was identical: the same concentric circles on the flat side, the same spiralling to a central point. This, however, was marked upon the summit of the protruding peg with a triangle. Another triangle on the outer edge indicated the entrance to the whorl. There was one more difference: the concentric grooves ran in the opposite direction to those of the first hemisphere.
He held the two pieces gently, positioned them so that the two little outer triangles lined up, and pushed the pegged half down into the other’s hole. Then he twisted them together in the direction of the concentric circles. The two halves revolved easily, moving almost of their own volition in his hands. Then they stopped. He could rotate them no further.
And he knew.
HE KNEW!
It was as though a fiery dagger slashed a path through his brain. Knowledge poured in, echoed, roared, broke down barriers of language and intellect and memory…!
He knew where the Man of Gold was! It was not in Ch’ochi; it lay beneath the ancient city of Purdimal in northwestern Tsolyanu, some eight hundred Tsan from Bey Sii.
He did not know exactly what it was, but he knew how to find its aeons-old tomb, how to operate it, how to make it do what it had done before in a time so remote that not one whisper of it had carried down into any of the living mythologies of Tekumel.
The Man of Gold was made to be used against the Kuu Teo. He knew now what those words meant and why they were followed by the classifier glyph for “original structure” in the Llyani script. They were the name of the Goddess of the Pale Bone, a being or force so malevolent that even the savants who built the Man of Gold to combat her had not reckoned all of her powers. She and her minions from the Planes Beyond, the ghastly He’esa, were the enemies of mankind and of the Gods alike.
The globe had been made during the Latter Times, the ages long before the Engsvanyali priest Pavar first contacted the twenty deities of Tsolyanu’s present pantheon, codified Them, analysed Their theologies, and stated the relationships obtaining between Them and the creatures of Tekumel’s Plane. Some of the knowledge of the Ancients, those who had ruled Tekumel before the Time of Darkness, had passed on into the Latter Times, and at the very end of this epoch of unknown length some smatterings and Scraps were handed on to the savants of Llyan’s empire. Beyond this no more could be said.
Pavar’s revelations had hinted of other, older, inimical beings who dwelt beyond the bubble of reality. The Pariah Gods, so he named them, existed outside of the pantheon. These beings held goals so opposed to mankind- indeed, to all creatures made of matter and energy-that they were anathema upon all of the infinite Planes of Reality. This was no mere matter of divine rivalry: the difference between cold, undead Lord Sarku and fiery Lord Vimuhla was nothing compared to this! The Supernal Light of Lord Hnalla and the shifting Chaos of Lord Hrii’u were one and the same when compared to the deadly purposes of the Pariah Gods. Lord Ksarul might do battle with His fellows and be condemned to sleep for all eternity in the Blue Room, but before the Goddess of the Pale Bone He and His opponents were only brothers who had fallen out over some childhood quarrel!
The Goddess of the Pale Bone was still known in Tsolyanu- Harsan had heard tales of her, both from his Pe Choi tutors and from the lector priests in the Monastery of the Sapient Eye-but her worship had been stamped out ruthlessly over the centuries, driven underground, purged, and exterminated as no other sect had ever been. There was excellent reason for this.
Much was still unclear-or perhaps incomprehensible to creatures with limited intellects, such as men, even with the burst of knowledge imparted by the white metal globe. Pavar’s Gods seemed to desire a cosmos in which matter and energy and being (for want of a better term) existed, whatever forms these might take. The Goddess of the Pale Bone-and certain others like her-sought to suck the universe empty of all being, to take its force and substance into themselves, to render all of the many Planes Beyond empty and lifeless and void in a way that could not be imagined! The Gods might be harsh, imperious, and uncaring; They did as They did; but at least They permitted other beings to co-exist, and They did grant a measure of dignity, personal worth, and the self-realisation upon which the morality of all sentient races must be built. The Pariah Gods would have none of this; they would deny these things to any Plane in which they dwelt. Once the Goddess of the Pale Bone had gained a foothold within the cosmos, none could stand against her. Indeed, none could exist at all. She made death itself ignoble, meaningless, an end that held no glory.
Why would anyone worship such a being? For immediate, transitory gain, of course, for the splendours and pleasures she permitted in order to gain access to this Plane. Her gifts were transitory, dust and dross, nothing but tempting baubles held out to fools.
The globe told Harsan of the battle waged by mankind-and certain allies-so long ago. All of the goals, all of the ideals, all of the aspirations he had ever had were as toys of clay beside the single, urgent, desperate need to vanquish the Goddess of the Pale Bone and to keep her from entering the universe of man ever again!
He could not think. The white metal sphere rolled from his hands to come to a stop against the silvery-blue rod. He now knew what that was, too: the key with which the powers of the Man of Gold were unleashed.
Images whirled through his head like leaves in a storm. Vast armies of men and nonhumans and unknown creatures toiled toward one another over landscapes that were tapestries of destruction. Enigmatic machines moved there as well. Faces of men and other beings in strange costumes glared and shouted. Leaves of books in alien languages rose before him: maps, plans, diagrammes, charts that changed even as he glimpsed them. Over all, there were the ravages of death and dying and blood and ruin. Towers toppling. Seas boiling. Dust rising into a flame-driven sky. New, raw wounds gaping in the faces of the very mountains themselves.
Then there was the sky-tall figure of a golden being, manlike yet not a man, who brushed aside the machines and scattered the armies and reached through the wrack and desolation to seize and crush the He'esa, the minions of the Goddess who dwelt not on this Plane but in some other, awful universe and who came hither as spies and assassins, indetectable by sorcerers or any. other means until they chose to strike. The golden being reached forth also to seal off the great black cube from whence the Goddess drew her powers into this Plane, silenced it, and rendered it useless. When it had done, there were no entrances left for Her here. Judging from the Goddess’ objectives, this was a result that would be desired by all of the creatures of this Plane: all of the creatures, and indeed, all of the Gods… And there was Evil’s face, too…
Eyif?
Harsan struggled to free himself from these awful visions of the dead and uninvited past. He clutched his forehead, threw himself backwards against the chamber wall. Dazed, he looked up to see that it was indeed Eyil, night-blue cloak over one arm, a net bag of foodstuffs dangling from her other hand.
The fruit and loaves of bread scattered, and a jug of wine made a plocking sound upon the flagstones, purple stains spreading out all round. She was beside him, eyes fear-wide, fingers to his brow.
“Oh, Harsan! The drug-?”
“No,” he got out, “not the drug. Something else-”
She held him to her. “Not the Zu’url Then-?”
“Nothing. Nothing to fear now…” Strange after-images still danced before him, but they were receding. “I’ll be all right.”
His eyes went to the sphere upon the table, and her glance followed.
“What is that, Harsan? Is it dangerous? Did it-was it-?” He dared not tell her of the Man of Gold. That knowledge was for his superiors, and for Chtik p’Qwe. “No, no danger, I–I had just made a discovery.. ”
“A discovery? When I entered your face was like the visage of Shu’ure, the Eighth Aspect of Dlamelish! What frightened you so?”
A knot of puzzlement formed in Harsan’s breast. He rose. Carefully, he said, “And when did you ever see Shu’ure? She is never carried in procession outside of the temples of the Emerald Goddess?”
Was that wariness or just concern upon Eyil’s face? “Why, at the house of the Aridani lady in Tumissa, she of whom I spoke when we travelled upon the road. When we were little she used to frighten us, my clan-sisters and me, with stories. She showed us her house-gods.”
It was possible, nay, plausible. He temporised, “I was not really afraid-more surprised by my-discovery.”
