peep-hole to see what the effect wasoutside. And just what he feared most was happening. The frightenedpriest in the Temple was telling the suspicious Shabako about thehidden chamber--and even then was leading him to the secret entrance!

  * * * * *

  The two passed the American's line of vision, and after a moment heheard them fumbling at the catch of the panel. He could shoot themboth down, easily, but there would still be a whole Temple full ofwarriors and priests to be faced with only three bullets!

  Then, in a flash, came an inspiration.

  Wes swung around, leveled the automatic's muzzle at the hole in theidol's eye, sighted carefully, and squeezed the trigger. And as theexplosion boomed through the vast chamber outside, he veered the gunin a different aim and fired again and again.

  The two huge oil lamps, imbedded one in each side wall, splintered andcrashed.

  "Now for it!" Wes Craig muttered. He sprang for the ladder, snatchingthe dagger of the dead priest as he passed, and half-slid,half-tumbled to the floor below. At once he was at the secret door andgrasping the lever that worked it; and, pausing only to take a deepbreath, he plunged out.

  He came into a scene of wildest confusion. Panic-stricken screams rangin his ears; the oil from the cracked lamps, transformed intosplatters of flame, had splashed down from the walls and scatteredfire over much of the floor. A tumult of shadows moiled through theflames as the crowd fought to get free. Shrieks and gasps and cursescut through the air: the worshippers were caught up in a mob paniccaused more by their superstitious frenzy than by the understandablefire. The flames pierced fantastically into the blackness, throwing avivid glow on the frantic faces of the people who struggled to get outof their reach. The altar was deserted, save for the girl who stilllay on the hand of the idol....

  * * * * *

  Wes Craig, a blur in the wavering shadows, darted to her side. Hisdagger sped through the cords that bound her, and he lifted her slightform down. For a moment she clung to him.

  "I knew thou wouldst come, Divine One!" she whispered. "I knew!"

  He smiled for answer, gripped her hand, and then swiftly led her alongthe least crowded wall of the Temple towards the door, packed with afrantic, struggling crowd of soldiers, people and priests.

  The deceptive shadows thrown by the flames were kind to them; for sometime no one in the whole crowd recognized the two. Everyone wasreacting in a blind panic of fear from the mysterious thunders thathad killed their High Priest, splintered the lamps, and caused theresultant inferno of leaping fire. But discovery was inevitable, andat last one did see the fleeing pair--one who had kept his head andwas looking for them. It was Shabako. He roared:

  "The stranger escapes--and the girl! There, there! Hold them!"

  His imperative shout brought a measure of control to the soldiers, whowere fighting to get through the doorway. They grouped uncertainlytogether, gripping their swords and staring wildly around. They saw,in the ruddy light of the flames, a grim-faced man pressing into them,holding in one hand a stubby black object, and in the other the arm ofthe sacrifice, Taia.

  * * * * *

  Wes cursed, and, forgetting that the warriors understood no English,ordered them in that tongue to make way for him. For answer, one ofthem leaped out at him, his sword swinging up. Craig's face set; helevelled the automatic and fired. The bullet caught the man in themidst of his leap; he spun round, his sword clanked to the floor, andhe fell.

  Wes fired again at the staring mob; then again; but the last time onlya sharp click answered his trigger finger. He flung the gun into thethick of the hesitating warriors, swept the dead soldier's sword offthe floor and pressed forward, intending to hack his way through.

  But he did not have to. The other warriors were only human. They hadjust seen uncanny, instant death. They shrank back from the door; someeven ran back from the stranger, preferring the flames to thethunder-death that he meted out. The doorway was cleared, and Craigpulled the girl through.

  "Back to the left!" she gasped. "Across the bridge! Quick--Shabakocomes!"

  Even as they ran, they heard the Pharaoh's furious bawling as hestruggled up to the door of the Temple, which he had not been able toreach for the rolling tide of fear-stricken people around him. He wasshouting:

  "After them--after them! They cross the bridge! Follow them, everyone!I will take the other way up and trap them! Hurry!"

  He turned to the right, panting up the corridor in the direction fromwhich he had first approached the Temple. And slowly, as theycollected their dazed wits, the swarm of warriors and priests andcommon people followed the fleeing pair toward the bridge.

  * * * * *

  Wes Craig was tired, but the shouting pursuit lent strength to hisnear-exhausted limbs. Spears snaked after Taia and him from thewarriors close behind; but, once across the dangerous bridge, hedisregarded them long enough to hack its supports through and see itfade into the blackness beneath. "Get across now, damn you!" heyelled, and ran again after the girl's leading figure.

  All now depended on their speed in reaching the top of the extinctvolcano, and of that speed he was none too confident. He had gonethrough two strength-sapping fights in the last hour; his nerves wereragged from the constant strain, and his breath came in racking sobs.He wished passionately he had a loaded gun--even his smashed vial ofKundrenaline. The fluid would have put marvelous new life in his wearylimbs.

  "Hurry, Taia!" he gasped: "we must beat them! Shabako goes some other wayto head us off! If only we can get to my bird-that-flies-in-the-air!"

  Once again they stumbled up the difficult passage, fighting for speedwith tired bodies, bodies which every twist and obstacle tried sorely.Without the girl, Wes could never have made it: she led him unerringlythrough the branching, gloomily-lit corridors, up flights of ricketysteps, her knowledge of several short-cuts aiding measurably the speedof their progress. Tired as he was, admiration for the mighty fire ofcourage that burned in Taia's frail figure, and drove it forward whenall physical strength was gone, never left him. For she had beenthrough as much as he--and even more!...

  * * * * *

  They did not know it then, but the Pharaoh had made good time on theother side. As they at last neared the cup of the crater, and passedthe place where the two diverging main corridors, each slantingdownwards, met, they heard Shabako's shouts and the rapid clatter ofhis feet on the rock floor.

  In a desperate sprint, they gained the flight of steps, stumbled upthem, and came again into the glorious fresh cold air, and theslanting rays of the setting sun....

  New life surged through Craig's body; but, whereas he ran across theuneven cup of the crater with fresh speed, the girl seamed suddenly totire. He had taken the lead; now he went back, took her hand andpulled her forward, puzzled by her sudden exhaustion. He did not havetime to question her, however, for the rapid beat of footsteps grewquickly very loud, and with a shout Shabako burst up into the open andcaught sight of them.

  The two went across the lip and slid down the slope of the volcanowith all the haste they could. Shabako only twenty yards behind, hissword waving aloft and his dark face lit with a savage hate. And hewas gaining--gaining steadily; and Taia was tiring more and more, andwas becoming almost a dead weight on
Wes Craig's supporting arm....

  This was the last stretch, over almost the same ground the girl andher dead lover, Inaros, had covered twenty years before--and with thesame pursuer behind. Again, by grace of the potent Kundrenaline,Shabako and the girl were enacting the desperate chase of yearsbefore, the chase that had ended in death for Inaros....

  But there was a stricken look in Taia's eyes now.

  "I am suddenly so tired, Divine One!" she gasped. She seemed hardlyable to walk. Craig could not understand. Snatching a glancebackwards, he saw that the Pharaoh, too, seemed to be strangelytiring--but gaining nevertheless....

  * * * * *

  He was practically carrying the suddenly exhausted girl when they cameto the cleft in the ice from which he had dug her the day before.There was no time to get across, for before they could climb the otherside Shabako would be on them. Wes gripped the handle of his blade.Here the last fight would have to be made.

  "Go down the cleft, out of the way!" he told the girl rapidly. He didnot have time to help her; he swung round just in time to parry aslash of Shabako's sword with his own.

  Then Wes Craig stepped back and stared at his opponent, a peculiarlook in his eyes.

  It might have been merely from the force of his first swipe, or hemight have slipped--but Shabako staggered drunkenly and barely avoidedfalling. With an oath, he came erect and once more charged at theAmerican. It was easy for Wes to avoid his thrust; it would have beenchildishly easy to drive his blade through the Pharaoh's unguardedchest. But somehow Craig withheld his attack, and only peered moreclosely at the other. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. What he wasseeing was incredible.

  For Shabako's face was going a ghastly white; and, as Wes watched, hegroaned, tried to raise his sword arm for another blow--and could not.He staggered, legs askew, lurched crazily forward, stumbled, and atlast pitched down on the ice near the cleft.

  Then his great body rolled over, arms flung wide, and lay still. Andthe face of Pharaoh Shabako stared unseeingly up at the darkeningsky....

  Then, in a flash, understanding came to Wes Craig.

  "Oh, God!" he cried. "The Kundrenaline!"

  He had forgotten completely about the liquid he had infused intoShabako's veins. Its potency, adequate to the tremendous task ofrevitalizing a long-dead heart, had given out--hastened, no doubt, bythe great physical exertions of the man, and made sudden by the returnto the biting air of the ice fields. The liquid was only for emergencyuse, anyway, and supposed to serve for a period of but hours, afterwhich the heart was intended to carry on alone.

  Shabako's heart had not been able to carry on any longer....

  * * * * *

  Wes Craig was afraid to think, afraid almost to look, to see how Taiahad stood the shock. Her sudden weariness became at once all too clearto him....

  Slowly he turned and looked down into the cleft. He saw her--aslender, quiet little figure, flat on the ice by the body of her slainlover.

  He leaped down the slippery bank and ran to her side; knelt there, andgrasped her cold white hand.

  The girl's eyelids were closed, but when he touched her, theyflickered, and a little sigh came from her pallid lips. Then her largeblack eyes, opened and looked up straight into his--and when she sawhim there, she smiled.

  It wrenched the man's heart. "Taia!" he cried. "Taia!"

  She nodded feebly, still smiling, and her lips moved. He bent close.She was whispering something. The words came to him through a greatfear.

  "Take me--take me, O Divine One. Take me with thee to--tothy--heaven.... Canst thou not--take--Taia?"

  With her last bit of quickly ebbing strength, she pressed his hand.Then the fingers went limp in his, and her arm dropped. And hereyelids gently closed....

  Wes's jaws were clenched tightly as he folded her hands across herslim body. "If thy Pharaoh had not made me drop the vial," he murmuredsoftly, "I would again bring thee to life, Taia, and take thee to myheaven.... Though"--with a sad smile, and relapsing intoEnglish--"Times Square would not be quite the heaven you hadpictured...."

  * * * * *

  He stood up. The irony of the thing gripped him, and brought a wrysmile to his tight lips. The body of Inaros, her dead lover, lay ather side; and Shabako's still figure was but feet away. Once againthey were all together in death. The Kundrenaline had pierced theblack veil of their silent tryst and brought them back for a fewfleeting hours; but even modern science could not stand long againstthe weight of twenty years.

  And science would not have another chance with their still bodies.They would quickly be found there by the pursuing Egyptians, and wouldbe gone, already decaying, when he could get back with anothervial....

  A growing murmur of nearby voices brought the silent man back to thepresent. Over the cleft in the ice he saw a string of priests andwarriors speeding towards him. He sighed. It was time to go. There wasmuch he wanted to learn about these people and their strangecivilization, but there was no chance for it now. Perhaps on anothertrip, later.

  He looked a last time on Taia, lying by her lover.

  Then he scrambled up the other bank and ran towards the hillock behindwhich a sleek black monoplane with an eight hundred horse-power motorawaited him....

  * * * * *

  The thing that followed next was never forgotten by the people whoworshipped Aten, the Sun God. It went down in legends; it wasrepeated and repeated, and it grew in the telling. It was awful; itwas magical; it was godlike.

  A great thunder sounded from behind the hillock of ice, a thunder thatpulsed louder and louder, until the people fell down in awe, hardlydaring to look. When they did, they saw a gleaming black form thatstood on queer shafts of wood come gliding with the speed of the windfrom behind the hillock. It straightened out on a stretch of snow,bellowing with a loudness that hammered their eardrums into numbness,and sped lightly along till the queer shafts of wood left the surfaceand the sleek black object soared up into the air.

  Into the air! With frightened eyes they watched it wheel around, andthen come roaring towards them. They fell flat again, and did not dareto look. The thunderous blast passed close over them, then dwindledand dwindled, until they ventured timidly to look up again.

  They saw the shape ringed with sunset fire hurtling through the air,soaring up and up and up ... till it died to a speck ... till itdisappeared into the face of the sun they worshipped as Aten....

  A warrior spoke. His tones were low and awed but they all heard him.

  "Truly," he whispered, "he was a god!..."

  A ONE-BILLIONTH-OF-A-SECOND CAMERA

  Through use of a spectroscopic camera with a shutter which operates inabout one-billionth of a second, physicists at the University ofCalifornia have been able to take pictures of the action of light atvarious periods during the course of an electrical spark which lastsonly one one-hundred-thousandth of a second.

  They have been able to show by photographic evidence that the magneticfield developed by the passage of an electric current across the sparkgap gives the first light emitted a different appearance from thatemitted a few millionths of a second later.

  At the moment that the spark jumps, electricity is released inenormous quantities much as water is released by the breaking of adam. It is this sudden release of the dammed-up current across thespark gap that causes the temporary magnetic field and the differencein the appearance of the light from the spark.

  In answer to those who scoff at the possibility of a camera shutteroperating in a billionth of a second, it was explained that theshutter is not a mechanical device, but operates automatically throughthe application of a physical law of light. In a general way, it mightbe said that the spark takes its own picture.

  The spectroscope camera is set up at one end of a long corridor. Whenthe electrical current jumps across the spark gap it sets up amomentary current in a set of wires running the length of the corrid
orand connected with the camera. This current travels toward the cameraat the rate of about 186,000 miles a second.

  At about the same instant that the current jumps, or an infinitesimalfraction of a second later, the light of the resulting spark startstoward the camera at a trifle more than 186,000 miles a second. It isa race between the spark current and the spark light as to whicharrives first. The current jumps just before the spark appears; so itis possible for the current to reach the camera and close the shuttereven before the light which is to be pictured arrives.

  By lengthening the wires between the spark gap and the camera thelight is allowed to arrive first. By suitable adjustment of thewiring, the shutter can be made to close during any one-billionth of asecond interval during the first four ten-millionths of a second ofthe spark's short life.

  The camera shutter consists of two Nicol prisms of Iceland spar andbalsam, arranged in such a way that under ordinary conditions thelight coming from the spark is stopped by polarization and preventedfrom reaching the camera. Between these two prisms, however, is asolution of chemicals which will depolarize the light and allow it tocontinue.

  The wires leading from the spark gap connect with this solution. Whenthe current jumps across the gap it races down the corridor andelectrifies the solution for about one-billionth of a second. Thiselectrification removes the depolarizing effects of the solution andlight passage stops; in other words, the shutter is closed.