by Earl
“How is it Palome knows I’m here?” asked Grayson curiously.
“T’ey men”—Koloko waved an arm backward—“see you many time ago. T’ey send man back to tell Palome. He send me bring you ’cause I speak you!”
Grayson smiled as he made out the somewhat garbled meaning. The other Mogu had come upon him some hours ago, sent a man back to acquaint the chief of the discovery of an Earthman such as they had seen two years before and the great Palome had sent Koloko to greet him, as he alone could speak some Earth language. He smiled because the youth so obviously glowed with pride and exultation that his chief had honored him in view of his glorious knowledge.
Grayson knew all about Koloko. The previous explorers had taken him along to the surface on their return, shown him the ship and taught him his crude but effective English. His amazing mental dexterity had surprised them no little. He illustrated the heritage of intelligence, now so sadly degenerated into barbarism and idolatry, that must once have been the glory of Mars in the dim, hoary past when it was a young world.
Grayson was taken directly before the Palome in his “palace,” the only structure the Earthman had ever seen planted on the ground on Mars. With Koloko as a very willing interpreter, a series of greetings were gone through. Then the Palome, who was dressed in glaring splendor, wanted to know Grayson’s reason for his gracious visit.
He answered that he came merely to look upon their wonderful world and view their beautiful God of which he had heard from his fellow-men who had been here last.
Koloko started a bit as Grayson mentioned the idol.
“You no shoultt talk froom Great God,” admonished the youth with a significant roll of his large eyes. “My people, not like.” He then turned to the Palome and translated, but leaving out the reference to the idol.
At this unfortunate moment, Grayson felt the ground tremble. At the same time all the Mogu thereabouts, Palome and all, prostrated themselves on their stomachs in worship.
The drums! But strange, not a sound could the Earthman hear! Only that queer trembling of the ground. His mind struggled with that inexplicable phenomenon till the worship was over.
Then his heart skipped. The Palome’s guard, consisting of a half-dozen spearmen, lifted their weapons. He gave one quick glance around and saw the futility of resistance. At the door were more guards. Outside were thousands of milling Mogu.
“Koloko!” cried the adventurer. “Ask your Palome what is wrong!”
After listening to the rapid speech of the Palome, the youth turned to him. His face was sorely troubled.
“Palome, he no like t’at you no . . . no . . .” he waved his hand to indicate lying flat.
“But why?” asked Grayson puzzled. “The other Earthmen that were here did not lie down either!”
“I know,” agreed Koloko. “I tell Palome that, but he say High Priests haff say you must; say it was sin they no do; but you must.”
Greer Grayson cogitated. “Tell your Palome I’m sorry, but tell him also that if he tries anything rash, I’ll blow him to bits with this gun.” He slipped the pistol out and pointed it toward the Palome. By the way he drew back, the Earthman figured he knew perfectly well what it was.
Koloko turned back from his Palome again.
“He say it all right,” smiled the youth. “No do harm.”
* * * *
Grayson was assigned a room of the “palace” as his own, as dimly lit as any of the others by the faint light that came in through the round roles that served as windows. Before Koloko left, Grayson asked him a few questions.
“How is it the worship drums are not heard here?”
Koloko’s face clouded. He looked around very carefully before he spoke.
“It is not goott to talk froom Great God. I no talk, only litt’, to ot’er Eart’man froom Great God.”
“Oh, come, Koloko,” said Grayson scornfully. “Surely it won’t hurt to tell me a little. After all, you know, my fellow Earthmen told me you were different from your people. I think so too. You’re more intelligent than the rest.”
KOLOKO swelled with the flattery, which, however, was more truth than poetry. He immediately exhibited another proof of his intelligence: he succumbed to the flattery.
“All right. I tell you. Drum he no sountt here ’cause he made t’at way. He made to make sountt only far away—outside Temple. Sountt he might make Great God angry.”
Grayson thought that over. Incredible as it sounded, these aborigines seemed able to send the drumming just as they pleased: through all the labyrinths and yet to keep it from resounding in this Temple of the Idol. That called for a degree of acoustic science he could hardly credit to the Mogu. But then, Grayson recollected, what about the log drums of natives of Earth? Their remarkable ranges and feats? The savage mind can often transcend its logical limits in isolated phenomena that seem wonders to even highly educated minds.
“Now, Koloko, tell me all about your Great God.”
What Koloko told him may be more comprehensibly condensed into the following:
Many dim ages before the Great God had descended from the Red Region and come to dwell amongst the Mogu whom He had chosen as His people. The coming of the Great God had brought peace and plenty and had empowered the Mogu to overcome their most hated and feared enemy, the Black Martians, and to drive them back to remote regions. The Great God was all powerful, indestructible, and loved His people.
But Grayson made an interpretation of his own that ran something like this: many ages before a group of daring and spirited Mogu sallied up to the surface, came upon ruins of an ancient, highly civilized city, and carried back from it the diamond figure which had, in all probability, been only an exquisite work of art to the ancients. United in spirit by the reign of the Mogu God, naturally there had been less civil discontent and tribal warfare. That the Great God was indestructible, Grayson had no doubts himself. Solid diamond is adamant to most common destructive forces.
One thing puzzled him and he asked Koloko for more explicit information about the “Black Martians.”
The youth explained that they were a race of people similar in all ways to the Mogu, but bearing a jet black skin. In the long ago they had been so numerous and powerful that the Mogu had constantly warred with them for possession of sections of the labyrinths. With the coming of the Great God, however, the Mogu had arisen in united might and had so thoroughly beaten and decimated the Black Martians that from thence onward, they ceased to be a threat to Mogu rule. However, even to that day, wandering tribes of the enemy would fall upon some community of the Mogu and wreak havoc with their abominable bloodthirstiness.
Grayson was left to himself then, and after thinking things over without coming to any important decisions, he availed himself of the opportunity to get some sleep, putting his knapsack beside him.
He awoke to feel immediately that something was wrong. Furthermore, his legs were bound together and he was lying on his stomach. There was a faint tinge of some sickeningly odorous substance hanging in the air. He could feel also that his holsters were empty, as he lay on them.
A little later, during which time he pondered the inexplicable circumstances, a group of Mogu came in.
“Koloko! Get Koloko!” shouted Grayson. “Bring Koloko, don’t you understand? Koloko!”
But the Mogu, apparently acting under orders, heeded him not in the least, and carried him between them outside the palace.
Puffing and blowing, the Mogu carried him between two lanes of massed Mogu and somehow, Grayson divined he was being carried before the shrine of the Mogu God. There was ominousness in the very atmosphere and from the crowd came a rumble of what sounds like imprecation and revilement.
The Earthman was carried to the pyramid upon which reposed the idol and placed flat on his back in a large shallow bowl half way up the steps on one side. He thought he smelled—blood!
Practically helpless, Greer Grayson twisted his head around. He could just glimpse over the rim of the bo
wl the vast concourse of Mogu collected all around the Great God and its sacred altar. Then his eyes riveted to an affair above his head. He had fought against the thought up till now but he could no longer deny the evidence above him. A huge, needle pointed spearhead attached to a short shaft hung directly over his heart. It was suspended by a thong to a rude framework.
He struggled then and bellowed madly. A human sacrifice! They wanted to offer Greer Grayson as a sacrifice to a diamond idol! He shouted again and again for Koloko, but impassive hideously-painted faces stared at him blankly. As he rolled himself around to get off the altar, several of the priests, for priests they were with elaborate robes, spiked heads, and painted visages, held his arms and feet so that he could not move.
He could not have given a very clear account of the next few minutes or hours or however long time he lay there bound. All he knew was that before the worship drums came (the priests had been awaiting that event to accomplish the sacrifice), there occurred a great hue and cry and a sudden sound of scurrying as if a horde of mice were running across tile flooring.
He listened to the sounds in bewilderment and suddenly noticed he was alone; all the priests were gone. Then a welcome face peered down at him.
CHAPTER V
THE GOD OF MAKS
“KOLOKO! Quick, untie me! What’s happening around here?”
Hastily the Mogu youth cut the thongs with a knife and, as Grayson sat up, he spoke rapidly.
“Black Martians! They haff coom! See, offer t’ere fighting!”
At the other side of the cavern Grayson could just about make out in the shadows a large number of figures, some of which revealed a dead black skin when the light fell upon them.
When next he turned to Koloko, there was purpose in his words.
“Quick, Koloko! Where are my weapons and my belts!”
The Mogu youth led the way to a room of the palace wherein Grayson found all his possessions that had been taken from him while he had lain in a drugged stupor. Grasping Koloko’s hand, the adventurer dashed out and raced to the top of the pyramid. Koloko tried to break away.
“Come with me,” commanded Grayson, dragging him along. “I’ll need you later. Stay here beside me. I’m going to help your people!”
Kneeling, and using the diamond idol as an elbow rest, he pulled out a needle gun and opened fire. Even in the dim light and with the disadvantage of the great range, his excellent marksmanship picked off the Black Martians one by one. After the first gun was empty, he tossed a pouch of needle ammunition at Koloko’s feet and rapidly showed him how to load. Caught with the fire of the moment, the youth conquered his fears of the Great God beside which they stood and loaded the gun. As Grayson had two needle guns, he was able to keep up a constant fire; Koloko loaded one while he shot with the other.
At first the contesting parties at the other side of the cavern seemed oblivious of the silent death speeding unerringly from Grayson’s guns. But as Black Martians, one after another fell in rapid succession, untouched by spear or club or knife, a great fear arose in the ranks of the attackers and the besieged pressed them back toward the caverns from which they had emerged.
Most of the fighting was taking place on the slope leading up to the corridors and the black-skinned Martians tumbled down in great numbers as Grayson methodically picked them off one by one. Dismayed by the fearful carnage, the black troops retreated and the slope swelled with their numbers as those who had pressed further into the cavern ran back after finding none of their number reinforcing them. They finally formed a solid line half way up the slope and prepared for a desperate sally.
He saw the move and jerked out his pistol. Carefully aiming at a point above the line of blacks where none of the Mogu were, he opened fire. At the first sound of the thunder of exploding bullets and the fearful havoc amongst the black ranks, one and all, they stopped fighting.
Greer Grayson stopped fire and rose to his full height beside the diamond idol, hand pointing toward the Black Martians like he were a god himself. A cheer broke from the ranks of the Mogu and they charged upward with renewed vigor. Simultaneously the Black Martians howled in fear and fled.
The Earthman sent a few more bullets toward them and then turned to Koloko whose eyes were shining in excitement.
“You’re Great God has saved the day, Koloko”—and under his breath he added—“but I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it if I told you why.”
When the Palome appeared at the base of the pyramid a few minutes later, followed by his ten High Priests, Koloko attempted to slink down, fearing the wrath of the priest at the sacrilege of touching the Great One. But Greer held him with a hand of iron.
At that moment the drums, those drums which were to have marked the plunge of the hanging spear into Greer’s heart while he lay bound on the altar, burst forth, shaking the ground with their pulsations.
Grayson looked around as the entire populace lay flat; even Koloko had promptly thrown himself flat. The Earthman alone in that vast chamber, alone on all Mars, excepting of course the rebel Black Martians, remained standing.
THEY were kowtowing to the Great God; but they were also kowtowing to him, for was he not beside the Great God, and had not his hand sent the death to the enemy from the exact position of the diamond idol? Grayson, foolishly enough as he reflected later, felt a grandiloquence and godlike power then as never before or after.
When the period of worship was over, the Mogu arose. The Palome Morkol looked up to Grayson and the ten High Priests looked up to him and they all seemed to be waiting to hear something from the Earthman.
He took advantage of the opportunity.
“Tell your people this, Koloko:
“Palome Morkol and all the Mogu: . . . But a while ago you were going to sacrifice me to the Great God in ignorance and stupidity, not knowing that I am an emissary of your God. The Great God sent the Black Martians here to teach you that you were wrong and that I was not to be so sacrificed. Henceforth be careful that you sin against me no more.”
Grayson listened carefully to the reply that the Palome gave after conferring with the priests, as delivered by Koloko.
“Palome he sorry. Astt you forgive. He not know you God yourself. Now he know. He very sorry. You not angry?”
He smiled to himself and then conceived a daring plan. The Mogu God, it was there beside him. If he could play upon the superstition and religious fear of these aborigines. . . .
“Say this, Koloko:
“I’m not angry and I forgive. But now I must tell the faithful Mogu why I am here. The Great God has called me down here from above. The original home of the Great God was above in the Red Regions. He descended to the Mogu and made them his chosen people and they waxed strong and mighty under him. But now the Great God’s task is done. He wants to go back to his rightful home above. He has called me here to do that.”
This was one of the rare moments in his adventurous life when things hung by a hair. He had made a bold stroke. Would the Mogu submit? Or did they have more enlightenment than that? Could they distinguish between the natural and supernatural? He fidgeted as Koloko hurled down the audacious speech.
The Palome and priests showed their astonishment. They conferred excitedly for a long time, during which time Grayson turned hot and cold alternately. If they should refuse and resent his blasphemy. . . .
Koloko delivered the answer.
“T’ey not sure you right. Want to know why you look like Earthman if you God. Want to know why Great God call you. Great God he could go away himself.”
That gave Grayson a gauge by which to measure the Mogu. If they had been more intelligent, they would have defied him from the first. The fact that they arbitrated and questioned showed their inherent superstition. One thing remained to be done: drive home that fear of their Great God’s wrath.
“Palome Morkol, you have sinned again. Who are you to question the motives and methods of the Great God? Look!”—he placed a hand upon the crown of the diamond id
ol bringing a gasp from the Mogu below—“The Great God does not blast me to death. We are as one. He is your God and I am his emissary. He sent the roaring and silent death at the Black Martians through me. Beware, the patience of your God is not infinite. He will be wrathful if you attempt to argue and will command me to blast your whole city into ashes!”
Koloko’s voice trembled as he delivered this weighty ultimatum.
Then Grayson noticed something that caused his heart to leap. He drew Koloko close to him as the Palome cogitated the words.
“You told me before that periodically the Great God flashes up when he is angry to let this people know his will?”
“Yes,” nodded the youth. “When Great God he want talk to Mogu, he become bright. He blind us with light. I see it with my own eyes two time.”
The reason for such a remarkable thing he could little fathom at the moment. Later he was to know that in the substance of the diamond was a trace of a peculiar radio-active material that flashed forth in momentary brilliance in periods of a little over nine years.
But Greer Grayson had seen an aperture in the back of the idol, large enough for one of his lights to fit. His dark eyes glowed as he revolved a plan in his mind . . .
The answer came, and it fitted into his plans like a glove.
“Palome he say Great God shoutt give sign that you no lie.”
“Tell them, Koloko, that the Great God will give a sign, but first I must pray to the God.”
It was done in a few minutes. Seemingly in an attitude of prayer, on knees with head bent, he unhooked one light, stuck it in the aperture and put a finger on the button. There was just enough length of wire to reach from the batteries to the aperture.
He was confident. In all the time he had been in Palome Morkol’s community, he had not once used the lights. They knew nothing about them; did not suspect in the least what a flashlight was.