The Gods—And Man’s Desire

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kenton braced himself; held tight to the curtains. He fought with all his will to check their melting as his old room that held the jeweled ship swung between spectral unreality and hard actuality. The curtains were like bars between his old world and this of his great adventure; bars between the world of Sharane and the world he loathed.

A force, a pull like a strong undertow, dragged him forward irresistibly each time the curtains melted in his hands and the nebulous outlines of his room crisped into steadiness. And plainly he could pick out every detail of that room, the long mirror, the cabinets, the divan—the stains of his blood still wet upon the floor.

And always, whether room were melting mist or clear outline, the jeweled ship shone steadily—watchful!

Now he swung out and over that room; the ancient Chinese rug of its floor was below him—at once close and infinite distances away. He heard the first voices of the shrieking winds of space!

In that brief instant he realized that it was the shining toy itself drawing him out of the world of Sharane!

Something was reaching up and out to him from the dark deck of the ship! Something malignant and mocking—dragging him, dragging him to it!

The same thought he fleetingly had held when he had hovered over the real ship in its hidden harbor—no fleeting thought now, but certainty!

Darker grew the black deck—stronger its pull—

“Ishtar!” he prayed, gaze upon the rosy cabin. “Ishtar!”

Did the cabin flash as though filled with sudden light? A light which penetrated, numbed, the dark power dragging him to it?

The outlines of his room melted; again the curtains were heavy in his hands; he stood once more on firm feet at the threshold of the House of the Moon God.

Once, twice, thrice more the room pulled back—but each time less real, more spectral. And against each pulse Kenton set his will; closed eyes and thrust away the vision of it with all his strength; forced himself not to think of what that apparent resurgence of evil power on the black deck might mean; concentrated every thought, every atom of will on banishment of room and toy ship where they belonged—in his old world.

His soul for Sharane’s! Never would he be drawn back there again!

His will won. The room vanished; in that evanishment a finality not to be mistaken. The spell was broken, the subtle links snapped. Now he could go on!

Caught by the reaction he clung to the curtains, knees weak and shaking. Slowly he found himself, resolutely parted the folds.

He looked now into a vast hall filled with mist of argent light; still was this mist, yet palpable—as though the rays that formed it were woven. Interlaced and luminous, the webbed mist made of the chamber a home of immensities, of tremendous distance. He thought but was not sure, that there was motion within these silver webs—shadowy shapes half appearing, vanishing, never quite coming into full sight. Far away he caught another movement; a figure was coming forward; steadily, inexorably. It drew closer, slowly; it swam into sight—a man, golden-helmeted, over his shoulder a short cloak of gold shot through with scarlet, in his hand a golden sword; head bent, pushing on as though against some strong current.

It was the Priest of Bel clad in the raiment of his god!

Scarce breathing, Kenton watched him. The eyes so like his own were black with dread and awe—yet filled with will and purpose; indomitable. The mouth was set, the lips white, and in all the priest’s body Kenton sensed a tremor, a shuddering—deep as the priest’s soul. Whether real or but phantoms, he knew the terrors of this place were realities to the priest. With a thrill of ungrudging admiration he paid tribute to the courage that dared those terrors while masquerading in sacrilegious semblance of the god to whom the priest was traitor and whose greater betrayal was the purpose of his pilgrimage!

The Priest of Bel passed, and Kenton, waiting until he was half hidden in the shining mists, slipped through the curtains; followed him.

Now Kenton heard a voice; a still voice, passionless as that which had bidden him arise from his bed of stone; and like that voice neither was it the place wherein he trod nor within him. It was as though borne to him out of farthest flung space—

The voice of Nabu, God of Wisdom!

Listening, he felt himself not one man but three—a single purposed Kenton who followed the priest and would follow him through hell so he led to Sharane; a Kenton who, tied by some inexplicable link to the mind of the priest, felt and saw and heard, suffered and feared even as he; and a Kenton who hearkened to the words of Nabu as coldly, as dispassionately as they were uttered, watched as coldly, as detachedly, all they pictured.

“The House of Sin!” the voice rang. “Chief of the Gods! Nannar! Begetter of Gods and men! Lord of the Moon! Lord of the Brilliant Crescent! Great of Horns! Nannar! Perfect of Form! Decreer of Destiny! Self Created! Whose House is the first of the Zones and Whose Color is Silver!

“He passes through the House of Sin!

“He goes by the altars of chalcedon and of sard which are set with the great moonstone and with rock crystals, the altars where burn the white flames from which Sin the Fashioner created Ishtar! He sees the pale and shining serpents of Nannar writhe toward him and from the silver mists that veil the crescented horns of Sin he sees the winged white scorpions dart upon him!

“He hears the sound of the tramping of myriads of feet, the feet of all the men to be born beneath the Moon! And he hears the sound of the sobbing of myriads of women, the sobbing of all the women to be born and to bear! He hears the clamor of the Uncreate!

“And he passes!

“For Lo! Not the Begetter of Gods nor the awe of him may stand before man’s desire!”

So the voice rang—and was silent. And Kenton saw all these things, saw the shimmering white serpents writhe through the silver mists and strike at the priest; saw the winged scorpions dart upon him; visioned within the mists a vast and awful shape upon whose clouded brows the crescent of the moon was bound. In his own ears he heard the tramping of armies of the unborn, the sobbing of worlds of women yet unborn, the clamor of the Uncreate! Saw and heard—even, he knew, as did the Priest of Bel!

And unshaken, followed.

The golden helm flashed, high above him. Kenton paused at the base of a winding stairway whose broad steps circled upward, changing as they arose from pallid silver to glowing orange. He waited until the priest—never hastening, never looking back—had ascended; he passed into the place to which the stairway led; slipped after him.

He looked into a temple filled with crocused light even as that through which he had just come had been filled with webs of moonbeams. A hundred paces away marched the priest, and as Kenton moved on the still voice resumed its whispering:

“The House of Shamash! Offspring of the Moon! God of the Day Dweller in the House of Luster! Banisher of Darkness! King of Judgment! Judge of Mankind! On Whose Head Resteth the Crown with the High Horns! In Whose Hands are Life and Death! Who Cleanseth Man with His Hands Like a Tablet of Burnished Copper! Whose House is the Second of the Zones and Whose Color is Orange!

“He passes through the House of Shamash!

“Here are the altars of opal set with diamonds and the altars of gold set with amber and the yellow sunstones. Upon the altars of Shamash burn sandalwood and cardamon and verbena. He goes by the altars of opal and of gold; and he goes by the birds of Shamash whose heads are wheels of flame and who guard the wheel that turns within the House of Shamash and is a potter’s wheel upon which all the souls of men are shaped.

“He hears the noise of myriads of voices, the wailing of those who have been judged and the shouting of those who have been judged!

“And he passes!

“For Lo! Not the King of Judgment nor the fear of him may stand before man’s desire!”

Again Kenton saw and heard all these things; and following the priest came to a second stairway whose steps merged from glowing orange into ebon black. And still following he stood, at last, in a great hall of gloom, the name of whose dread master he knew even before the still voice came murmuring to him out of hidden, secret space:

“The House of Nergal! The Mighty One of the Great Dwelling Place! King of the Dead! He who Scattereth the Pestilence! He Who Ruleth over the Lost! The Dark One without Horns! Whose House is the Third of the Zones and whose Color is Black!

“He passes through the House of Nergal!

“He goes by Nergal’s altars of jet and of bloodstone! He goes by the red fires of civet and of bergamot that burn thereon! He goes by the altars of Nergal and the lions that guard them, and the black lions whose eyes are as rubies and whose claws are blood red, the red lions whose claws are as black iron and whose eyes are as jet; and he passes the sable vultures of Nergal whose eyes are as carbuncles and whose heads are the fleshless heads of women!

“He hears the whimpering of the People of the Great Dwelling Place and he tastes the ashes of their passion!

“And he passes!

“For Lo! Not the Lord of the Dead nor the dread of him may swerve man from his desire!”

Now the steps of the stairway by which Kenton ascended from the House of Nergal faded from ebon into crimson; and fiery, wrathful scarlet was the light that filled the place in which he stood, watching the Priest of Bel go steadily on.

“The House of Ninib!” whispered the voice. “Lord of Spears! Lord of the Battle! Master of the Shields! Master of the Hearts of Warriors! Ruler of the Strife! Destroyer of Opposition! Breaker of the Lock! The Smiter! Whose Color is Scarlet, Whose House is the Fourth of the Zones!

“Of shields and of spears are builded the altars of Ninib and their fires are fed with the blood of men and the tears of women, and upon the altars of Ninib burn the gates of fallen cities and the hearts of conquered kings! He goes by the altars of Ninib. He sees threaten him the crimson fangs of the boars of Ninib whose heads are wreathed with the right hands of warriors, the crimson tusks of the elephants of Ninib whose feet are ankleted with the skulls of kings, and the crimson tongues of the snakes of Ninib which lick up the cities!

“He hears the clashing of spears, the smiting of swords, the falling of walls, the crying of the conquered!

“And he passes!

“For Lo! Since ever man was, the altars of Ninib have been fed with the fruits of man’s desire!”

Upon the fourth stairway he set his feet; ascended steps that ran from the vermilion of licking flame to the clear, serene blue of untroubled skies; stood within a chamber all filled with calm, azure light. Closer now seemed the voice.

“The House of Nabu! Lord of Wisdom! Bearer of the Staff! Mighty One of the Waters! Lord of the Fields Who Openeth up the Subterranean Streams! The Proclaimer! He who Openeth the Ears of Understanding! Whose Color is Blue and Whose House is the Fifth of the Zones!

“The altars of Nabu are of blue sapphire and of emerald and from them shine clear amethysts! The flames that burn on the altars of Nabu are blue fires in whose light only the truth has shadows! And the flames of Nabu are cold flames nor is there any scent over his altars! He passes by the altars of sapphire and of emerald and their cold fires! He passes the fishes of Nabu which have women’s breasts but silent mouths! He passes the seeing eyes of Nabu which look forth from behind his altars and he touches not the staff of Nabu which holdeth up with wisdom the feet!

“Yea—he passes!

“For Lo!—when did Wisdom stand before man’s desire!”

Up from the blue of Nabu’s House went the priest, and behind him on a stairway that merged from sapphire into rosy pearl and ivory climbed Kenton. Little, caressing tendrils of incense reached out to him as he went and all about him beat little languorous, linked notes of amorous sound; coaxing, calling; infinitely alluring, perilously sweet. Slowly, slowly Kenton followed him, listening to the voice, yet half heeding it, half forgetful of his quest, struggling with a vast desire to heed the calling, linked and amorous music; surrender to the spirit of this ensorcelled chamber—go no further—forget—Sharane!

“The House of Ishtar!” came the voice. “Mother of the Gods and of Men! The Great Goddess! Lady of the Morning and of the Evening! Full Bosomed! The Producer! She Who Hearkeneth to Petition! The Mighty Weapon of the Gods! She Who Slayed and She Who Created Love! And the House of Ishtar is the Sixth of the Zones!

“He passes through the House of Ishtar! Of white marble and of rose coral are her altars and the white marble is streaked with blue like a Woman’s breast! Upon her altars burn ever myrrh and frankincense, attar and ambergris! And the altars of Ishtar are set with pearls both white and rose, with hyacinths and with turquoise and with beryls!

“He goes by the altars of Ishtar, and, like the pink palms of maidens desirous, the rose wreaths of the incense steal toward him. The white doves of Ishtar beat their wings about his eyes! He hears the sound of the meeting of lips, the throbbing of hearts, the sighs of women, and the tread of white feet!

“Yet he passes!

“For Lo! Whenever did love stand before man’s desire!”

From that chamber of amorous witcheries the stairway climbed, reluctant; shifting from its rosy pearl to flaming, flashing gold. And scaling it he stood within another vast place radiant as though it were the heart of the sun. Half blinded by the brilliancy, straining his eyes for the priest he saw merged and almost invisible in the golden light. Faster and faster the priest moved onward as though all his terrors were concentrated, crowding upon his hurrying heels!

“The House of Bel!” rang the voice. “Merodach! Ruler of the Four Regions, Lord of the Lands! Child of the Day! Bull Necked! Elephant Thewed! Mighty One! Conqueror of Tiamat! Lord of the Igigi! King of Heavens and of Earth! Bringer of Things to Completeness! Lover of Ishtar!

“Bel-Merodach, Whose House is the Seventh of the Zones, and Whose Color is Golden!

“Swiftly he passes through the House of Bel!

“The altars of Bel are of gold and rayed like the sun! On them burn the golden fires of the summer lightnings and the smoke of the incense hangs over them like the clouds of the thunderstorm! The Cherubs whose bodies are lions and whose heads are eagle heads, and the Cherubs whose bodies are bulls and whose heads are the heads of men guard the golden altars of Bel, and both are winged with mighty wings! And the altars of Bel are reared upon thews of elephants and are held upon the necks of bulls and the paws of lions!

“He goes by them! He sees the fires of the lightning sink and the altar shake! In his ears is the sound of worlds crushed by the fist of Bel; of worlds falling beneath the feet of Bel; of worlds breaking beneath the smiting of Bel!

“Yet he passes!

“For Lo! Not even the Might of God may crush the desire of man!”

The voice ceased; it seemed to retreat to those far regions whence it had come. In its withdrawal Kenton sensed finality; knew it would sound no more for him there; that now he was thrown on his own wit and strength; must captain his own way henceforward.

Out from one side of the House of Bel jutted a squared buttress, perpendicular, fifty feet or more wide. It thrust itself into this temple within a temple like the gigantic pier of a bridge. Its top was hidden in the strange, shining mists.

Down its smooth façade darted a broad and angled streak of gold that Kenton for an instant took to be a colossal ornament, a symboling of the darting lightning bolt of Bel. Closer he came to it, following the priest. And now he saw that the golden streak was no ornament. It was a stairway, fashioned to represent the leaping levin but—a stairway! A steep stairway of sharply angled flights that clinging to the mighty buttress wall climbed from the floor of the House of Bel up to—what?

At the foot the priest of Bel faltered; for the first time he looked behind him; seemed half moved to retreat. Then with the same despairing gesture of defiance with which he had turned from the altar, he began to creep cautiously, silently up the angled stairs.

And Kenton, waiting again until he was but a shadow in the shining mists, followed.