There came a louder clamor--volcanic, chaotic, dulling the thunders.The sides of the cleft quivered, bent outward.
They split; crashed down.Bright daylight poured in upon us, a flood of light toward which the billows of dust rushed as though seeking escape; out it poured like the smoke of ten thousand cannon.
And the Blasting Thing shook--as though with laughter!
The stars closed.Back into the Shape ran globe and pyramid.It slid toward us--joined the body from which it had broken away.Through all the mass ran a wave of jubilation, a pulse of mirth--a colossal, metallic--SILENT--roar of laughter.
We glided forward--out of the cleft.I felt a shifting movement.
Up and up we were thrust.Dazed I looked behind me.
In the face of a sky climbing wall of rock, smoked a wide chasm.Out of it the billowing clouds of dust still streamed, pursuing, threatening us.The whole granite barrier seemed to quiver with agony.Higher we rose and higher.
"Look," whispered Drake, and whirled me around.
Less than five miles away was Ruszark, the City of Cherkis.And it was like some ancient city come into life out of long dead centuries.A page restored from once conquering Persia's crumbled book.A city of the Chosroes transported by Jinns into our own time.
Built around and upon a low mount, it stood within a valley but little larger than the Pit.The plain was level, as though once it had been the floor of some primeval lake;the hill of the City was its only elevation.
Beyond, I caught the glinting of a narrow stream, meandering.The valley was ringed with precipitous cliffs falling sheer to its floor.
Slowly we advanced.
The city was almost square, guarded by double walls of hewn stone.The first raised itself a hundred feet on high, turreted and parapeted and pierced with gates.Perhaps a quarter of a mile behind it the second fortification thrust up.
The city itself I estimated covered about ten square miles.It ran upward in broad terraces.It was very fair, decked with blossoming gardens and green groves.Among the clustering granite houses, red and yellow roofed, thrust skyward tall spires and towers.Upon the mount's top was a broad, flat plaza on which were great buildings, marble white and golden roofed; temples I thought, or palaces, or both.
Running to the city out of the grain fields and steads that surrounded it, were scores of little figures, rat-like.
Here and there among them I glimpsed horsemen, arms and armor glittering.All were racing to the gates and the shelter of the battlements.
Nearer we drew.From the walls came now a faint sound of gongs, of drums, of shrill, flutelike pipings.Upon them I could see hosts gathering; hosts of swarming little figures whose bodies glistened, from above whom came gleamings--the light striking upon their helms, their spear and javelin tips.
"Ruszark!" breathed Norhala, eyes wide, red lips cruelly smiling."Lo--I am before your gates.Lo--I am here--and was there ever joy like this!"
The constellations in her eyes blazed.Beautiful, beautiful was Norhala--as Isis punishing Typhon for the murder of Osiris; as avenging Diana; shining from her something of the spirit of all wrathful Goddesses.
The flaming hair whirled and snapped.From all her sweet body came white-hot furious force, a withering perfume of destruction.She pressed against me, and Itrembled at the contact.
Lawless, wild imaginings ran through me.Life, human life, dwindled.The City seemed but a thing of toys.
On--let us crush it! On--on!
Again the monster shook beneath us.Faster we moved.
Louder grew the clangor of the drums, the gongs, the pipes.Nearer came the walls; and ever more crowded with the swarming human ants that manned them.
We were close upon the heels of the last fleeing stragglers.
