rh.conanthewarrior-第20部分

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　let　into　an　alcove；　empty；　and　with　a　narrow　corridor　leading　off　from　it　at　right　angles。　Turning　away　from　it；　he　spied　another　arch　to　the　left　of　the　dais；　and　it；　unlike　the　others；　was　furnished　with　a　door。　Nor　was　it　any　mon　door。　The　portal　was　of　the　same　rich　metal　as　the　throne；　and　carved　with　many　curious　arabesques。
　　At　his　touch　it　swung　open　so　readily　that　its　hinges　might　recently　have　been　oiled。　Inside　he　halted；　staring。
　　He　was　in　a　square　chamber　of　no　great　dimensions；　whose　marble　walls　rose　to　an　ornate　ceiling；　inlaid　with　gold。　Gold　friezes　ran　about　the　base　and　the　top　of　the　walls；　and　there　was　no　door　other　than　the　one　though　which　he　had　entered。　But　he　noted　these　details　mechanically。　His　whole　attention　was　centered　on　the　shape　which　lay　on　an　ivory　dais　before　him。
　　He　had　expected　an　image；　probably　carved　with　the　skill　of　a　forgotten　art。　But　no　art　could　mimic　the　perfection　of　the　figure　that　lay　before　him。
　　It　was　no　effigy　of　stone　or　metal　or　ivory。　It　was　the　actual　body　of　a　woman；　and　by　what　dark　art　the　ancients　had　preserved　that　form　unblemished　for　so　many　ages　Conan　could　not　even　guess。　The　very　garments　she　wore　were　intact…and　Conan　scowled　at　that；　a　vauge　uneasiness　stirring　at　the　back　of　his　mind。　The　arts　that　preserved　the　body　should　not　have　affected　the　garments。　Yet　there　they　were…gold　breast…plates　set　with　concentric　circles　of　small　gems；　gilded　sandals；　and　a　short　silken　skirt　upheld　by　a　jeweled　girdle。　Neither　cloth　nor　metal　showed　any　signs　of　decay。
　　Yelaya　was　coldly　beautiful；　even　in　death。　Her　body　was　like　alabaster；　slender　yet　voluptuous；　a　great　crimson　jewel　gleamed　against　the　darkly　piled　foam　of　her　hair。
　　Conan　stood　frowning　down　at　her；　and　then　tapped　the　dais　with　his　sword。　Possibilities　of　a　hollow　containing　the　treasure　occurred　to　him；　but　the　dais　rang　solid。　He　turned　and　paced　the　chamber　in　some　indecision。　Where　should　he　search　first；　in　the　limited　time　at　his　disposal？　The　priest　he　had　overheard　babbling　to　a　courtesan　had　said　the　treasure　was　hidden　in　the　palace。　But　that　included　a　space　of　considerable　vastness。　He　wondered　if　he　should　hide　himself　until　the　priests　had　e　and　gone；　and　then　renew　the　search。　But　there　was　a　strong　chance　that　they　might　take　the　jewels　with　them　when　they　returned　to　Keshia。　For　he　was　convinced　that　Thutmekri　had　corrupted　Gorulga。
　　Conan　could　predict　Thutmekri's　plans；　from　his　knowledge　of　the　man。　He　knew　that　it　had　been　Thutmekri　who　had　proposed　the　conquest　of　Punt　to　the　kings　of　Zembabwei；　which　conquest　was　but　one　move　toward　their　real　goal…the　capture　of　the　Teeth　of　Gwahlur。　Those　wary　kings　would　demand　proof　that　the　treasure　really　existed　before　they　made　any　move。　The　jewels　Thutmekri　asked　as　a　pledge　would　furnish　that　proof。
　　With　positive　evidence　of　the　treasure's　reality；　the　kings　of　Zimbabwei　would　move。　Punt　would　be　invaded　simultaneously　from　the　east　and　the　west；　but　the　Zembabwans　would　see　to　it　that　the　Keshani　did　most　of　the　fighting；　and　then；　when　both　Punt　and　Keshan　were　exhausted　from　the　struggle；　the　Zembabwans　would　crush　both　races；　loot　Keshan　and　take　the　treasure　by　force；　if　they　had　to　destroy　every　building　and　torture　every　living　human　in　the　kingdom。
　　But　there　was　always　another　possibility：　if　Thutmekri　could　get　his　hands　on　the　hoard；　it　would　be　characteristic　of　the　man　to　cheat　his　employers；　steal　the　jewels　for　himself　and　decamp；　leaving　the　Zembabwan　emissaries　holding　the　sack。
　　Conan　believed　that　this　consulting　of　the　oracle　was　but　a　ruse　to　persuade　the　king　of　Keshan　to　accede　to　Thutmekri's　wishes…for　he　never　for　a　moment　doubted　that　Gorulga　was　as　subtle　and　devious　as　all　the　rest　mixed　up　in　this　grand　swindle。　Conan　had　not　approached　the　high　priest　himself；　because　in　the　game　of　bribery　he　would　have　no　chance　against　Thutmekri；　and　to　attempt　it　would　be　to　play　directly　into　the　Stygian's　hands。　Gorulga　could　denounce　the　Cimmerian　to　the　people；　establish　a　reputation　for　integrity；　and　rid　Thutmekri　of　his　rival　at　one　stroke。　He　wondered　how　Thutmekri　had　corrupted　the　high　priest；　and　just　what　could　be　offered　as　a　bribe　to　a　man　who　had　the　greatest　treasure　in　the　world　under　his　fingers。
　　At　any　rate　he　was　sure　that　the　oracle　would　be　made　to　say　that　the　gods　willed　it　that　Keshan　whould　follow　Thutmekri's　wishes；　and　he　was　sure；　too；　that　it　would　drop　a　few　pointed　remarks　concerning　himself。　After　that　Keshia　would　be　too　hot　for　the　Cimmerian；　nor　had　Conan　had　any　intention　of　returning　when　he　rode　way　in　the　night。
　　The　oracle　chamber　held　no　clue　for　him。　He　went　forth　into　the　great　throne　room　and　laid　his　hands　on　the　throne。　It　was　heavy；　but　he　could　tilt　it　up。　The　floor　beneath；　a　thick　marble　dais；　was　solid。　Again　he　sought　the　alcove。　His　mind　clung　to　a　secret　crypt　near　the　oracle。　Painstakingly　he　began　to　tap　along　the　walls；　and　presently　his　taps　rang　hollow　at　a　spot　opposite　the　mouth　of　the　narrow　corridor。　Looking　more　closely　he　saw　that　the　crack　between　the　marble　panel　at　that　point　and　the　next　was　wider　than　usual。　He　inserted　a　dagger　point　and　pried。
　　Silently　the　panel　swung　open；　revealing　a　niche　in　the　wall；　but　nothing　else。　He　swore　feelingly。　The　aperture　was　empty；　and　it　did　not　look　as　if　it　had　ever　served　as　a　crypt　for　treasure。　Leaning　into　the　niche　he　saw　a　system　of　tiny　holes　in　the　wall；　about　on　a　level　with　a　man's　mouth。　He　peered　through；　and　grunted　understandingly。　That　was　the　wall　that　formed　the　partition　between　the　alcove　and　the　oracle　chamber。　Those　holes　had　not　been　visible　in　the　chamber。　Conan　grinned。　This　explained　the　mystery　of　the　oracle；　but　it　was　a　bit　cruder　than　he　had　expected。　Gorulga　would　plant　either　himself　or　some　trusted　minion　in　that　niche；　to　talk　through　the　holes；　the　credulous　acolytes；　black　men　all；　would　accept　it　as　the　veritable　voice　of　Yelaya。
　　Remembering　something；　the　Cimmerian　drew　forth　the　roll　of　parchment　he　had　taken　from　the　mummy　and　unrolled　it　carefully；　as　it　seemed　ready　to　fall　to　pieces　with　age。　He　scowled　over　the　dim　characters　with　which　it　was　covered。　In　his　roaming　about　the　world　the　giant　adventurer　had　picked　up　a　wide　smattering　of　knowledge；　particularly　including　the　speaking　and　reading　of　many　alien　tongues。　Many　a　sheltered　scholar　would　have　been　astonished　at　the　Cimmerian's　linguistic　abilities；　for　he　had　experienced　many　adventures　where　knowledge　of　a　strange　language　had　meant　the　difference　between　life　and　death。
　　The　characters　were　puzzling；　at　once　familiar　and　unintelligible；　and　presently　he　discovered　the　reason。　They　were　the　characters　of　archaic　Pelishtic；　which　possessed　many　points　of　difference　from　the　modern　script；　with　which　he　was　familiar；　and　which；　three　centuries　ago；　had　been　modified　by　conquest　by　a　nomad　tribe。　This　older；　purer　script　baffled　him。　He　made　out　a　recurrent　phrase；　however；　which　he　recognized　as　a　proper　name：　Bit…Yakin。　He　gathered　that　it　was　the　name　of　the　writer。
　　Scowling；　his　lips　unconsciously　moving　as　he　struggled　with　the　task；　he　blundered　through　the　manuscript；　finding　much　of　it　untranslatable　and　most　of　the　rest　of　it　obscure。
　　He　gathered　that　the　writer；　the　mysterious　Bit…Yakin；　had　e　from　afar　with　his　servants；　and　entered　the　valley　of　Alkmeenon。　Much　that　followed　was　meaningless；　interspersed　as　it　was　with　unfamiliar　phrases　and　characters。　Such　as　he　could　translate　seemed　to　indicate　the　passing　of　a　very　long　period　of　time。　The　name　of　Yelaya　was　repeated　frequently；　and　toward　the　last　part　of　the　manuscript　it　became　apparent　that　Bit…Yakin　knew　that　death　was　upon　him。　With　a　slight　start　Conan　realized　that　the　mummy　in　the　cavern　must　be　the　remains　of　the　writer　of　the　manuscript；　the　mysterious　Pelishti；　Bit…Yakin。　The　man　had　died；　as　he　had　prophesied；　and　his　servants；　obviously；　had　placed　him　in　that　open　crypt；　high　up　on　the　cliffs；　according　to　his　instructions　before　his　death。
　　It　was　strange　that　Bit…Yakin　was　not　mentioned　in　any　of　the　legends　of　Alkmeenon。　Obviously　he　had　e　to　the　valley　after　it　had　been　deserted　by　the　original　inhabitants…the　manuscript　indicated　as　much…but　it　seemed　peculiar　that　the　priests　who　came　in　the　old　days　to　consult　the　oracle　had　not　seen　the　man　or　his　servants。　Conan　felt　sure　that　the　mummy　and　this　parchment　was　more　than　a　hundred　years　old。　Bit…Yakin　had　dwelt　in　the　valley　when　the　priests　came　of　old　to　bow　before　dead　Yelaya。　Yet　concerning　him　the　legends　were　silent；　telling　only　of　a　deserted　city；　haunted　only　by　the　dead。
　　Why　had　the　man　dwelt　in　this　desolate　spot；　and　to　what　unknown　destination　had　his　servants　departed　after　disposing　of　their　master's　corpse？
　　Conan　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　thrust　the　parchment　back　into　his　girdle…he　started　violently；　the　skin　on　the　backs　of　his　hands　tingling。　Startingly；　shockingly　in　the　slumberous　stillness；　there　had　boomed　the　deep　strident　clangor　of　a　great　gong！
　　He　wheeled；　crouching　like　a　great　cat；　sword　in　hand；　glaring　down　the　narrow　corridor　from　which　the　sound　had　seemed　to　e。　Had　the　priests　of　Keshia　arrived？　This　was　improbable；　he　knew；　they　would　not　have　had　time　to　reach　the　valley。　But　that　gong　was　indisputable　evidence　of　human　presence。
　　Conan　was　basically　a　direct…actionist。　Such　subtlety　as　he　possessed　had　been　acquired　through　contact　with　the　more　devious　races。　When　taken　off　guard　by　some　unexpected　occurrence；　he　reverted　instinctively　to　type。　So　now；　instead　of　hiding　or　slipping　away　in　the　opposite　direction　as　the　average　man　might　have　done；　he　ran　straight　down　the　corridor　in　the　direction　of　the　sound。　His　sandals　made　no　more　sound　than　the　pads　of　a　panther　would　have　made；　his　eyes　were　slits；　his　lips　unconsciously　asnarl。　Panic　had　momentarily　touched　his　soul　at　the　shock　of　that　unexpected　reverberation；　and　the　red　rage　of　the　primitive　that　is　wakened　by　threat　of　peril；　always　lurked　close　to　the　surface　of　the　Cimmerian。
　　He　emerged　presently　from　the　winding　corridor　into　a　small　open　court。　Something　glinting　in　the　su