paving slabs out of their mooring. Finally they freed the foundation of
the stele and between them lifted the stone out of the position in which
it had stood for nearly four thousand years.
Only once it was free did they realize the weight of the stone. Although
slender, it was a solid half-ton weight.
Nahoot went back into the qiddist and, ignoring the rows of squatting
monks, pulled down a dozen of the thick woollen tapestries from the
walls and had the troopers carry them back into the maqdas.
He wrapped both the stele and the coffin in the heavy folds of
coarse-spun wool. It was tough as canvas, and afforded the men who were
to carry it a secure handhold.
Ten of the burly troopers were able to lift and carry the stele, while
three men were able to handle the wooden coffin and its desiccated
contents. This left seven armed men free to provide an escort. Then the
heavily burdened procession moved out through the ruined doorway of the
Holy of Holies into the crowded central qiddist, As soon as the
assembled monks realized what they were carrying away with them, a
shocked babble Of voices, of lamentations and exhortations, rose from
the squatting ranks of holy men.
'Quied' Nogo roared. 'Silence! Keep these fools quiet.'
The guards waded forward into the mass of humanity, clearing a passage
for the treasures they were plundering, laying about them with boot and
rifle butt, shouting at the monks to give way and to let the staggering
porters through.
The hubbub rose louder, the monks encouraging each other with their
howls of protest, whipping themselves into a frenzy of religious
outrage. Some of them leaped to their feet, defying the commands
bellowed at them to remain seated. They crowded closer and closer to the
armed troopers, clutching at their uniforms, chanting and whirling about
them in a challenging display of mounting hostility.
In the midst of this uproar, suddenly the spectral figure of Jali Hora
reappeared. His beard and robes were stained with blood, his eyes were
crazy, bloodshot and staring.
>From his battered lips and ruined mouth issued a long, sustained
shriek. The ranks of dancing monks opened to let him through, and he
rushed like an animated scarecrow with his skirts flapping around his
thin legs straight at Colonel Nogo.
'Get back, you old maniac!' Nogo warned him, and lifted the muzzle of
his assault rifle to fend him away.
Jali Hora was far past any earthly restraint. He did not even check, but
ran straight on to the point of the bayonet that Nogo was aiming at his
belly.
The needle'pointed steel stabbed through his gaudy robes and ran into
the flesh beneath them as easily as a gaff into the body of a struggling
fish. The point of the bayonet emerged from the middle of his back,
pricking through the velvet cloak, all pinkly smeared with the old man's
blood.
Spitted upon the steel, Jali Hora wriggled and contorted, a dreadful
squeal bursting from his bloody lips.
