Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Science fiction; Tibet Autonomous Region (China) -- Fiction
Far, far beneath us we watched the Hordes throw themselves across the
abyss in webs of curving arches and girder-straight bridges; gigantic
we knew these spans must be yet dwarfed to slender footways by
distance. Over them moved hurrying companies; from them came flashings,
glitterings--prismatic, sun golden; plutonic scarlets, molten blues;
javelins of colored light piercing upward from unfolded cubes and globes
and pyramids crossing them or from busy bearers of the shining fruits of
the mysterious workshops.
And as they passed the bridges swung up, coiled and thrust themselves
from sight through openings that closed behind them. Ever, as they
passed, close on their going whipped out other spans so that always
across that abyss a sentient, shifting web was hung.
We drew back, stared into each other's white face. Panic swept through
me, in quick, alternate pulse of ice and fire. For crushingly, no longer
to be denied, came certainty that we were lost within the mazes of this
incredible City--lost in the body of the Metal Monster which that City
was. There was a sick despair in my heart as we turned and slowly made
our way back along the sloping corridor.
A hundred yards, perhaps, we had gone in silence before we stopped,
gazing stupidly at an opening in the wall beside us. The portal had not
been there when we had passed--of that I was certain.
“It's opened since we went by,” whispered Drake.
We peered through it. The passage was narrow; its pave led downward.
For a moment we hesitated, the same foreboding in both our minds. And
yet--among the perils that crowded in upon us what choice had we? There
could be no more danger there than here.
Both ways were--ALIVE, both obedient to impulses over which we had
no more control and no more way of predetermining than mice in some
complex, man-made trap. Furthermore, this shaft also ran downward, and
although its pitch was less and it did not therefore drop as quickly
toward that level we sought and wherein lay the openings of escape into
the outer valley, it fell at right angles to the corridor through which
we had come.
We knew that to retrace our steps now would but take us back to the
forges and thence to the hall of the Cones and the certain peril waiting
for us there.
We stepped into this opened way. For a little distance it ran
straightly, then turned and sloped gently upward; and a little distance
more we climbed. Then suddenly, not a hundred yards from us, gushed out
a flood of soft radiance, opalescent, filled with pearly glimmerings and
rosy shadows of light.
It was as though a door had opened into some world of luminescence. From
it the lambent torrent poured; billowed down upon us. In its wake
came music--if music the mighty harmonies, the sonorous chords, the
crystalline themes and the linked chaplet of notes that were like
spiralings of tiny golden star bells could be named.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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