The Face in the Abyss by Abraham Merritt (ebook e reader .TXT) 📖

have gone with that head … damned if he could see what was gained by saddling Nimir with that monstrosity … Nimir had worked long enough for proper clothes … a woman’s trick … it wasn’t decent fighting….

Suddenly he was aware that Nimir’s eyes were upon him, that he had read his thoughts.

“You and I are not so far apart after all, Graydon!” said the Lord of Evil, with all that alluring sweetness which he had fought when battling against him as the Shadow on the jet throne.

It brought Graydon back with a jolt. After all, what business had he pitying Nimir! It was his business to get Suarra out of peril—save himself if he could!

The cold eyes of the Lord of Evil were bluer, there was friendliness in them—real or assumed.

“I must talk with you, Graydon.”

“I know it,” said Graydon, grimly. “And it will be right here, Nimir. And now.”

The Lord of Evil smiled, and the smile lightened the dark power throned upon his face, gave it something of that dangerous attraction Which lived in the sweetness of his voice. Graydon felt the spell, and braced himself against it.

“Get up, Lantlu. Do not go from here until I permit you. See that you do nothing to interrupt us. I warn you—and for the last time!”

Lantlu arose leisurely, gave Graydon and Suarra an indifferent glance, sauntered over to his couch, dropped beside the woman there and drew her arm around his neck. It was rather well done, Graydon thought, grudgingly.

The Lord of Evil shambled toward him. He felt Suarra’s uncontrollable shudder. And when he was within a halfdozen paces, Graydon drew Regor’s poniard, set its point on the girl’s breast, over her heart.

“Stop there, Nimir,” he said. “That is close enough. And hear me first. I know what you want. I am willing to discuss it. If we cannot agree, and if I am convinced we cannot escape, I will kill Suarra. She would have it so. Is that not true, Suarra?”

“It is true, beloved,” she answered, tranquilly.

“I will then,” continued Graydon, “do my best against you with this—” he touched the rifle—“If I find I can’t stop you, I’ll use my last bullet to blow my own head off. And that, I think, you won’t like. But I’ll do it. I mean it, Nimir.”

The Lord of Evil smiled again.

“I believe you. And that is, as you surmise, the last thing I would like to see happen. Nor will it be necessary—if you are reasonable.”

“My mind is wide open,” said Graydon, “but only to your words. You understand me?”

The Lord of Evil bowed, then looked at him for a time without speaking. A feeling of unreality stole over Graydon. He felt as though he were in some play, a dream play in which he ran no real risks; that he could pick his own lines, mold his situations. He lost entirely the sense of grimmest reality that had held every nerve and muscle taut as drawn bow strings. And, oddly, that feeling of the unreal buoyed him, filled him with a heady recklessness—nor did it occur to him—then—that the Lord of Evil might be responsible for all that.

“Neither of you can escape—unless I let you,” said Nimir. “You cannot harm me, nor can those servants of Adana whom I see hovering. That is truth, Graydon. This shape of

mine, built as it was, is not in any manner like yours. Material, yes—in a way. Send your missiles through it, plunge your poniard into it—they cannot harm me. If you do not believe me—try it, Graydon.”

He plucked open his cloak, revealing the distorted barrel of his chest, and stood waiting. Graydon raised the rifle, minded for the moment to accept the challenge. He dropped it—useless to waste the cartridge, Nimir spoke truth—

“But you,” the Lord of Evil covered his monstrous torso, “you and Suarra I can destroy. Oh, very easily. Yet here once more we are at stalemate—since I want you, Graydon—let us say, intact.”

“You made that quite clear once before,” said Graydon curtly. “Well—then what?”

“A better bargain for you than if that wilful fool had not spoiled my plan,” answered Nimir. “And not alone because by doing so he has put it in your immediate power to make yourself—uninhabitable. No—quite as much because of a certain thought you had of me and the Snakewoman not so long ago. It has been so long since any one has thought kindly of me,” said Nimir, and laughed—“I find it oddly pleasant.”

“The bargain?” said Graydon, impatiently.

“Quite so,” went on the Lord of Evil, gently. “I never intended this shape of mine to be—permanent. Even if it had not been marred, it would still have been but—temporary. No, Graydon, I much prefer good human flesh and blood, which, adequately treated, can be made to last forever. And, as I have told you, as you remind me, rather often, I much prefer yours. Therefore, I will send Suarra and you safely back to the Temple—yes, even with a guard of honor—if—”

“I was waiting for the—if,” said Graydon.

“If you will promise me, should I win the coming battle, that you will come to me of your own free will and, after I have cast aside these present coverings, let me enter as permanent tenant of that body of yours—I mean, of course, as co-tenant, I renew, in short, my offer of sharing your habitation with you without crowding or other molestation,” smiled the Lord of Evil.

“Fair enough,” said Graydon, unhesitatingly. “I agree.”

“No, beloved, no!” cried Suarra, and clung to him. “Better death for both—”

“I don’t think he will win, darling,” said Graydon; the heady recklessness was stronger within him … it was a damned sight better dicker than he had expected . .. rather a sporting proposition … he didn’t believe Nimir could win… even if he did—well, he, Graydon, was strong … he could fight this companion once he was seated in his brain beside him … control him … make him sick of his bargain … and, at the worst, life would be interesting—to put it mildly … hell, where were those ideas coming from? … why was he thinking like that?… weakening… no matter, he had to save Suarra … he had to save Suarra … it was the only way!

“I know I will win,” said the Lord of Evil, softly. “You know it, too, don’t you, Graydon!”

“No!” said Graydon, and slipped away from that spell of helpless acquiescence which had stolen over him. He drew a deep breath, all recklessness and sense of the unreal gone, bitter anger and a fierce determination taking their place. “No, I don’t know it, Nimir. And don’t cast any more of that sorcery of yours around me—or I may decide to end things right here and now. Let it stand! I agree! Now let us go!”

“Good!” the Lord of Evil laughed, the sweetness that had laden the whisperings of the Shadow strong in that laughter, “now would you make me even more determined to win, Graydon, did I not know that my victory is certain. There is only one more detail. I will not demand that you remain within the Temple during my little debate with the Snakewoman. Indeed—I do not think you would be able to,” he looked at Graydon with a sparkle of amusement in the pale eyes—“But now that I have such a personal interest in you, it is surely within my rights to insist that every precaution be taken to keep—well, to employ a polite phrase—to keep my stake in the contract in usable condition! Therefore, you shall wear—this—”

He took from his girdle a broad collar of faintly gleaming red metal, stepped forward with it in his hand. “What is it?” asked Graydon, suspiciously. “Something that will keep certain powerful servants of

mine from killing you,” answered the Lord of Evil, “if and when you are shaken out of the Temple. I don’t mind your telling Adana that. She will be fully aware of what I mean when she sees it. Really, it gives you quite an advantage. I waive that, however—for broader considerations. Come,” into his voice crept implacable command—“it is necessary. It gives me no power over you, if that is what you fear. But until you wear it—the girl cannot go.”

Graydon bent his head, felt the touch of the misshapen fingers on his throat, heard the click as they fastened the collar around his neck—heard Suarra sobbing.

“And now,” said the Lord of Evil, “for your escort back to Adana—so anxiously trying to see what is happening to you! So furious because she cannot! Follow me.”

He shambled to the doorway. Hand in hand, they followed him, through the broken ring of the silent, staring nobles, past the hideous body of the lizardman and the Emers whom the winged-serpents had slain. As Graydon passed, he heard the pinions of those unseen guardians above their heads. He stifled an impulse to send them darting at Lantlu.

The Lord of Evil leading, they passed out of that chamber into a great hall filled with the Emer soldiers and with nobles who shrank back as Nimir squattered by—shrank back and let them pass and kept lips closed and faces expressionless. Only, he noted, they looked furtively at the dully gleaming collar that fettered his throat—and over some of their faces quick pallor spread.

They came at last to the entrance to the palace. The Lord of Evil beckoned a captain, and gave swift orders. A double litter was brought, borne by eight strong green-kilted bearers. Into it, courteously, Nimir waved them.

The bearers raised the litter, a score of the soldiers led by another Indian officer, surrounded it. The doors swung open, and through them marched their escort.

“Until we meet again,” smiled the Lord of Evil.

“May it be never!” answered Graydon, whole-heartedly.

“I look forward to many pleasant centuries together!” said the Lord of Evil—and laughed.

That laughter, still ringing in his ears, they entered theshadows of the trees. In the hands of the guards shone out

flambeaux of clear white light. And suddenly Suarra thrust arms round his neck, drew his head down upon her soft breast.

“Graydon—Graydon, beloved—I am afraid! I am greatly afraid! It was too great a price, beloved! Better, far better, had I slain myself before you came! But I did not know … I hoped … until it was too late, and they fettered me .. . and then I could not kill myself….”

Well—so was he afraid! Bitterly afraid! He comforted her as best he could.

They came at last to the Temple. They halted while the officer and a squad of his men mounted the broad steps, signaling with their flambeaux as they went. Graydon heard a challenge, the rumbling of Regor’s voice. Then down the great stairway leaped the giant, to the side of their litter;

lifted them out; embraced them as though they had been children returned from the dead.

The green-kilted guard saluted, stood at attention until they had come to the massive doors. Graydon heard the pinions of the winged serpents, darting upward to where the Mother waited; turning, saw the escort beginning their return.

He felt an immense weariness; he swayed, was caught by Regor’s strong arm, carried forward. The doors of the Temple clanged shut behind him.

CHAPTER XXV. The Collar of Nimir

SUARRA’S SOFT HANDS caressed him, she was murmuring broken words of pity, of endearment. He mastered his weakness, and broke away from Regor. The immense vestibule was filled with Indian soldiers in the Mother’s blue, and some score of the nobles. Now these latter strode toward them, eagerly, their customary poise banished by devouring curiosity. But Regor waved them aside.

“To the Mother—and at once. Suarra, you are not