"A. E. Merritt - Dwellers in the mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Merritt A. E)

the edge of the raised place on which I stood.

The high priest touched my arm. I turned my head to him, and followed
his eyes. A hundred feet away from me stood a girl. She was naked.
She had not long entered womanhood and quite plainly was soon to be
a mother. Her eyes were as blue as those of the old priest, her hair was
reddish brown, touched with gold, her skin was palest olive. The blood of
the old fair race was strong within her. For all she held herself so
bravely, there was terror in her eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of
her rounded breasts further revealed that terror.

She stood in a small hollow. Around her waist was a golden ring, and
from that ring dropped three golden chaias fastened to the rock floor.
I recognized their purpose. She could not run, and if she dropped or
fell, she could not writhe away, out of the cup. But run, or writhe
away from what? Certainly not from me! I 'looked at her and smiled. Her
eyes searched mine. The terror suddenly fled from them. She smiled back
at me, trustingly.

God forgive me--I smiled at her and she trusted me! I looked beyond her,
from whence had come a glitter of yellow like a flash from a huge
topaz. Up from the rock a hundred yards behind the girl jutted an
immense fragment of the same yellow translucent stone that formed the
jewel in my ring. It was like the fragment of a gigantic shattered
pane. Its shape was roughly triangular. Black within it was a tentacle
of the Kraken. The tentacle swung down within the yellow stone, broken
from the monstrous body when the stone had been broken. It was all of
fifty feet long. Its inner side was turned toward me, and plain upon
all its length clustered the hideous sucking discs.

Well, it was ugly enough--but nothing to be afraid of, I thought. I
smiled again at the chained girl, and met once more her look of utter
trust.

The old priest had been watching me dosely. We walked forward until we
were half-way between the edge and the girl. At the lip squatted the
twelve lesser priests, their drums on their laps.

The old priest and I faced the girl and the broken tentacle. He raised
his staff of golden bells and shook them. From the darkness of the
cavern began a low chanting, a chant upon three minor themes, repeated
and repeated, and intermingled.

It was as primeval as the cavern; it was the voice of the cavern
itself.

The girl never took her eyes from me.

The chanting ended. I raised my hands and made the curious gestures of
salutation I had been taught. I began the ritual to Khalk'ru. . . .