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enter here of my own free will.
I said it.
We shuffled along, as always caring for the draught animals and beasts of burden in our care. Beyond
the arched gateway stretched a wide area, shadowed with dappled trees and vines, with stone-flagged
squares upon the ground, and the hint of stone-built stalls at either side. Here we halted, looking about,
seeing yet another gate in the far wall.
We were simply slaves and so at intemperately bellowed orders fruitfully interlarded with that vile word
 Grak! we set about making camp, caring for the animals, preparing food for our masters. These great
ones went a way apart and conferred together. There were nine expeditions in the greater expedition,
nine supreme great ones to talk, one to the other as they pleased.
Nine is the sacred and magical number on Kregen.
Among the superb establishments of these masterful folk with their remudas of zorcas and totrixes and
swarths, their fine coaches, their wagons and strings of pack animals, their multitude of slaves, it amused
me greatly that old Deb-Lu-Quienyin with his preysany to ride, his pack calsany and his little Och slave,
must be accepted on terms equal to one of the nine principals.
Against the high glitter of the stars the overreaching mass of the hill lifted above us. The Moder appeared
to be moving against the star-filled night, to lean and be ready to fall upon us. The slaves did not often
look up.
The hushed conference of the nine masters broke up. Tarkshur came strutting back to our camp and
bellowed for Galid the Krevarr, the Jiktar of his five remaining paktuns. At least, I assumed they were
mercenaries, although they might well be his retainers from his estates in unknown Klardimoin.
What Tarkshur had to say was revealed to the slaves after we had all eaten. The meal was good  very
good.
Then we were paraded for the master.
He came walking down toward us, and the Maiden with the Many Smiles shone down into the
stone-walled area and illuminated the scene with her fuzzy pinkish light.
He halted before the first in line, a shambling Rapa with a bent beak. To him, Tarkshur dealt a savage
buffet in the midriff. The slave collapsed, puking. Tarkshur snorted his contempt and walked on to the
next. This was Nodgen. Tarkshur struck him forcefully in the guts, and Nodgen grunted and reeled, and
remained upright.
  Him, said Tarkshur.
Galid and the other Katakis shepherded Nodgen the Brokelsh to one side.
Along the rank Tarkshur went, striking each man. He chose nine who resisted his blow. Nine slaves, in
their tattered old gray slave breechclouts, stood to one side. I was one of the nine.
 Now get your heads down. Sleep. Rest. In the morning  we go up!
And, in the morning  we went up.
Each superior master with his retainers had chosen nine slaves  excepting the old Wizard of Loh, of
course. Up the stony path we trailed, toiling up as the suns brightened.
Below us the panorama of the Humped Land spread out, hundreds of Moders rising like boils from the
sunken plain.
Each slave was burdened with a piled-up mass of impedimenta. I carried an enormous coil of rope, a
few picks and shovels, twisted torches, and a sack of food. Also, around my shoulders on a leathern
strap dangled half a dozen water bottles. It was a puffing old climb up, I can tell you.
We were venturing into a  place  of gold and magic and it occurred to me to wonder who would
return alive.
Occasionally I caught a glimpse of Deb-Lu-Quienyin straggling on. He used a massive staff to assist him.
Also, he had four new slaves and I guessed he had borrowed these from one of the other expeditions
and my guess  proved right  was that they came with the compliments of Prince Nedfar.
Much vegetation obscured our view but at last we came out to a cleared area at the top and saw a
square-cut gateway leading into the base of the tower-pinnacled building crowning the Moder. The gates
were of bronze-bound lenk and they were closed.
It was daylight, with the twin suns shining; yet the light that grew in a niche above the gate shone forth
brightly. Against the glow a woman s figure showed  a woman with translucent golden hair. Her voice
was deeper, mellower than her sister s who guarded the lower portal.
 You are welcome, travelers. Do you desire ingress?
The shouts of  aye deafened.
 Of your own free will?
 Aye! and  Aye!
 Then enter, and fare you well.
The gates opened. We passed through. The moment the last person entered the hall beyond the gates, lit
by torches, the gates slammed. Their closing rang a heavy and ominous clang as of prison bars upon our
hearing.
 I, for one, knew we wouldn t get out as easily as we had entered.
The devil of being a slave, inter alia, is that you just don t know what is going on.
The hall in which we stood was coated thickly with dust. Many footprints showed in the dust  and
while most of them pointed toward the double doors at the opposite side, four or five sets angled off to
the corners  and without moving from where we stood we could see the dark and rusty stains on the
stone floor at the abruptly terminated ends of the footprints.
At the side of the door an inscription was incised.
Useless for me to attempt to render it into an Earthly language. The problem lay in the language itself, a
kind of punning play on words. The nine superior masters conferred, and now I could get a closer look at
them all. Already I had met four of them. The flying man clashed his wings in frustration, trying to work
out the riddle. The Sorcerer of the Cult of Almuensis gave a sarcastic and knowing chuckle, and
expounded the riddle in a breath. The other three of the nine I did not know. One was a woman. One
was the tall and upright swarth rider I had seen attempting to guard our flanks. The last was an enigma,
being swathed in an enveloping cloak of emerald and ruby checks, diamonds of artful color that dazzled
the eyes.
 You have the right of it, San Yagno, said Prince Nedfar. At this the sorcerer preened. He looked both
ludicrous in his fussy and over-elaborate clothes, and decidedly impressive to those of a superstitious
mind. He had powers, that was sooth; what those powers might be I fancied would be tested very soon.
 Speak up, then, and do not keep us waiting, growled Tarkshur.
The sorcerer gathered himself, lifted his amulet of power he kept hung on a golden chain about his neck,
and said,  The answer is there is no answer this side of the deepest of Cottmer s Caverns. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]