Ardath by Marie Corelli (reading in the dark .txt) 📖

apparently startled by the sound, the tigress rose up from its couchant posture, and shaking itself with a snarling yawn, glared watchfully at the convulsed human wretch whose struggles became with each moment more and more frightful to witness. The impassive, cold-blooded calmness with which all the men present, even Sahluma, looked on at the revolting spectacle of their late comrade’s torture, filled Theos with shuddering abhorrence, … sick at heart, he strove to turn away his eyes from the straining throat and upturned face of the miserable Nirjalis,—a face that had a moment or two before been beautiful, but was now so disfigured as to be almost beyond recognition.

Presently as the anguish of the poisoned victim increased, shriek after shriek broke from his pallid lips, . . rolling himself on the ground like a wild beast, he bit his hands and arms in his frenzy till he was covered with blood, … and again and yet again the dulcet laughter of the High Priestess echoed through the length and breadth of the splendid hall,—and even Sahluma, the poet Sahluma, condescended to smile! That smile, so cold, so cruel, so unpitying, made Theos for a moment hate him, . . of what use, he thought, was it, to be a writer of soft and delicate verse, if the inner nature of the man was merciless, selfish, and utterly regardless of the woes of others? … The rest of the guests were profoundly indifferent,—they kept silence, it is true, … but they went on drinking their wine with perfectly unabated enjoyment.. they were evidently accustomed to such scenes. The attendant slaves stood all mute and motionless, with the exception of Gazra, who surveyed the torments of Nirjalis with an air of professional interest, and appeared to be waiting till they should have reached that pitch of excruciating agony when Nature, exhausted, gives up the conflict and welcomes death as a release from pain.

 

But this desirable end was not yet. Suddenly springing to his feet, Nirjalis tore open his richly jewelled vest, and pressed his two hands hard upon his heart, … the veins in his flesh were swollen and blue,—his labored breath seemed as though it must break his ribs in its terrible, panting struggle,—his face, livid and lined with purple marks like heavy bruises, bore not a single trace of its former fairness, … and his eyes, rolled up and fixed glassily in their quivering sockets, seemed to be dreadfully filled with the speechless memory of his lately spoken curse. He staggered toward Theos, and dropped heavily on his knees, . .

 

“Kill me!” he moaned piteously, feebly pointing to the sheathed dagger in the other’s belt. “In mercy! … Kill me! … One thrust! … release me! … this agony is more than I can bear, … Kill … Kill. … !”

 

His voice died away in an inarticulate, gasping cry,—and Theos stared down upon him in dizzy fear and horror! For…HE HAD SEEN

THIS SAME NIR-JALIS DYING THUS CRUELLY BEFORE! Oh God! … where, —where had this tragedy been previously enacted? Bewildered and overcome with unspeakable dread, he drew his dagger—he would at least, he thought, put the tortured sufferer out of his misery, … but scarcely had his weapon left the sheath, when Lysia’s clear, cold voice exclaimed:

 

“Disarm him!” and with the silent rapidity of a lightning-flash, Gazra glided to his side, and the steel was snatched from his hand. Full of outraged pride and wrath, he sprang up, a torrent of words rushing to his lips, but before he could utter one, two slaves pounced upon him, and holding his arms, dexterously wound a silk scarf tight about his mouth.

 

“Be silent!” whispered some one in his ear,—“As you value your life and the life of Sahluma,—be silent!”

 

But he cared nothing for this warning, . . reckless of consequences, he tore the scarf away and breaking loose from the hands that held him, made a bound toward Lysia … here he paused. Her eyes met his languidly, shedding a sombre, mysterious light upon him through the black shower of her abundant hair, … the evil glitter of the great Symbolic Gem she wore fixed him with its stony yet mesmeric luster … a delicious smile parted her roseate lips,—and breaking off a magnolia-bud from the cluster she held, she kissed and gave it to him…

 

“Be at peace, good Theos!” she said in a low, tender tone, . .

“Beware of taking up arms in the defence of the unworthy, . . rather reserve thy courage for those who know how best to reward thy service!”

 

As one in a trance he took the flower she offered,—its fragrance, subtle and sweet, seemed to steal into his veins. and rob his manhood of all strength, … sinking submissively at her feet he gazed up at her in wondering wistfulness and ardent admiration, . .

never was there a woman so bewilderingly beautiful as she! What were the sufferings of Nirjalis now? … what was anything compared to the strangely enervating ecstasy he felt in letting his eyes dwell fondly on the fairness of her face, the whiteness of her half-veiled bosom, the delicate, sheeny dazzle of her polished skin, the soft and supple curves of her whole exquisite form, . . and spellbound by the witchery of her loveliness, he almost forgot the very presence of her dying victim. Occasionally indeed, he glanced at the agonized creature where he lay huddled on the ground in the convulsive throes of his dreadful death-struggle,—but it was now with precisely the same quiet and disdainful smile as that for which he had momentarily hated Sahluma! There was a sound of singing somewhere,—singing that had a mirthful under-throbbing in it, as though a thousand light-footed fairies were dancing to its sweet refrain! And Nirjalis heard it!

… dying inch by inch as he was, he heard it, and with a last superhuman effort forced himself up once more to his feet, … his arms stiffly outstretched, . . his anguished eyes full of a softened, strangely piteous glory.

 

“To die!” he whispered in awed accents that penetrated the air with singular clearness—“To die! … nay…not so! … There is no death! … I see it all! … I know! … .To die is to live!

… to live again.. and to remember…to remember,—and repent, . .

the past!”

 

And with the last word he fell heavily, face forward, a corpse. At the same moment a terrific roar resounded through the dome, and the tigress Aizif sprang stealthily down from the dais, and pounced upon the warm, lifeless body, mounting guard over it in an ominously significant attitude, with glistening eyes, lashing tail and nervously quivering claws. A slight thrill of horror ran through the company, but not a man moved.

 

“Aizif!—Aizif!” called Lysia imperiously.

 

The animal looked round with an angry snarl, and seemed for once disposed to disobey the summons of its mistress. She therefore rose from her throne, and stepping forward with a swift, agile grace, caught the savage beast by the neck, and dragged it from its desired prey. Then, with the point of her little, silver-sandaled foot, she turned the fallen face of the dead man slightly round, so that she might observe it more attentively, and noting its livid disfigurement, smiled.

 

“So much for the beauty and dignity of manhood!” she said with a contemptuous shrug of her snowy shoulders,—“All perished in the space of a few brief moments! Look you, ye fair sirs that take pride in your strength and muscular attainments! … Ye shall not find in all Al-Kyris a fairer face or more nobly knit frame than was possessed by this dead fool, Nirjalis, and yet, lo!—how the Silver Nectar doth make havoc on the sinews of adamant, the nerves of steel, the stalwart limbs! Tried by the touchstone of Death, ye are, with all your vaunted intelligence, your domineering audacity and self-love, no better than the slain dogs that serve vultures for carrion! …—moreover, ye are less than dogs in honesty, and vastly shamed by them in fidelity!”

 

She laughed scornfully as she spoke, still grasping the tigress by the neck in one slight hand,—and her glorious eyes flashed a mocking defiance on all the men assembled. Their countenances exhibited various expressions of uneasiness amounting to fear, . .

some few smiled forcedly, others feigned a careless indifference, . . Sahluma flushed an angry red, and Theos, though he knew not why, felt a sudden pricking sense of shame. She marked all these signs of disquietude with apparently increasing amusement, for her lovely face grew warm and radiant with suppressed, malicious mirth. She made a slight imperative gesture of command to Gazra, who at once approached, and, bending over the dead Nirjalis, proceeded to strip off all the gold clasps and valuable jewels that had so lavishly adorned the illfated young man’s attire,—then beckoning another slave nearly as tall and muscular as himself, they attached to the neck and feet of the corpse round, leaden, bullet-shaped weights, fastened by means of heavy iron chains. This done, they raised the body from the floor and carried it between them to the central and largest casement of all that stood open to the midnight air, and with a dexterous movement flung it out into the waters of the lake beneath. It fell with a sullen splash, the pale lilies on the surface rocking stormily to and fro as though blown by a gust of wind, while great circling ripples shone softly in the yellow gleam of the moonlight, as the dead man sank down, down, down like a stone into his crystal-quiet grave.

 

Lysia returned to her throne with a serene step and unruffled brow, followed by the sulky and disappointed Aizif, . . smiling gently on Theos and Sahluma she reseated herself, and touched a small bell at her side. It gave a sharp kling-klang like a suddenly struck cymbal—and lo! … the marble floor yawned asunder, and the banquet-table with all its costly fruits and flowers vanished underground with the swiftness of lightning! The floor closed again, . . the broad, circular centre-space of the hall was now clear from all obstruction,—and the company of revellers roused themselves a little from their drowsy postures of half-inebriated languor. The singing voices that had stirred Nirjalis to sudden animation even in his dying agony, sounded nearer and nearer, and the globe of fire overhead changed its hue from that of crimson to a delicate pink. At the extreme end of the glittering vista of pale-green, transparent columns, a door suddenly opened, and a flock of doves came speeding forth, their white, spread wings colored softly in the clear rose-radiance,—

they circled round and round the dome three times, then fluttered in a palpitating arch over Lysia’s head, and finally sped straight across the hall to the other end, where they streamed snowily through another aperture and disappeared. Still nearer rippled the sound of singing, . . and all at once a troop of girls came dancing noiselessly as fire-flies into the full, quivering pinkness of the jewel-like light that floated about them, . . girls as lovely, as delicate, as dainty as cyclamens that wave in the woods in the early days of an Italian spring. Their garments were so white, so transparent, so filmy and clinging, that they looked like elves robed in mountain-vapor rather than human creatures, . . there were fifty of them in all, and as they tripped forward, they, like the doves that had heralded their approach, surrounded Lysia flutteringly, saluting her with gestures of exquisite grace and devout humility, while she, enthroned in supreme fairness, with her tigress crouched beside her, looked down on them like a goddess calmly surveying a crowd of vestal worshippers. Their salutations done, they