[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]glowed. Behind them the long galley lay like a dead beetle, the oars sprawled
out all askew from the ports.
They had marched for some little distance, and the sound of the breakers was
less thunderous, when their torchlight helped reveal a portal in a great wall
of black rock that might or might not have been a castle rather than a
caverned cliff. The portal was square and high as an oar. Three worn stone
steps drifted with wet sand led up to it. Dimly they could discern on the
pillars, and on the heavy lintel overhead, carvings partly obliterated by
slime and incrustations of some sort, but unmistakably Simorgyan in their
obscure symbolism.
The crew, staring silently now, drew closer together. The ragged procession
became a tight knot. Then Lavas Laerk called mockingly, "Where are your
guards, Simorgya? Where are your fighting men?" and walked straight up the
stone steps. After a moment of uncertainty, the knot broke and the men
followed him.
On the massive threshold Fafhrd involuntarily halted, dumbstruck by
realization of the source of the faint yellow light he had earlier noticed in
the high windows. For the source was everywhere: ceiling, walls, and slimy
floor all glowed with a wavering phosphorescence. Even the carvings glimmered.
Mixed awe and repugnance gripped him. But the men pressed around and against
him, and carried him forward. Wine and leadership had dulled their
sensibilities and as they strode down the long corridor they seemed little
aware of the abysmal scene.
At first some held their weapons ready to meet a possible foray or ambush, but
soon they lowered them negligently, and even sucked at the wineskins and
jested. A hulking oarsman, whose blond beard was patched with yellow scud from
the surf, struck up a chantey and others joined in, until the dank walls
roared. Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the cave or castle, along the
wide, winding, ooze-carpeted corridor.
Fafhrd was carried along by a current. When he moved too slowly, the others
jostled him and he quickened his pace, but it was all involuntary. Only his
eyes responded to his will, turning from side to side, drinking in details
with fearful curiosity: the endless series of vague carvings, wherein sea
monsters and unwholesome manlike figures and vaguely anthropomorphic giant
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skates or rays seemed to come alive and stir as the phosphorescence
fluctuated; a group of highest windows or openings of some sort, from which
dark slippery weeds trailed down; the pools of water here and there; the
still-alive, gasping fish which the others trod or kicked aside; the clumps of
bearded shells clinging to the corners; the impression of things scuttling out
of the way ahead. Louder and louder the thought drummed in his skull: surely
the others must realize where they were. Surely they must know the
phosphorescence was that of the sea. Surely they must know that this was the
retreat of the more secret creatures of the deep. Surely, surely they must
know that Simorgya had indeed sunk under the sea and only risen up yesterday -
- or yester-hour.
But on they marched after Lavas Laerk, and still sang and shouted and swilled
wine in quick gulps, throwing back their heads and lifting up the sacks as
they strode. And Fafhrd could not speak. His shoulder muscles were contracted
as if the weight of the sea were already pressing them down. His mind was
engulfed and oppressed by the ominous presence of sunken Simorgya.
Memories of the legends. Thoughts of the black centuries during which sea life
had slowly crept and wriggled and swum through the mazes of rooms and
corridors until it had a lair in every crack and cranny and Simorgya was one
with the mysteries of the ocean. In a deep grotto that opened on the corridor
he made out a thick table of stone, with a great stone chair behind it; and
though he could not be sure, he thought he distinguished an octopus shape
slouched there in a travesty of a human occupant, tentacles coiling the chair,
unblinking eyes staring glisteningly.
Gradually the glare of the smoky torches paled, as the phosphorescence grew
stronger. And when the men broke off singing, the sound of the surf was no
longer audible.
Then Lavas Laerk, from around a sharp turn in the corridor, uttered a
triumphant cry. The others hastened after, stumbling, lurching, calling out
eagerly.
"Oh, Simorgya!" cried Lavas Laerk, "we have found your treasure house!"
The room in which the corridor ended was square and considerably lower-
ceilinged than the corridor. Standing here and there were a number of black,
soggy-looking, heavily-bound chests. The stuff underfoot was muckier. There
were more pools of water. The phosphorescence was stronger.
A blond-bearded oarsman leaped ahead as the others hesitated. He wrenched at
the cover of the nearest chest. A corner came away in his hands, the wood soft
as cheese, the seeming metal a black smeary ooze. He grasped at it again and
pulled off most of the top, revealing a layer of dully-gleaming gold and
slime-misted gems. Over that jeweled surface a crablike creature scuttled,
escaping through a hole in the back.
With a great, greedy shout, the others rushed at the chests, jerking, gouging,
even smiting with their swords at the spongy wood. Two, fighting as to which
should break open a chest, fell against it and it went to pieces under them,
leaving them struggling in jewels and muck.
All this while Lavas Laerk stood on the same spot from which he had uttered
his first taunting cry. To Fafhrd, who stood forgotten beside him, it seemed
that Lavas Laerk was distraught that his quest should come to any end, that
Lavas Laerk was desperately searching for something further, something more
than jewels and gold to sate his mad willfulness. Then he noted that
Lavas Laerk was looking at something intently -- a square, slime-filmed, but
apparently golden door across the room from the mouth of the corridor; upon it
was the carving of some strange, undulant blanketlike sea monster. He heard
Lavas Laerk laugh throatily and watched him stride unswervingly toward the
door. He saw that Lavas Laerk had something in his hand. With a shock of
surprise he recognized it as the ring Lavas Laerk had taken from him. He saw
Lavas Laerk shove at the door without budging it. He saw Lavas Laerk fumble
with the ring and fit the key part into the golden door and turn it. He saw
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the door give a little to Lavas Laerk's next push.
Then he realized -- and the realization came with an impact like a rushing
wall of water -- that nothing had happened accidentally, that everything from
the moment his arrow struck the fish had been intended by someone or something
-- something that wanted a door unlocked -- and he turned and fled down the
corridor as if a tidal wave were sucking at his heels.
The corridor, without torchlight, was pale and shifty as a nightmare.
The phosphorescence seemed to crawl as if alive, revealing previously unspied
creatures in every niche. Fafhrd stumbled, sprawled at full length, raced on.
His fastest bursts of speed seemed slow, as in a bad dream. He tried to look
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