The Lost ContinentHyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Science
The Lost Continent
Hyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Atlantis (Legendary place) -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Lost continents -- Fiction; Science fiction
My escort made outcry with the horn which hung from the wall inviting
such a summons, and a warder came to an arrow-slit, and did inspection
of our persons and business. His survey was according to the ancient
form of words, which is long, and this was made still more tedious by
the noise from within, which ever and again drowned all speech between
us entirely.
But at last the formalities had been duly complied with, and he shot
back the massive bars and bolts of stone, and threw ajar one monstrous
stone valve of the door. Into the chamber within--a chamber made from
the thickness of the wall between the two doors--I and my fellows
crowded, and then the warder with his machines pulled to the valve which
had been opened, and came to me again through the press of my escort,
bowing low to the ground.
“I have no vail to give you,” I said abruptly. “Get on with your duty.
Open me that other door.”
“With respect, my lord, it would be better that I should first announce
my lord’s presence. There is a baiting going forward in the circus, and
the tigers are as yet mere savages, and no respecters of persons.”
“The what?”
“The tigers, if my lord will permit them the name. They are baiting a
batch of prisoners with the two great beasts which the Empress (whose
name be adored) has sent here to aid us keep the gate. But if my
lord will, there are the ward rooms leading off this passage, and the
galleries which run out from them commanding the circus, and from there
my lord can see the sport undisturbed.”
Now, the mere lust for killing excites only disgust in me, but I
suspected the orders of the Empress in this matter, and had a curiosity
to see her scheme. So I stepped into the warder’s lodge, and on into
the galleries which commanded the circus with their arrow-slits. The old
builders of the place had intended these for a second line of defence,
for, supposing the outer doors all forced, an enemy could be speedily
shot down in the circus, without being able to give a blow in return,
and so would only march into a death-trap. But as a gazing-place on a
spectacle they were no less useful.
The circus was bright lit by the moonlight, and the air which came in to
me from it was acrid with the reek of blood. There was no sport in
what was going forward: as I said, it was mere killing, and the sight
disgusted me. I am no prude about this matter. Give a prisoner his
weapons, put him in a pit with beasts of reasonable strength, and let
him fight to a finish if you choose, and I can look on there and applaud
the strokes. The war prisoner, being a prisoner, has earned death by
natural law, and prefers to get his last stroke in hot blood than to
be knocked down by the headsman’s axe. And it is any brave man’s luxury
either to help or watch a lusty fight. But this baiting in the circus
between the gates was no fair battle like that.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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