rh.conanthewarrior-第30部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　The　walls　threw　back　his　voice　mockingly。　There　was　no　entrance　that　he　could　see　except　the　golden　door；　and　none　could　have　entered　or　departed　through　that　without　his　knowledge。　This　much　was　indisputable：　Yelaya　had　been　replaced　on　the　dais　within　the　few　minutes　that　had　elapsed　since　Muriela　had　first　left　the　chamber　to　be　seized　by　Gwarunga；　his　ears　were　still　tingling　with　the　echoes　of　Muriela's　scream；　yet　the　Corinthian　girl　had　vanished　as　if　into　thin　air。　There　was　but　one　explanation；　if　he　rejected　the　darker　speculation　that　suggested　the　supernatural…somewhere　in　the　chamber　there　was　a　secret　door。　And　even　as　the　thought　crossed　his　mind；　he　saw　it。
　　In　what　had　seemed　a　curtain　of　solid　marble；　a　thin　perpendicular　crack　showed　and　in　the　crack　hung　a　wisp　of　silk。　In　an　instant　he　was　bending　over　it。　That　shred　was　from　Muriela's　torn　skirt。　The　implication　was　unmistakable。　It　had　been　caught　in　the　closing　door　and　torn　off　as　she　was　borne　through　the　opening　by　whatever　grim　beings　were　her　captors。　The　bit　of　clothing　had　prevented　the　door　from　fitting　perfectly　into　its　frame。
　　Thrusting　his　dagger…point　into　the　crack；　Conan　exerted　leverage　with　a　corded　forearm。　The　blade　bent；　but　it　was　of　unbreakable　Akbitanan　steel。　The　marble　door　opened。　Conan's　sword　was　lifted　as　he　peered　into　the　aperture　beyond；　but　he　saw　no　shape　of　menace。　Light　filtering　into　the　oracle　chamber　revealed　a　short　flight　of　steps　cut　out　of　marble。　Pulling　the　door　back　to　its　fullest　extent；　he　drove　his　dagger　into　a　crack　in　the　floor；　proping　it　open。　Then　he　went　down　the　steps　without　hesitation。　He　saw　nothing；　heard　nothing。　A　dozen　steps　down；　the　stair　ended　in　a　narrow　corridor　which　ran　straight　away　into　gloom。
　　He　halted　suddenly；　posed　like　a　statue　at　the　foot　of　the　stair；　staring　at　the　paintings　which　frescoed　the　walls；　half　visible　in　the　dim　light　which　filtered　down　from　above。　The　art　was　unmistakably　Pelishti；　he　had　seen　frescoes　of　identical　characteristics　on　the　walls　of　Asgalun。　But　the　scenes　depicted　had　no　connection　with　anything　Pelishti；　except　for　one　human　figure；　frequently　recurrent：　a　lean；　white…bearded　old　man　whose　racial　characteristics　were　unmistakable。　They　seemed　to　represent　various　sections　of　the　palace　above。　Several　scenes　showed　a　chamber　he　recognized　as　the　oracle　chamber　with　the　figure　of　Yelaya　stretched　upon　the　ivory　dais　and　huge　black　men　kneeling　before　it。　And　there　behind　the　wall；　in　the　niche；　lurked　the　ancient　Pelishti。　And　there　were　other　figures；　too…figures　that　moved　through　the　deserted　palace；　did　the　bidding　of　the　Pelishti；　and　dragged　unnamable　things　out　of　the　subterranean　river。　In　the　few　seconds　Conan　stood　frozen；　hitherto　unintelligible　phrases　in　the　parchment　manuscript　blazed　in　his　brain　with　chilling　clarity。　The　loose　bits　of　the　patern　clicked　into　place。　The　mystery　of　Bit…Yakin　was　a　mystery　no　longer；　nor　the　riddle　of　Bit…Yakin's　servants。
　　Conan　turned　and　peered　into　the　darkness；　an　icy　finger　crawling　along　his　spine。　Then　he　went　along　the　corridor；　cat…footed；　and　without　hesitation；　moving　deeper　and　deeper　into　the　darkness　as　he　drew　farther　away　from　the　stair。　The　air　hung　heavy　with　the　odor　he　had　scented　in　the　court　of　the　gong。
　　Now　in　utter　blackness　he　heard　a　sound　ahead　of　him…the　shuffle　of　bare　feet；　or　the　swish　of　loose　garments　against　stone；　he　could　not　tell　which。　But　an　instant　later　his　outstretched　hand　encountered　a　barrier　which　he　identified　as　a　massive　door　of　carved　metal。　He　pushed　against　it　fruitlessly；　and　his　sword…point　sought　vainly　for　a　crack。　It　fitted　into　the　sill　and　jambs　as　if　molded　there。　He　exerted　all　his　strength；　his　feet　straining　against　the　floor；　the　veins　knotting　in　his　temples。　It　was　useless；　a　charge　of　elephants　would　scarcely　have　shaken　that　titanic　portal。
　　As　he　leaned　there　he　caught　a　sound　on　the　other　side　that　his　ears　instantly　identified…it　was　the　creak　of　rusty　iron；　like　a　lever　scraping　in　its　slot。　Instinctively　action　followed　recognition　so　spontaneously　that　sound；　impulse　and　action　were　practically　simultaneous。　And　as　his　prodigious　bound　carried　him　backward；　there　was　the　rush　of　a　great　bulk　from　above；　and　a　thunderous　crash　filled　the　tunnel　with　deafening　vibrations。　Bits　of　flying　splinters　struck　him…a　huge　block　of　stone；　he　knew　from　the　sound；　dropped　on　the　spot　he　had　just　quitted。　An　instant's　slower　thought　or　action　and　it　would　have　crushed　him　like　an　ant。
　　Conan　fell　back。　Somewhere　on　the　other　side　of　that　metal　door　Muriela　was　a　captive；　if　she　still　lived。　But　he　could　not　pass　that　door；　and　if　he　remained　in　the　tunnel　another　block　might　fall；　and　he　might　not　be　so　lucky。　It　would　do　the　girl　no　good　for　him　to　be　crushed　into　a　purple　pulp。　He　could　not　continue　his　search　in　that　direction。　He　must　get　above　ground　and　look　for　some　other　avenue　of　approach。
　　He　turned　and　hurried　toward　the　stair；　sighing　as　he　emerged　into　parative　radiance。　And　as　he　set　foot　on　the　first　step；　the　light　was　blotted　out；　and　above　him　the　marble　door　rushed　shut　with　a　resounding　reverberation。
　　Something　like　panic　seized　the　Cimmerian　then；　trapped　in　that　black　tunnel；　and　he　wheeled　on　the　stair；　lifting　his　sword　and　glaring　murderously　into　the　darkness　behind　him；　expecting　a　rush　of　ghoulish　assailants。　But　there　was　no　sound　or　movement　down　the　tunnel。　Did　the　men　beyond　the　door…if　they　were　men…believe　that　he　had　been　disposed　of　by　the　fall　of　the　stone　from　the　roof；　which　had　undoubtedly　been　released　by　some　sort　of　machinery？
　　Then　why　had　the　door　been　shut　above　him？　Abandoning　speculation；　Conan　groped　his　way　up　the　steps；　his　skin　crawling　in　anticipation　of　a　knife　in　his　back　at　every　stride；　yearning　to　drown　his　semi…panic　in　a　barbarous　burst　of　bloodletting。
　　He　thrust　against　the　door　at　the　top；　and　cursed　soulfully　to　find　that　it　did　not　give　to　his　efforts。　Then　as　he　lifted　his　sword　with　his　right　hand　to　hew　at　the　marble；　his　groping　left　encountered　a　metal　bolt　that　evidently　slipped　into　place　at　the　closing　of　the　door。　In　an　instant　he　had　drawn　this　bolt；　and　then　the　door　gave　to　his　shove。　He　bounded　into　the　chamber　like　a　slit…eyed；　snarling　incarnation　of　fury；　ferociously　desirous　to　e　to　grips　with　whatever　enemy　was　hounding　him。
　　The　dagger　was　gone　from　the　floor。　The　chamber　was　empty；　and　so　was　the　dais。　Yelaya　had　again　vanished。
　　〃By　Crom！〃　muttered　the　Cimmerian。　〃Is　she　alive；　after　all？〃
　　He　strode　out　into　the　throne　room；　baffled；　and　then；　struck　by　a　sudden　thought；　stepped　behind　the　throne　and　peered　into　the　alcove。　There　was　blood　on　the　smooth　marble　where　he　had　cast　down　the　senseless　body　of　Gwarunga…that　was　all。　The　black　man　had　vanished　as　pletely　as　Yelaya。
　　
　　
　　　4。　　The　Teeth　of　Gwahlur
　　
　　Baffled　wrath　confused　the　brain　of　Conan　the　Cimmerian。　He　knew　no　more　how　to　go　about　searching　for　Muriela　than　he　had　known　how　to　go　about　searching　for　the　Teeth　of　Gwahlur。　Only　one　thought　occurred　to　him…to　follow　the　priests。　Perhaps　at　the　hiding…place　of　the　treasure　some　clue　would　be　revealed　to　him。　It　was　a　slim　chance；　but　better　than　wandering　about　aimlessly。
　　As　he　hurried　through　the　great　shadowy　hall　that　led　to　the　portico　he　half　expected　the　lurking　shadows　to　e　to　life　behind　him　with　rending　fangs　and　talons。　But　only　the　beat　of　his　own　rapid　heart　acpanied　him　into　the　moonlight　that　dappled　the　shimmering　marble。
　　At　the　foot　of　the　wide　steps　he　cast　about　in　the　bright　moonlight　for　some　sight　to　show　him　the　direction　he　must　go。　And　he　found　it…petals　scattered　on　the　sward　told　where　an　arm　or　garment　had　brushed　against　a　blossom…laden　branch。　Grass　had　been　pressed　down　under　heavy　feet。　Conan；　who　had　tracked　wolves　in　his　native　hills；　found　no　insurmountable　difficulty　in　following　the　trail　of　the　Keshani　priests。
　　It　led　away　from　the　palace；　through　masses　of　exotic…scented　shrubbery　where　great　pale　blossoms　spread　their　shimmering　petals；　through　verdant；　tangled　bushes　that　showered　blooms　at　the　touch；　until　he　came　at