CHAPTER XII
_Dreams_
The black curtain of unconsciousness which descended so quickly uponRawson was not easily thrown off. For hours, days or weeks--he neverknew how long he lay in the citadel of the Reds--it was to wrap himaround.
Nor was his waking a matter of a moment. Many and varied were theimpressions which came to him in times of semiconsciousness, and whichof them were realities and which dreams, he could not tell.
He was being tortured with knives, lances tipped with pain thatdragged him up from the black depths in which he lay. Dimly herealized that his clothes were being stripped from him and that thepiercing knives were none the less real for being only the touch ofhands and rough cloth upon his blistered body. Then from head to foothe was coated with a substance cool and moist. The pain died to a merethrobbing and again he felt himself sinking back into unconsciousness.
There were other visions, many others, some of them plain anddistinct, some blurred and terrifying to his fevered brain tryingvainly to bring order and reason into what was utterly chaotic.
Once a bedlam of shrieking voices roused him. He tried to open hiseyes, whose lids were too heavy for his strength. And by that he knewhe was dreaming. Yet from under those lowered lids he seemed to see awild medley of red warriors, their faces blotched and ghastly in thegreen light of their weapons. They were carrying a charred body whichthey threw heavily upon the floor beside him as if to compare the two.He saw the face which the flames had not touched, the face of JackDowner--Downer, the sheriff of Cocos County. His sandy hair had beenscorched to the scalp.
Dreams ... and the steady beat of metal-shod feet of marching men. Hesaw them passing some distance away. The repeated _thud-thud_ of metalon stone echoed maddeningly through his brain for hours.... Dreams,all of them.
And once there came to him a vision which beyond all doubt was unreal.
* * * * *
Silence had surrounded him. For what seemed hours not one of the redmole-men had come near. And then, in the silence, he heard whisperingsand the sound of stealthy feet; and, for a moment, the same whitefigure that had met him in his flight stood where he could see.
Only the merest trace of dim light relieved the utter darkness of theroom. The girl's figure was ghostly, unreal. Yet he saw the dullsparkle of jeweled breast-plates against her creamy white skin. Loosefolds of cloth were gathered about her waist; her golden hair wasdrawn back except for vagrant curls that only accentuated the perfectoval of her face.
There were others with her, dim shapes of men; how many Rawson couldnot tell. They looked down at him, whispering softly, excitedly,amongst themselves; but their words were like nothing he had everheard.
For an instant Dean felt his stupefied mind coming almost towakefulness. Phantom figures, ghostly and unreal--but the faces werehuman, and the eyes looked down upon him pityingly. He tried to rousehimself, tried to call out, then settled limply back, for the girl wasspeaking--or he was catching her thoughts. It seemed almost that heheard her whispered words:
"They take him to _Gevarro_, to the Lake of Fire which never dies!Gor told me--he overheard their plans. But, by the Mountain Iswear...." Then footsteps echoed in a far-off passage, and the whiteones vanished like drifting smoke.
Dreams, all of them. Yet the time came when Dean knew that he wasawake--knew too that further experiences awaited him in this demoniacland.
* * * * *
Again red guards came. The wicked breath of their weapons filled thegreat room where Rawson had been with green, flickering light. Dean,dragged to his feet, was unable to stand. One of the giant yellowworkers came forward at a whistled order and held him erect. Anotherbrought a bowl carved from rock crystal and filled with a liquidgolden-green with reflected light. He put it to Rawson's lips and withthe first touch Dean knew that he must have been filled with a burningthirst beyond anything he had ever known. He gulped greedily at theliquid, drained the bowl to the last drop, then marveled at thethrilling fire of strength that flowed through him.
"Wine," he thought, "wine of the gods--or devils." He came to himselfwith a start. He knew that he was naked and that his body was encasedin a coating of stiff gray plaster. It was this that prevented hisarms and legs from flexing.
Another order and the giant worker picked him up in his arms andcarried him where the others led to a distant room. A stream trickledthrough a cut in the rocky floor. At the center of the room was apool. Unable to resist, Dean felt the giant arms toss him out anddown.
The water was warm. At its first touch the hard plaster melted likesnow. Sputtering and choking for breath, Rawson came to the surface.He found he could move freely, then reaching hands hauled him outupon the floor, and through all his dread he found time to marvel athis own firm muscles and the healthy white of his skin that had beenseared and blistered.
He obeyed when the red guards pointed and motioned him into a darkpassageway. He tried to keep up with them as they hurried him on.Evidently his pace was too slow, for again the big worker picked himup, swung him into the air and seated him firmly on one broadshoulder, and, with red guards ahead and behind them, hurried on.
To find himself a child in the hands of this big yellow man wasdisconcerting. To be calmly lugged off was almost humiliating. No onewho was not a good sport could have grinned as Rawson did at his ownpredicament.
"Not exactly a triumphal procession," he told himself, then his lipsset grimly. "They've got my gun," he thought, "and now, whatevercomes, all I can do is stand and take it. Still, they've saved mylife. But what for?"
* * * * *
Always the way led downward, and Rawson, perched on his strange,half-human steed, let his gaze follow up every branching tunnel andwidespread cave. Not all of these were as dark as the broadthoroughfare they followed. In some, strange lights glowed, and Rawsonsaw weird, towering plant growths that yellow workers were harvesting.
Life, life, everywhere, and seemingly this underground world wasendless.
Troops of red warriors passed them, upward bound. The dancing flamesof their weapons, where occasional ones were in action, glowed fromafar. They bobbed and waved like green fireflies as the Mole-men cameon at a half-run.
"And this means trouble up top," he thought. "There's going to be hellto pay up there."
But workers, fighters, everyone they met stood aside to let the redguard pass. Again Rawson heard the strange word or call that had cometo him in the temple of fire. One of the guides would give a whistlingcall that ended in the same strange shrill cry of "Phee-e-al," andinstantly the way was cleared.
A wild journey, incredible, unreal. Rawson, as he met the countlessstaring white eyes of the creatures they passed, found his thoughtswandering. He had had wild dreams. Surely this was only another inthat succession of phantom pictures. Then, seeing the cold, implacablehatred in those staring eyes, he would be brought back with sickeningabruptness to a full knowledge of his own hopeless situation.
"Gevarro, the lake of fire which never dies"--what was it the whiteones had said? But no, that certainly was a dream like that other inwhich he had seemed to see the charred body of a man, the sheriff whohad called to see him at his camp in Tonah Basin.
Dreams--reality--his brain was confused with the wild kaleidoscope ofunbelievable pictures.
* * * * *
He was suddenly aware that through it all he had been mentallytabulating their route, remembering the outstanding features whenthere was light enough to see. He knew that unconsciously his mind hadbeen thinking of escape. Wilder than all the other visions, he hadbeen picturing himself retracing his route, alone, free. He did notknow that he had laughed aloud, harshly, hopelessly, until he saw thecurious eyes of his red guard upon him.
"Yes," he told himself in silent bitterness, "I could find my wayback, if...."
The guard had swung off from the great tunnel which must have been oneof the ma
in thoroughfares of the Mole-men's world. They crowdedthrough a narrower passage and again Rawson found himself in one ofthe great, high-ceilinged caves like the others he had seen. Butunlike the others this was brightly lighted.
Massive limestone formation. His eyes squinted against the glare andcaught the character of the rock before he was able to distinguishdetails, and in the black limestone big disks of gray mineral had beenset. Jets of flame played upon them and turned them to blazing,brilliant white.
The big yellow Mole-man who had carried him dropped him roughly to thefloor and backed away. About him the red guard was grouped. Rawsoncaught a glimpse of hundreds of other thronging figures. The crowdabout him separated. A space was cleared between him and the fartherend of the room, a lane lined on either side by solid masses of savageReds. And beyond them, more barbaric than any figure in theforeground, was another group.
* * * * *
Across the full width of the room a low wall was raised three or fourfeet from the floor. It was capped with rude carvings. The whole massgleamed dully golden in the bright light. Beyond the wall insemicircular formation, resembling a grouping of bronze statues, weremen like the one with whom Rawson had fought. Priests, tenders of thefires. He knew in an instant that here were more of the red one's holymen. They stood erect, unmoving. At their center was another seatedman-shape that might have been cast from solid gold.
His naked body was yellow and glittering, contrasting strongly withthe black metal straps like those the warriors wore. On his head around, sharply-pointed cap was ablaze with precious stones.
Rawson took it all in in one quick glance. He knew that those copperbodies were not encased in metal, for the flesh of the one he hadfought with had sunk under his blows. Their skin was coated with apreparation, heat resistant without a doubt, and the golden one musthave been treated in somewhat the same way.
His thoughts flashed quickly over this. It was the face of that seatedfigure that riveted his attention, a white face, milk-white, so whiteit seemed almost chalky!
* * * * *
For one breathless second Rawson was filled with a wordless hope.Those white ones of his dream had looked upon him with kindly eyes.They were human--men of another race, but men. Then beneath the chalkywhiteness of the face he found the hideous features of the redMole-men, and knew that the white color of the face was as false asthat of the golden body.
But he was their leader. He was someone of importance. Rawson hadstarted forward impetuously when he saw the figure rise. At the firstmotion the hands of every red one in the room were flung in air. Theystood stiffly at salute. Even the priests' coppery arms flashedupward. And "Phee-e-al!" a thousand shrill voices were shouting."Phee-e-al! Phee-e-al!"
Rawson stopped, then walked slowly forward, one defenseless, naked manof the upper world, between two living walls formed by men of a hiddenrace.
"Phee-e-al," he was thinking. "He's the one I saw coming into theirtemple back there. They got out of our way when they knew we werecoming to see him. He's the big boss here, all right."
He did not pause in his steady, forward progress until his hands wereresting upon the golden barrier. Strange thoughts were racing throughhis mind. Phee-e-al, he was facing Phee-e-al, king of a kingdom tenmiles or more beneath the surface of the earth, a place of devils morereal and terrible than any that mythology had dared depict. And he,Dean Rawson, a man, just one of the millions like him up there in asane, civilized world, was down here, standing at a barrier of goldbefore a tribunal that knew nothing of justice or mercy.
* * * * *
Thoughts of communicating with them had mingled with other half-formedplans in his racing mind. Sign language--he had talked with theIndians; he might be able to get some ideas across. He met the other'sfierce scrutiny fearlessly, then, waiting for him to make the firstadvance, let his gaze dart about at closer range. He could notrestrain a start of surprise at sight of his own clothing, his pocketradio receiver and his pistol spread out on a metal stand.
They had been curious about them. Rawson took that as a good sign.Perhaps he had been mistaken in his interpretation of what he hadseen. For himself, he could have no real hope, but it might be thatthe outpouring of these demons into his own world was a threat thatlay only in his own imagination.
His eyes came back to meet that gaze which had never left him. Theeyes were mere dots of jet in a white and repulsive face. The roundedmouth opened to emit a shrill whistled order.
In the utter silence of the great room one of the copper-skinnedpriests moved swiftly toward the rear. There were chests there,massive metal things afire with the brilliance of inlaid jewels. Thepriest flung one of them open with a resounding clang.
The room had been warm, and the chill which abruptly froze Rawson'smuscles to hard rigidity came from within himself. Dreams! He hadthought them dreams, those marching thousands, and the others whoreturned. He had dared to hope he might avert an invasion by thisinhuman horde.
And now he knew his worst imaginings were far short of the truth. Hesaw clearly his own fate. For the priest returning was holding anobject aloft, a horrible thing, a naked body, scorched and charred.And above it a head lopped awkwardly. The hair was sandy; half of ithad been burned to the scalp in a withering flame. Below, staring fromsightless eyes, was the face of the man who had once been sheriff ofCocos County.
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