could have had them spilling their guts in half the time.'
'They questioned you?' Dumarest checked to see if Ritter was safe. 'What did they want to know?'
'Who I was. Where I'd come from. Was I alone- stuff like that. I pretended I didn't know what they were talking about. When they put the irons to me I just yelled and slumped. I wonder you didn't hear me.'
And lucky they hadn't. To have attempted a rescue would have been to join him in danger, as it was, the mercenary served to warn of what would happen if they were careless. As he straightened to his feet Dumarest studied the instrument on his wrist. Time was running out. Altini was on the roof. They had to find the secret the Temple contained, make their way upwards to the opening he would have made, join with him in the final run to safety.
A simple plan but one depending on speed. To hit, to take, to run and, with luck, to do it before the alarm could be sounded.
'Let's get moving.' Dumarest stepped toward the door, listened, thrust himself through the portal into the passage. It was still deserted and he stared at the guide. 'Which way, Chang?'
Sanchez snarled as the man made a vague gesture. 'The creep. Hasn't he any brains? I'll make him talk.'
'You watch the rear.' Dumarest was harsh. 'You're too big with your mouth. I won't tell you again. Now, Chang, which way?'
Down the passage to a junction, to turn left, to follow a slope, to move through a door into another chamber. The cold, blue light ended, replaced by a warmer glow cast from scattered lanterns. Another passage swallowed them, the floor cracked and seemingly neglected, and Dumarest guessed it was used only for the passage of workers. Deeper into the maze of the Temple and he tensed to the sound of chanting.
'Kroy, drop back to stand beside Chang.'
Dumarest moved to take his place as the mercenary obeyed. Himself and Dietz in the front, Sanchez at the rear, the two apparent workers in the middle. In the dimmer lighting they might just get by. Another gamble to add to the rest.
'Robes,' whispered the assassin. 'We need camouflage.'
A need which grew as they progressed. The empty places were far behind now and more voices could be heard together with the rasp of sandals, the moving shadows which created soft rustlings. Even at night the Temple was busy.
'There.' Dumarest halted as he heard Chang's voice. 'No! Not on! There! There!'
He stood pointing at the wall, at a carving depicting a fanged and monstrous beast. His face was twisted as he stubbornly fought Lauter's dragging hand. A man like a machine which had been set in motion. One clinging to a familiar path.
Again his hand stabbed at the beast. 'There!'
Dumarest said, 'Is that the way the priests took you? Through the wall?'
'He's lying. It's solid.' Lauter snorted his impatience. 'You can see it is.'
'Perhaps not.' Dietz moved toward it, ran his hands over the carved stone, grunted as he felt a movement. 'It's on a pivot. A secret door of some kind.'
A convenience which enabled workers to attend their duties without encroaching on the devotions of those in adjoining chambers. Opened, it gave on to a narrow passage which led to a room stacked with brooms, cloths, jars of wax, other assorted materials. The passage continued to open in the well of an area brilliant with light.
'Hell!' Sanchez narrowed his eyes. 'What's this?'
A door faced the one through which they emerged. It was set far back beneath an overhang and stood deep in massive blocks of stone. The symbol of the quartered circle was prominent over an ornate lock. To either side stairs led up to a gallery which swept in an arc to either side. Climbing them, Dumarest saw walls of polished stone heavily carved, the quartered circle predominant. Light shone from panels set into the roof. A clear, blue illumination which threw the troughlike bench running around the inner wall of the gallery into prominence.
From within it came the wink and flash of jewels.
'Loot!' Sanchez thrust himself forward. 'This is it! This is what we came for!'
The donations of worshipers stored and accumulated over countless years. Rare books their covers crusted with gems, ornaments, necklaces, rings, torcs, bracelets, objects of intricate loveliness, the work of long-dead craftsmen, the valued treasures of generations set as votive offerings to what the Temple contained.
'Leave them!' Dumarest was sharp. 'This isn't what we came for!'
The fighter ignored him. 'Look at this?' Sanchez held a flower of metal, the petals composed of matching stones which glowed with ruby and emerald, sapphire and diamond. Precious metal beneath his fingers as he tore them from their settings. 'And this!' A chalice of shimmering perfection. 'And this!'
He ran down the gallery, caution forgotten, entranced by the treasure spread before him. A rapacious child snatching at scintillating toys, destroying them, thrusting handfuls of gems into his pockets.
'No!' Chang cried out in protest at the sacrilege. 'Don't! Please don't!'
He ran forward, frail arms lifted in a hopeless attempt to stop the fighter. Sanchez turned, snarling, striking out with brutal force. Chang flew backward to hit against the edge of the trough, to slump like a broken doll, to lie on the polished stone of the floor, his head at a grotesque angle.
'No, Earl!' Lauter caught at Dumarest's arm. 'He's mad. Crazed. Try to stop him and he'll kill you. I've seen it before. An entire squad. All they could see was loot.'
And all Dumarest could see was the blood staining the dead man's mouth. A carmine smear which grew and grew until it filled the gallery, the entire universe.
* * *
There had been formalities which had added more time to that already lost but Clarge had had no choice but to yield to ancient tradition. Even while waiting for the ceremonies and rituals to end, his mind had been at work. The Temple was, to him, almost an open book. He could visualize what it must have been in the beginning; a shrine attended by dedicated attendants. One which had enlarged over the years, gaining status with bulk, stature from the donations of worshipers. Enhanced power and prestige would have accelerated the growth until the peak of optimum efficiency would have been reached and passed. Now revenue would have fallen, attendants fewer and of a lesser quality, those adhering to the creed it preached content to do so from afar, less inclined to make the arduous pilgrimage.
The way of all such institutions. Only the Cyclan would continue to grow and expand its influence over an endless succession of worlds. The secret domination which already controlled the destiny of a myriad planets and would lock more into its expanding web. One day the entire galaxy would be under that domination and then there would be a final end to waste and stupidity.
Clarge could visualize it as he could the origins of the Temple in which he stood. It, like so much else, would be swept away, the stones used in its construction devoted to rearing buildings dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Poverty would end-able beings would be put to work, fed, housed, maintained in a state of efficient health, set to work to create the new way of life. The whims of petty rulers would be abolished. Emotional poisons eradicated. Birth, growth, death and development controlled. Selected types bred and genetic advantages incorporated into the human race. There would be no disease, no irrational loyalties, no catering to superstition. The mind would be all. Logic, reason, intelligence, efficiency-the cornerstones of the new, bright and glittering order to come.
The whisper of a gong brought him to full concentration on the matter at hand. He stood within the small room to which he had been escorted, the hue of his robe warmly scarlet against the dull brown of the walls, in sharp contrast to that worn by the old man who came toward him. But if his robe was black the insignia covering the breast was not. It glowed with gems and precious metals, an elaborate sigil surrounding a quartered circle.
'My lord!' The cyber inclined his head. 'I am most honored that you have condescended to grant me this audience. It is something you will never have cause to regret. I would not have imposed my presence in this sacred place but for the urgency of my mission.'
Deference and polite words to a man who was little better than a superstition-ridden fool, but here, in the Temple, the High Priest held supreme power. A fact never to be forgotten if he hoped to enlist Varne's aid.
