hand, whose blue steel, traced with Norse runes, was stained a dull red.
“That is the blood of Kadra Muhammad,” growled Cormac, “who stole into my cell to slay me and whose corpse now lies there.”
His eyes were fixed with fierce intensity on di Strozza’s face but the Venetian’s expression altered not a whit.
“I will go to the chamber and see if he speaks truth,” said di Strozza, and Nadir Tous smiled a deadly smile.
“You will remain here,” said the Persian, and his ruffians closed menacingly around the tall Venetian. “Go you, Selim.” And one of his men went grumbling. Di Strozza shot a swift glance of terrible hatred and suppressed wrath at Nadir Tous, then stood imperturbably; but Cormac knew that the Venetian was wild to escape from that room.
“There have been strange things done tonight in Bab-el-Shaitan,” growled Shalmar Khor. “Where are Kai Shah and the Syrian – and that pagan from Tartary? And who drugged the wine?”
“Aye!” exclaimed Nadir Tous, “who drugged the wine which sent us all into the sleep from which we but a few moments ago awakened? And how is it that you, di Strozza, were awake when the rest of us slept?”
“I have told you, I drank the wine and fell asleep like the rest of you,” answered the Venetian coldly. “I awoke a few moments earlier, that is all, and was going to my chamber when the horde of you came along.”
“Mayhap,” answered Nadir Tous, “but we had to put a scimitar edge to your throat before you would come with us.”
“Why did you wish to come to Skol’s chamber anyway?” countered di Strozza.
“Why,” answered the Persian, “when we awoke and realized we had been drugged, Shalmar Khor suggested that we go to Skol’s chamber and see if he had flown with the jewel – ”
“You lie!” exclaimed the Circassian. “That was Kojar Mirza said that – ”
“Why this delay and argument?” cried Kojar Mirza. “We know this Frank was the last to be admitted to Skol this night. There is blood on his blade – we found him standing above the slain! Cut him down!”
And drawing his scimitar he stepped forward, his warriors surging in behind him. Cormac placed his back to the wall and braced his feet to meet the charge. But it did not come; the tense figure of the giant Norman-Gael was so fraught with brooding menace, the eyes glaring so terribly above the skull-adorned shield, that even the wild Kurd faltered and hesitated, though a score of men thronged the room and many more than that number swarmed in the corridor outside. And as he wavered the Persian Selim elbowed his way through the band, shouting: “The Frank spoke truth! Kadra Muhammad lies dead in the lord Cormac’s chamber!”
“That proves nothing,” said the Venetian quietly. “He might have slain Skol after he slew the Lur.”
An uneasy and bristling silence reigned for an instant. Cormac noted that now Skol lay dead, the different factions made no attempt to conceal their differences. Nadir Tous, Kojar Mirza and Shalmar Khor stood apart from each other and their followers bunched behind them in glaring, weapon-thumbing groups. Yussef el Mekru and Justus Zehor stood aside, looking undecided; only di Strozza seemed oblivious to this cleavage of the robber band.
The Venetian was about to say more, when another figure shouldered men aside and strode in. It was the Seljuk, Kai Shah, and Cormac noted that he lacked his mail shirt and that his garments were different from those he had worn earlier in the night. More, his left arm was bandaged and bound close to his chest and his dark face was somewhat pale.
At the sight of him di Strozza’s calm for the first time deserted him; he started violently.
“Where is Musa bin Daoud?” he exclaimed.
“Aye!” answered the Turk angrily. “Where is Musa bin Daoud?”
“I left him with you!” cried di Strozza fiercely, while the others gaped, not understanding this byplay.
“But you planned with him to elude me,” accused the Seljuk.
“You are mad!” shouted di Strozza, losing his self-control entirely.
“Mad?” snarled the Turk. “I have been searching for the dog through the dark corridors. If you and he are acting in good faith, why did you not return to the chamber, when you went forth to meet Kadra Muhammad whom we heard coming along the corridor? When you came not back I stepped to the door to peer out for you, and when I turned back, Musa had darted through some secret opening like a rat – ”
Di Strozza almost frothed at the mouth. “You fool!” he screamed, “keep silent!”
“I will see you in Gehennum and all our throats cut before I let you cozen me!” roared the Turk, ripping out his scimitar. “What have you done with Musa?”
“You fool of hell,” raved di Strozza, “I have been in this chamber ever since I left you! You knew that Syrian dog would play us false if he got the opportunity and – ”
And at that instant when the air was already supercharged with tension, a terrified slave rushed in at a blind, stumbling run, to fall gibbering at di Strozza’s feet.
“The gods!” he howled. “The black gods! Aie! The cavern under the floors and the djinn in the rock!”
“What are you yammering about, dog?” roared the Venetian, knocking the slave to the floor with an open- handed blow.
“I found the forbidden door open,” screeched the fellow. “A stair goes down – it leads into a fearful cavern with a terrible altar on which frown gigantic demons – and at the foot of the stairs – the lord Musa – ”
“What!” di Strozza’s eyes blazed and he shook the slave as a dog shakes a rat.
“Dead!” gasped the wretch between chattering teeth.
Cursing terribly, di Strozza knocked men aside in his rush to the door; with a vengeful howl Kai Shah pelted after him, slashing right and left to clear a way. Men gave back from his flashing blade, howling as the keen edge slit their skins. The Venetian and his erstwhile comrade ran down the corridor, di Strozza dragging the screaming slave after him, and the rest of the pack gave tongue in rage and bewilderment and took after them. Cormac swore in amazement and followed, determined to see the mad game through.
Down winding corridors di Strozza led the pack, down broad stairs, until he came to a huge iron door that now swung open. Here the horde hesitated.
“This is in truth the forbidden door,” muttered an Armenian. “The brand is on my back that Skol put there merely because I lingered too long before it once.”
“Aye,” agreed a Persian. “It leads into places once sealed up by the Arabs long ago. None but Skol ever passed through that door – he and the Nubian and the captives who came not forth. It is a haunt of devils.”
Di Strozza snarled in disgust and strode through the doorway. He had snatched a torch as he ran and he held this high in one hand. Broad steps showed, leading downward, and cut out of solid rock. They were on the lower floor of the castle; these steps led into the bowels of the earth. As di Strozza strode down, dragging the howling, naked slave, the high-held torch lighting the black stone steps and casting long shadows into the darkness before them, the Venetian looked like a demon dragging a soul into Hell.
Kai Shah was close behind him with his drawn scimitar, with Nadir Tous and Kojar Mirza crowding him close. The ragged crew had, with unaccustomed courtesy, drawn back to let the lord Cormac through and now they followed, uneasily and casting apprehensive glances to all sides.
Many carried torches, and as their light flowed into the depths below a medley of affrighted yells went up. From the darkness huge evil eyes glimmered and titanic shapes loomed vaguely in the gloom. The mob wavered, ready to stampede, but di Strozza strode stolidly downward and the pack called on Allah and followed. Now the light showed a huge cavern in the center of which stood a black and utterly abhorrent altar, hideously stained, and flanked with grinning skulls laid out in strangely systematic lines. The horrific figures were disclosed to be huge images, carved from the solid rock of the cavern walls, strange, bestial, gigantic gods, whose huge eyes of some glassy substance caught the torchlight.
The Celtic blood in Cormac sent a shiver down his spine. Alexander built the foundations of this fortress? Bah – no Grecian ever carved such gods as these. No; an aura of unspeakable antiquity brooded over this grim cavern, as if the forbidden door were a mystic threshold over which the adventurer stepped into an elder world. No wonder mad dreams were here bred in the frenzied brain of Skol Abdhur. These gods were grim vestiges of an older, darker race than Roman or Hellene – a people long faded into the gloom of antiquity. Phrygians – Lydians – Hittites? Or some still more ancient, more abysmal people?
The age of Alexander was as dawn before these ancient figures, yet doubtless he bowed to these gods, as he bowed to many gods before his maddened brain made himself a deity.
