Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Science fiction; Tibet Autonomous Region (China) -- Fiction
Arose to meet them immense columns of the cubes; battered against
the spheres; swept them over and down into the depths. Hundreds fell,
broken--but thousands held their place. I saw them twine about the
pillars--writhing columns of interlaced cubes and globes straining
like monstrous serpents while all along their coils the open disks and
crosses smote with the scimitars of their lightnings.
In the wall of the City appeared a shining crack; from top to bottom it
ran; it widened into a rift from which a flood of radiance gushed. Out
of this rift poured a thousand-foot-high torrent of horned globes.
Only for an instant they flowed. The rift closed upon them, catching
those still emerging in a colossal vise. It CRUNCHED them. Plain through
the turmoil came a dreadful--bursting roar.
Down from the closing jaws of the vise dripped a stream of fragments
that flashed and flickered--and died. And now in the wall was no trace
of the breach.
A hurricane of radiant lances swept it. Under them a mile wide section
of the living scarp split away; dropped like an avalanche. Its fall
revealed great spaces, huge vaults and chambers filled with warring
lightnings--out from them came roaring, bellowing thunders. Swiftly from
each side of the gap a metal curtaining of the cubes joined. Again the
wall was whole.
I turned my stunned gaze from the City--swept over the valley.
Everywhere, in towers, in writhing coils, in whipping flails, in waves
that smote and crashed, in countless forms and combinations the Metal
Hordes battled. Here were pillars against which metal billows rushed
and were broken; there were metal comets that crashed high above the mad
turmoil.
From streaming silent veil to veil--north and south, east and west the
Monster slew itself beneath its racing, flaming banners, the tempests of
its lightnings.
The tortured hulk of the City lurched; it swept toward us. Before it
blotted out from our eyes the Pit I saw that the crystal spans upon the
river of jade were gone; that the wondrous jeweled ribbons of its banks
were broken.
Closer came the reeling City.
I fumbled for my lenses, focussed them upon it. Now I saw that where
the radiant lances struck they--killed the blocks blackened under them,
became lustreless; the sparkling of the tiny eyes--went out; the metal
carapaces crumbled.
Closer to the City--came the Monster; shuddering I lowered the glasses
that it might not seem so near.
Down dropped the bristling Shapes that wrestled with the squared Towers.
They rose again in a single monstrous wave that rushed to overwhelm
them. Before they could strike the City swept closer; had hidden them
from me.
Again I raised the glasses. They brought the metal scarp not fifty feet
away--within it the hosts of tiny eyes glittered, no longer mocking nor
malicious, but insane.
Nearer drew the Monster--nearer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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