rh.conanthewarrior-第23节

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　　It　was　strange　that　Bit…Yakin　was　not　mentioned　in　any　of　the　legends　of　Alkmeenon。　Obviously　he　had　e　to　the　valley　after　it　had　been　deserted　by　the　original　inhabitants…the　manuscript　indicated　as　much…but　it　seemed　peculiar　that　the　priests　who　came　in　the　old　days　to　consult　the　oracle　had　not　seen　the　man　or　his　servants。　Conan　felt　sure　that　the　mummy　and　this　parchment　was　more　than　a　hundred　years　old。　Bit…Yakin　had　dwelt　in　the　valley　when　the　priests　came　of　old　to　bow　before　dead　Yelaya。　Yet　concerning　him　the　legends　were　silent；　telling　only　of　a　deserted　city；　haunted　only　by　the　dead。
　　Why　had　the　man　dwelt　in　this　desolate　spot；　and　to　what　unknown　destination　had　his　servants　departed　after　disposing　of　their　master's　corpse？
　　Conan　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　thrust　the　parchment　back　into　his　girdle…he　started　violently；　the　skin　on　the　backs　of　his　hands　tingling。　Startingly；　shockingly　in　the　slumberous　stillness；　there　had　boomed　the　deep　strident　clangor　of　a　great　gong！
　　He　wheeled；　crouching　like　a　great　cat；　sword　in　hand；　glaring　down　the　narrow　corridor　from　which　the　sound　had　seemed　to　e。　Had　the　priests　of　Keshia　arrived？　This　was　improbable；　he　knew；　they　would　not　have　had　time　to　reach　the　valley。　But　that　gong　was　indisputable　evidence　of　human　presence。
　　Conan　was　basically　a　direct…actionist。　Such　subtlety　as　he　possessed　had　been　acquired　through　contact　with　the　more　devious　races。　When　taken　off　guard　by　some　unexpected　occurrence；　he　reverted　instinctively　to　type。　So　now；　instead　of　hiding　or　slipping　away　in　the　opposite　direction　as　the　average　man　might　have　done；　he　ran　straight　down　the　corridor　in　the　direction　of　the　sound。　His　sandals　made　no　more　sound　than　the　pads　of　a　panther　would　have　made；　his　eyes　were　slits；　his　lips　unconsciously　asnarl。　Panic　had　momentarily　touched　his　soul　at　the　shock　of　that　unexpected　reverberation；　and　the　red　rage　of　the　primitive　that　is　wakened　by　threat　of　peril；　always　lurked　close　to　the　surface　of　the　Cimmerian。
　　He　emerged　presently　from　the　winding　corridor　into　a　small　open　court。　Something　glinting　in　the　sun　caught　his　eye。　It　was　the　gong；　a　great　gold　disk；　hanging　from　a　gold　arm　extending　from　the　crumbling　wall。　A　brass　mallet　lay　near；　but　there　was　no　sound　or　sight　of　humanity。　The　surrounding　arches　gaped　emptily。　Conan　crouched　inside　the　doorway　for　what　seemed　a　long　time。　There　was　no　sound　or　movement　throughout　the　great　palace。　His　patience　exhausted　at　last；　he　glided　around　the　curve　of　the　court；　peering　into　the　arches；　ready　to　leap　either　way　like　a　flash　of　light；　or　to　strike　right　or　left　as　a　cobra　strikes。
　　He　reached　the　gong；　started　into　the　arch　nearest　it。　He　saw　only　a　dim　chamber；　littered　with　the　debris　of　decay。　Beneath　the　gong　the　polished　marble　flags　showed　no　footprint；　but　there　was　a　scent　in　the　air…a　faintly　fetid　odor　he　could　not　classify；　his　nostrils　dilated　like　those　of　a　wild　beast　as　he　sought　in　vain　to　identify　it。
　　He　turned　toward　the　arch…with　appalling　suddenness　the　seemingly　solid　flags　splintered　and　gave　way　under　his　feet。　Even　as　he　fell　he　spread　wide　his　arms　and　caught　the　edges　of　the　aperture　that　gaped　beneath　him。　The　edges　crumbled　off　under　his　clutching　fingers。　Down　into　utter　blackness　he　shot；　into　black　icy　water　that　gripped　him　and　whirled　him　away　with　breathless　speed。
　　
　　
　　　2。　　A　Goddess　Awakens
　　
　　The　Cimmerian　at　first　made　no　attempt　to　fight　the　current　that　was　sweeping　him　through　lightless　night。　He　kept　himself　afloat；　gripping　between　his　teeth　the　sword；　which　he　had　not　relinquished；　even　in　his　fall；　and　did　not　seek　to　guess　to　what　doom　he　was　being　borne。　But　suddenly　a　beam　of　light　lanced　the　darkness　ahead　of　him。　He　saw　the　surging；　seething　black　surface　of　the　water；　in　turmoil　as　if　disturbed　by　some　monster　of　the　deep；　and　he　saw　the　sheer　stone　walls　of　the　channel　curved　up　to　a　vault　overhead。　On　each　side　ran　a　narrow　ledge；　just　below　the　arching　roof；　but　they　were　far　out　of　his　reach。　At　one　point　this　roof　had　been　broken；　probably　fallen　in；　and　the　light　was　streaming　through　the　aperture。　Beyond　that　shaft　of　light　was　utter　blackness；　and　panic　assailed　the　Cimmerian　as　he　saw　he　would　be　swept　on　past　that　spot　of　light；　and　into　the　unknown　blackness　again。
　　Then　he　saw　something　else：　bronze　ladders　extending　from　the　ledges　to　the　water's　surface　at　regular　intervals；　and　there　was　one　just　ahead　of　him。　Instantly　he　struck　out　for　it；　fighting　the　current　that　would　have　held　him　to　the　middle　of　the　stream。　It　dragged　at　him　as　with　tangible；　animate；　slimy　hands；　but　he　buffeted　the　rushing　surge　with　the　strength　of　desperation　and　drew　closer　and　closer　inshore；　fighting　furiously　for　every　inch。　Now　he　was　even　with　the　laddeer　and　with　a　fierce；　gasping　plunge　he　gripped　the　bottom　rung　and　hung　on；　breathless。
　　A　few　seconds　later　he　struggled　up　out　of　the　seething　water；　trusting　his　weight　dubiously　to　the　corroded　rungs。　They　sagged　and　bent；　but　they　held；　and　he　clambered　up　onto　the　narrow　ledge　which　ran　along　the　wall　scarcely　a　man's　length　below　the　curving　roof。　The　tall　Cimmerian　was　forced　to　bend　his　head　as　he　stood　up。　A　heavy　bronze　door　showed　in　the　stone　at　a　point　even　with　the　head　of　the　ladder；　but　it　did　not　give　to　Conan's　efforts。　He　transferred　his　sword　from　his　teeth　to　its　scabbard；　spitting　blood…for　the　edge　had　cut　his　lips　in　that　fierce　fight　with　the　river…and　turned　his　attention　to　the　broken　roof。
　　He　could　reach　his　arms　up　through　the　crevice　and　grip　the　edge；　and　careful　testing　told　him　it　would　bear　his　weight。　An　instant　later　he　had　drawn　himself　up　through　the　hole；　and　found　himself　in　a　wide　chamber；　in　a　state　of　extreme　disrepair。　Most　of　the　roof　had　fallen　in；　as　well　as　a　great　section　of　the　floor；　which　was　laid　over　the　vault　of　a　subterranean　river。　Broken　arches　opened　into　other　chambers　and　corridors；　and　Conan　believed　he　was　still　in　the　great　palace。　He　wondered　uneasily　how　many　chambers　in　that　palace　had　underground　water　directly　under　them；　and　when　the　ancient　flags　or　tiles　might　give　way　again　and　precipitate　him　back　into　the　current　from　which　he　had　just　crawled。
　　And　he　wondered　just　how　much　of　an　accident　that　fall　had　been。　Had　those　rotten　flags　simply　chanced　to　give　way　beneath　his　weight；　or　was　there　a　more　sinister　explanation？　One　thing　at　least　was　obvious：　he　was　not　the　only　living　thing　in　that　palace。　That　gong　had　not　sounded　of　its　own　accord；　whether　the　noise　had　been　meant　to　lure　him　to　his　death；　or　not。　The　silence　of　the　palace　became　suddenly　sinister；　fraught　with　crawling　menace。
　　Could　it　be　someone　on　the　same　mission　as　himself？　A　sudden　thought　occurred　to　him；　at　the　memory　of　the　mysterious　Bit…Yakin。　Was　it　not　possible　that　this　man　had　found　the　Teeth　of　Gwahlur　in　his　long　residence　in　Alkmeenon…that　his　servants　had　taken　them　with　them　when　they　departed？　The　possibility　that　he　might　be　following　a　will…o'…the…wisp　infuriated　the　Cimmerian。
　　Choosing　a　corridor　which　he　believed　led　back　toward　the　part　of　the　palace　he　had　first　entered；　he　hurried　along　it；　stepping　gingerly　as　he　thought　of　that　black　river　that　seethed　and　foamed　somewhere　below　his　feet。
　　His　speculations　recurrently　revolved　about　the　oracle　chamber　and　its　cryptic　occupant。　Somewhere　in　that　vicinity　must　be　the　clue　to　the　mystery　of　the　treasure；　if　indeed　it　still　remained　in　its　immemorial　hiding　place。
　　The　great　palace　lay　silent　as　ever；　disturbed　only　by　the　swift　passing　of　his　sandaled　feet。　The　chambers　and　halls　he　traversed　were　crumbling　into　ruin；　but　as　he　advanced　the　ravages　of　decay　became　less　apparent。　He　wondered　briefly　for　what　purpose　the　ladders　had　been　suspended　from　the　ledges　over　the　subterranean　river；　but　dismissed　the　matter　with　a　shrug。　He　was　little　interested　in　speculating　over　unremunerative　problems　of　antiquity。
　　He　was　not　sure　just　where　the　oracle　chamber　lay；　from　where　he　was；　but　presently　he　emerged　into　a　corridor　which　led　back　into　the　great　throne　room　under　one　of　the　arches。　He　had　reached　a　decision；　it　was　useless　for　him　to　wander　aimlessly　about　the　palace；　seeking　the　hoard。　He　would　conceal　himself　somewhere　here；　wait　until　the　Keshani　priests　came；　and　then；　after　they　had　gone　through　the　farce　of　consulting　the　oracle；　he　would　follow　them　to　the　hiding　place　of　the　gems；　to　which　he　was　certain　they　would　go。　Perhaps　they　would　take　only　a　few　of　the　jewels　with　them。　He　would　content　himself　with　the　rest。
　　Drawn　by　a　morbid　fascination；　he　re…entered　the　oracle　chamber　and　stared　down　again　at　the　motionless　figure　of　the　princess　who　was　worshipped　as　a　goddess；　entranced　by　her　frigid　beauty。　What　cryptic　secret　was　locked　in　that　marvelously　molded　form？
　　He　started　violently。　The　breath　sucked　through　his　teeth；　the　short　hairs　prickled　at　the　back　of　his　scalp。　The　body　still　lay　as　he　had　first　seen　it；　silent；　motionless；　in　breast…plates　of　jeweled　gold；　gilded　sandals　and　silken　skirt。　But　now　there　was　a　subtle　difference。　The　lissom　limbs　were　not　rigid