The Face in the Abyss, Abraham Merritt [important of reading books .txt] 📗

stone that glistened beneath the moon as though its rays were falling spray. Her grotesque face grinned at him above the .exquisite shoulders and breasts. Beside her gaped the cavern’s mouth, inky black.

He was at the inner edge of an immense platform of smooth stone. Directly opposite him, a half-mile across the lake, was the secret city.

More than ever, under the moon, did it seem a city built by Djinns. It was larger, far larger, than he had thought it. Its palaces thrust up their fantastic turrets and domes; their gay colorings as of lacquer of jewels were changed and softened into a tapestry that spread for mile upon mile, an immense rug each of whose irised patterns was surrounded by arabesques of dark green, and black, and white, the foliage and flowers of the trees that circled the dwellings. From minaret and tower and dome sprang tiny arches of light, delicate moon-bows, spanning them like bridges. In the air, above the green and black, and threading them, tiny dancing lights flashed and vanished and flashed out again, fireflies, he thought, playing among the trees. At the right, looking down upon the city, was the Temple, vestal white, majestic, serene. .

Somewhere within it might be—Suarra! Perhaps she would not be able to meet him here after all. With half his mind he hoped that she would not, for Huon’s farewell still echoed in his heart, and he feared for her. And half

his mind willed fiercely that she should come—let the perils be what they may.

There was a rustle close beside him. A little hand caught his. He looked down into soft dark eyes, a tress of cloudy hair kissed his cheek, rocking him with its fragrance.

“Suarra!” he whispered, and again—“Suarra!”

“Graydon!” her sweet voice murmured. “You did come

back to me—beloved!”

Her arms were around his neck, her lips were close to his, and slowly, slowly, they drew closer. They met, and clung—and for a time there were no such things in all the world as peril or suffering, sorrow or death.

CHAPTER XIV. Shadow of the Lizard Mask

THE SHADOW of the Frogwoman, sharply outlined by the moonlight, lay in fantastic profile from side to side of the great platform. Behind them was the blackness of her cavern, and between them and the city the lake shone like a vast silver mirror, waveless, no sign of life upon it. Below the platform, the Indians watched. The Frogwoman’s head seemed to bend lower, listening to their whispering.

“Graydon! Graydon!” Suarra was weeping. “You should not have returned! Oh, but it was wicked of me to call you back!”

“Nonsense!” rumbled Regor. “You love each other, don’t you? Well, then, what else was there for him to do? Besides, he has made strong friends—Huon and Black Regor, and one stronger than all of us, or by Riza the Lightning Eater he wouldn’t be here! I mean the Mother herself. Child,” he said slyly, “has she instructed you how to take him back to her?”

“Ah, Regor,” sighed Suarra, “far from it It is what weighs so upon my heart. For when I received your message I told her straightway of it, and asked her aid, but told her also that with it or without it, still must I go. She only nodded, and said: ‘Naturally—since you are woman.’ Then after a little silence she spoke again: ‘Go, Suarra— no harm shall come to you.’ ‘I ask protection for him, Mother,’ I said, and she did not answer. And I asked:

‘Mother Adana, will you not summon him to you through me, so that none will dare harm him?’ The Mother shook her head: ‘If he loves you he will find his own way to me.’”

“No one saw you? No one followed you?” questioned Regor.

“No,” said Suarra, “no, I’m quite sure they did not. We went through the Hall of the Weavers, and into the secret way that leads beneath the cataract, thence out and by the hidden path along the shore.”

“You came silently? You heard nothing, saw nothing, as you passed the first cavern?”

“Very silently,” she answered. “And as for the cavern, the path dips far below it, so that one can neither see it nor be seen from it. And I heard nothing—nothing but the voice of the torrent.”

“Where was Lantlu?” Regor still did not seem satisfied.

“They fed the Xinli tonight!” she said, and shivered.

“Then,” said Regor with satisfaction, “we know at least where he is.”

“Well,” Graydon spoke, “the upshot of the matter seems to be that much depends upon my doing obeisance in person to the Mother. And she has put it severely up to me to accomplish that—”

“Graydon,” Suarra interrupted softly, “there is another way for us. If you wish it—I will go with you to Huon! I love the Mother. But if you wish it—I will not return to her. I will go with you to the Fellowship. This will I do for you, beloved. I would not have you meet any of the deaths of YuAtlanchi, and I think they throng thickly about your path to Adana. With Huon, we can live and be happy—for a time at least.”

Now Graydon heard Regor gasp at this, and felt that he waited with anxiety for his answer, although he said nothing. He was tempted. After all, there was a way out for them from Huon’s lair. And once beyond the barrier, it was probable that the Snake Mother would hold back her hand, not loose the winged Watchers upon them—for Suarra’s sake. And if he could get Suarra safely away, what did he care about YuAtlanchi or any who dwelt within it?

Swiftly, other thoughts came. The Mother had aided him, not once but twice. She had saved him from the Face! She had bade her Messengers protect and guide him.

She had challenged his loyalty and his courage. And she had shown that in some measure she trusted him.

And then there was—this Dark One! This Shadow of Nimir, Lord of Evil, which menaced her… Huon and the Fellowship, who also had trusted him… and Regor… pinning his hopes upon his meeting with the Serpentwoman to rid the land of evil and to deliver them all from outlawry.

No, he could not run from all this, not even for Suarra! He told her so. And why.

He felt Regor relax. He had the curious feeling that in some way that weirdly beautiful, unhuman creature named Adana had been following his thoughts, approved his decision, and because of it had come to some final determination of her own which till now had hung in the balance.

Nor did Suarra seem much surprised. So little that he wondered whether that proposal had been her own devising.

“Well,” she said, quietly, “then we must make some other plan. And I have thought of. one. Listen carefully, Regor. In seven nights the moon is full and on that night is the Ladnophaxi—the Feast of the Dream-Makers. All will be at the amphitheater. There will be few guards in the city. Take Graydon back to Huon. On the fifth night from this, slip out of the lair and around the head of the lake and through the marshes. Let Graydon be dressed as one of the Emer, stain his face and body, make him a black wig cut as the Emer wear their hair. His gray eyes we cannot change, and so must risk.

“You know the palace of Cadok. He is secret foe of Lantlu and friend of Huon, and of you—but that I need not tell you. Get Graydon there. Cadok will hide him until the night of the Ladnophaxi. I will send a guide to be trusted. That guide will lead him to the Temple—and so he shall find his way to the Mother. And it shall be by his courage and wit; For it will take courage. And was it not his wit that rejected my proposal to him. So shall the terms of the Mother be fulfilled.”

“It is a good plan!” rumbled Regor. “By the Mother, it is as good a plan as though it came from her! Thus shall it be. And now, Suarra, prepare to go. You have been

here long—and at every heartbeat fear creeps closer to me, and I am little used to fear.”

“It is a good plan,” said Graydon. “And, heart of hearts, go now as Regor bids. For I, too, fear for you.”

Her soft arms were round his neck, her lips on his, he felt her cheeks wet with tears.

“Beloved!” she whispered, and again—“Beloved!” And she was gone.

“Hr-r-r-mp!” Regor drew a great sigh of relief. “Well, the path grows clearer. Now is there nothing for us to do but return and wait the fifth night. And begin to stain you up,” he chuckled.

“Wait!” Graydon was listening with all his nerves. “Wait, Regor! There might be danger… she might be waylaid. Listen….”

For several minutes they stood quiet, and heard no sound.

“She’s safe enough,” grumbled Regor at last. “You heard her say the Mother promised her. But we’re not,

lad. Our path back is just as dangerous as it was coming. Let’s start….”

He whistled softly to the watching guards. They came gliding back upon the platform. Graydon, deep in thought, followed abstractedly with his eyes the fantastic profile of the Frogwoman’s shadow. The moon had moved higher in the heavens, and cast a sharp shadow of the colossal head upon the smooth face of rock that was the beginning of the cavern’s farther wall. He stared at it, awakened from his abstraction, fascinated by its grotesqueness.

And as he watched he saw appear beside it another shadow—the shadow of a gigantic lizard head that crept closer to it. He turned to trace it.

Out from the cliff at the level of the Frogwoman’s shoulder peered the head of a lizardman—an immense ‘ head twice at least the size of any he had seen. Its red eyes :

glared down at him, its great jaws opened. .

“Regor!” he cried, and reached to his belt for his auto- , matic. “Regor! Look!” ‘

There was a sickening reek of musk around him. Claws < gripped his ankles and threw him to the rock. As he fell, |

the thing whose head had cast the shadow slid down the face of the stone—and he saw that its body was that of a man! Knew that it was a man, and the head but a mask!

He grappled with the creature that had thrown him. He heard Regor shouting. His fingers clutched and slipped from the leathery skin. Its jaws were so close that the fetid breath sickened him. And while he fought it, he wondered why it did not tear him with its fangs. His hand touched the hilt of the short sword in his belt. He drew it, and thrust the point haphazard upward. The lizardman screeched, and rolled from him.

As he struggled to his feet, he saw that he had been drawn yards back into the cavern. On the platform was Regor, his deadly bar smiting up and down and around, mowing the hissing pack of the lizard-folk milling about

him. Beside the giant were but two of Huon’s Indians, fighting as desperately as he.

At the edge of the platform stood the man in the lizard mask. Around him, guarding him, was a ring of Indians dressed in kilts of green. He was laughing and that sound

of human laughter coming through the ranged jaws was hideous.

“Caught!” shouted the lizard mask. “Trapped, old fox! Kill—but you’ll not be killed! Not here, Regor! Not here!” “Graydon!” bellowed Regor. “To me, Graydon!” “Coming!” he cried, and leaped forward. There was a rain of bodies upon him, leathery bodies.

Clawed hands gripped him. He fought desperately to keep