Over a dozen people were seated about the banquet room. The musicians played and the fountains gurgled. At Lammerding's direction, Sandra took her place at the foot of the pillar where she had sat the night before. The food before her made her realize that she was ravenous -- she had hardly eaten for two days -- and she attacked it with a zest that surprised herself.
"Yes, I could amaze you," continued Lammerding. "It seems there is great wealth at Petra -- have you heard of Petra, my dear? Well, you will like it -- it is very picturesque. A ruined city in the mountains, destroyed by the Romans. We are starting out for it tomorrow. There is great wealth there, you see -- and other things, also." He refilled the wine glass he had already emptied and went on. "If you knew only a tenth of the things the mad Abd 'ul Hazrât wrote about that place -- and an older, worse one in the Arabian desert -- ha! Heinrich Mueller affects to sneer at the old writings, but he will learn. There is power hidden in the desert, more power than in all the oil wells of Persia. Did you know that Satan came from Persia, my dear? Ha! ha! And he's not the only devil, you know. Yahweh came from Sinai, and he's a worse one -- and there are worse still if the mad Arab can be believed. Have you ever heard of Abd 'ul Hazrât, my dear? Well, it's not surprising if you haven't since all his writings have been banned for centuries by Christians and Moslems alike. Abd 'ul Hazrât went down the hundred steps of sandstone and the thousand steps of lava, you know ..." Suddenly the German broke off, stared at his empty wine glass and set it on the low table. "Excuse me," he said. "I rave -- I drink too much."
He poured himself another glass of wine. All at once Sandra rose, impulsively. She had seen Helena across the room.
"Excuse me," she said, and walked away. She was aware of the German's angry eyes following her, but she did not look back.
Helena sat alone, eating slowly with head bowed and eyes downcast. The pose was unlike her. A uniformed Arab guard stood by the wall only a few feet away. The girl wore only a brief silken kilt and jeweled breastplates. Sandra sat down beside her.
"I'm sorry I acted so beastly toward you," said Helena without looking up.
Sandra held back with difficulty the tears that sprang to her eyes. "That's alright," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Much better. Still a little feverish." Helena's voice was low, quiet and level. She seemed almost despondent. There were bruises on her flesh, especially on her forearms where the cords had bound her, and there was a large swelling under the hair of her left temple.
"You'll be alright after a little more rest and food," said Sandra. "The worst is over now. I have friends in the States that will pay for our freedom."
"If you ever get back to Israel," said Helena, "go to the house of my family in Tel Aviv and tell them ... tell them that Isaac and Sol and I died defending our land ... and love them to the end ..."
"Helena! You sound so -- so hopeless. You stand as good a chance as I do."
Helena shook her head. "You're not a Jew, Sandra. I am."
"But nothing's happened to us yet. Lammerding even tries to be a gentleman in a heavy-handed sort of way; I think he might still be influenced. And there's an American here who may be able to help us somehow. We have to keep up hope."
"Last night," said Helena, her voice trembling," Heinrich Mueller raped me."
Sandra froze. She was suddenly cold all over.
"It shouldn't bother me so," continued Helena bitterly. "I'm a woman and a Jew. It's happened to so many of us -- so many times in so many countries. But I feel so ... so rotten! I wanted to kill him so badly, and I couldn't. I couldn't do anything!"
She stopped. Her fists were doubled, clenched in her lap, and a tear trickled from each of her downcast eyes. Sandra could say nothing.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Heinz Lammerding stood over her, his heavy face stern and scowling.
"You will come with me, Miss Helgeson," he said.
Sandra sighed and rose. The German led her back to the low table by the pillar, and they sat down once again amid the plush cushions.
"That is better," said Lammerding, grinning affably again. "You must never wander away without my permission. It could be dangerous." He winked at her, then wagged a finger in Helena's direction. "Stay away from that girl."
Sandra did not reply nor look at the man. He continued to babble close to her ear, but she ignored him as much as possible. She nibbled on a roasted fowl, munched on a few olives and looked absently around the room. A certain loathing passed over her as she saw Heinrich Mueller half-reclining on a Roman-style divan, flanked by an Arab soldier on either side. He seemed cool, casual, poised as he joked easily with the soldiers. His brown uniform was neat, precise; its belt and shoulder-strap gleamed like polished ebony. Near him sat Fahad, a brown-skinned female dancer on his lap, both flaunting the mandates of Allah with a bottle of wine. With his glasses, buck teeth and receding chin Fahad resembled a tipsy college student wrapped in sheets and blankets; he was laughing shrilly, uproariously.
Food was being abandoned all around in favor of liquor, and now the dancers began to cavort gracefully to the lush, exotic harmonies evoked by the musicians. Incense filled the hall with a luxurious odor.
"You lead a hard life here," Sandra remarked dryly.
Lammerding chuckled. "You are bored. Come -- we shall leave this place and find other enjoyments. A woman of your high tastes ..."
"I'll stay, thank you."
The German scowled. His face darkened and he breathed heavily. "Very well," he said finally, "we shall stay. But before long you may wish that we had not."
He gulped down another glass of wine without offering Sandra one. Her apprehension increased. She watched the dancers in silence -- lithe, bronzed, dark-haired girls whirling sinuously in wisps of silky nothing -- skillful, suggestive, their dark eyes fathomless, faces devoid of all expression.
Heinrich Mueller rose and stamped his heel twice on the low table. The dancers stopped cavorting, the sound of music ceased.
"Two good soldiers have rejoined our ranks," he announced. "One of them you see here -- Fahad the thief, who stands among us today only because Ali Baba ran out of oil before he reached his jar!"
The Arab soldiers laughed coarsely. Fahad rose unsteadily, grinning to the accompaniment of laughter, hoots, clapping and inane jibes. "A toast, Fahad," they cried. "A toast!"
"I'm pleased to be back," giggled Fahad. "I proposed a toz -- propose a toast -- to, first of all, Heinz Lammerding who owes me four thousand dollars, and may Allah grant him health!"
The crowd guffawed and guzzled.
"And second, I propose a toast to Abdullah el Nahabi -- who will surely wish he could hoist my head on his bayonet when he hears of my good fortune!"
Laughter out of all proportion to Fahad's wit broke out. Obscene jests and loud thigh-slappings lauded the grinning Arab as he sat down in the lap of his dancing-girl.
"The other addition to our ranks," announced Mueller, "is Suleiman the Turk -- as mighty in physique as was his famous namesake of old in arms. Tonight he entertains us."
The curtains of an archway parted, and the great Turk strode into the room. He was naked save for a breech clout and a heavy bandage about his left thigh, and his immense, muscular limbs shone with slick oil. He stood grandly beside the central fountain, his seven-foot form dwarfing all others in the room, his bald head gleaming under the yellow chandeliers. Loud clappings and cries of approval rang out from the soldiers.
"Here," cried Mueller, "two of you stand on this couch beside me. That's right -- yes. Now watch, men -- witness the strength of Suleiman!"
The Turk approached the divan on which Mueller and the two Arab soldiers stood. He knelt, thrust his arms underneath it -- and then, slowly, with the ease of a hydraulic jack, he lifted the couch and the three men into the air and held them above his head. For an instant he stood thus, while the soldiers cheered wildly -- then, with the same apparent lack of effort he lowered the divan smoothly back to the floor.
"Now," said the Turk, straightening, "who will fight me? Who will fight Suleiman the Strong?"
"No! no!" cried the men, laughing. "Not for all the gold of the forty thieves!" shouted one.
"Who will fight me if I have one arm bound behind me?"
More denials, more bellows of laughter rang out.
"Come!" rumbled Suleiman. "Any number of you -- all of you. Will none of you cowards fight?"
More laughter and protests answered the Turk's challenge.
"The Jewess will fight him!" shrieked Fahad. "Take the Jewess, Suleiman, if you dare. She's a sharp-clawed cat!"
"Aye, the Jewess," yelled the crowd, laughing. "The long-legged Jewish bitch!" "Give the Jewess to Suleiman!"
Hoots and obscene yells filled the room. The soldiers stamped their feet, demanding. Suleiman turned to where Heinrich Mueller reclined, half-sitting, on his couch. The German raised a wine glass, smiled and inclined his head slightly.
"What's going on?" asked Sandra anxiously. Lammerding grinned at her but did not reply.
Suleiman faced Helena, and the girl sprang up in alarm. A soldier pushed her roughly from behind and sent her stumbling headlong over a low table. She fell to the floor amid food and spilled wine, while the soldiers roared. The Turk lurched forward.
"Get her, Suleiman!" screamed Fahad, jumping and pirouetting around on one foot so that his loose robes billowed out grotesquely. "Take the bitch!"
Helena sprang up and twisted away as the Turk clutched at her. She grabbed a wine bottle by the neck and brought it down ringingly on the man's bald held. Suleiman grunted and grabbed for the girl again, but she twisted away and dashed for the nearest doorway. A guard blocked her way, and she dodged aside again as the Turk charged after her.
"Stop them!" cried Sandra, clutching frantically at the sleeve of Lammerding's white suit. "Make them stop tormenting her!" But the German sat unresponsive, grinning at the grim drama.
Helena raced across the room, and the soldiers roared with laughter as the Turk came limping and lurching after her. Tables were overturned; food and wine spilled and splashed onto the carpets. The girl paused to grab a heavy metal bowl full of stew, and flung it savagely into the giant's face. Suleiman bellowed with rage. Then a soldier reached out and clutched the slim golden chain that crossed Helena's back, laughing as she twisted away; the chain snapped, and the breastplates it held clattered to the floor. Another soldier grabbed at her leg, and she kicked him in the face with her bare foot and sent him rolling backwards.
Sandra sprang to her feet -- but Lammerding pulled her back forcibly to the cushions. Panic welled up in her and she struggled to escape, but the German's heavy hands were lice vices about her shoulders as he held her against the pillar.
Helena had dodged behind the fountain and was sparring to keep it between her and the giant Turk. The musicians had launched into a wild, barbaric bacchanal. An Arab grasped the girl's green, silken kilt and tore it easily away as she spun out of his reach, leaving her naked but for a gold-chased girdle about her waist. Then Fahad whipped off his outer robe and flung it under her darting feet, and she tripped in its folds and fell sprawling.
The Turk gripped her as she rose. Helena tried to hold him away, but her arms folded helplessly against his massive chest as he drew her close. The girl screamed and writhed in his ponderous embrace; her kicking feet did not even touch the floor. She screamed again. Then she sank her teeth into the man's neck and hung on.
The room grew silent. Sandra sat frozen, horrified, in the grip of Lammerding. All eyes were on the naked pair in the middle of the room. For an instant they stood silent, almost like statues in embrace. Then the muscles of the Turk's arms knotted slightly. Helena's head snapped back, her lips blood-flecked and tensed in a snarl of pain. She threshed in Suleiman's grasp; the breath rushed from her lungs in a frantic groan; and then something snapped horribly in the stillness.
"Stop!" screamed Sandra. "Oh God, stop it!"
Then she was on her feet, twisting frenziedly out of Lammerding's grip, running across the room and hammering futilely with her fits on the Turk's broad back. "Stop it! stop it! stop it!"
The Turk released Helena and she crumpled to the floor. The soldiers set up a gleeful howl. "Take her, Suleiman, take her!"
Sandra felt herself grabbed roughly by the shoulders. She screamed and struggled. Lammerding spun her around and slapped her hard across the face. Then he forced her across the room, one hand clamped on her shoulder, the other forcing her right arm painfully up between her shoulder blades. They passed through the curtained archway and down the dim hallway beyond. The noise from the banquet-room faded out behind them as they ascended the marble stairs to the upper floor.
They stopped at the entrance to Sandra's room. "Do not struggle," said Lammerding, "and I will let you go."
Sandra sagged against the wall near the doorway as she felt herself released. The marble was cold against her tear-wet cheek.
"They killed her!" she sobbed. "They killed her!"
The German's hands caressed her shoulders. "They will not harm you," he said.
Sandra spun around, facing him as she drew back against the wall. "I hate you!" she hissed. "Don't touch me again -- don't you dare!"
Lammerding purpled with anger. "I have tried to treat you kindly," he said, his features working. "I have restrained myself for your sake. I am not like those others -- but I will not be treated like a swine either. I have promised four thousand dollars for you, and by God, I will have you!"
"Herr Lammerding!"
Sandra started. The man called Taggart was standing only a dozen feet away from them, his black shirt and trousers rendering him scarcely visible in the dim light. Around his waist was a wide belt of what seemed to be woven metal, its bulky clasp gleaming with a faint, blue phosphorescence. A bulky pistol of a sort Sandra had never seen before hung holstered at his right hip.
"What do you want?" demanded Lammerding.
The man stood motionless in the gloom. "I have another interesting translation to show you," he said.
"It must wait," said the German. "I am busy, and will be for the rest of the ..."
"Now."
The stranger's voice was very quiet, almost a whisper. His arms hung limp at his sides; his face was expressionless. Lammerding tensed. He looked nervously from the man to Sandra and back. Finally he straightened, grinned arrogantly and smoothed the lapels of his suit.
"Very well," he said. "We will continue our conversation another time, Miss Helgeson."
The two men moved away down the hall. Sandra, dashing into her room, flung herself headlong on the bed and lay there in the darkness, shaken, alone and too frightened even to cry.
Toward morning Sandra slept fitfully and dreamed fantastic, disjointed things. Twice she woke sobbing, the pillow wet under her face. The third time she woke it was to the soft sound of footsteps as a white-clad servant youth entered the room. He brought with him a breakfast tray, khaki clothing and the message that "Miss Helgeson" was to be ready to leave on a journey in half an hour.
It was a rough breakfast -- bread, beer and cheese -- and Sandra had little taste for it. She practically had to force down the small amount she ate. The khakis fit her reasonably but were a bit large at the waist. Presently Heinz Lammerding entered the room, immaculate as ever in his white military suit. He motioned to Sandra without speaking.
The sky was barely brightening in the east as they emerged from the mansion. Two Arab soldiers sat in the front seats of a waiting jeep; one of them was Fahad, grinning as always. Sandra and Lammerding got into the back, and Fahad started up th vehicle and set it into motion with a lurch and a roar.
The road was dusty for a space, but presently they emerged from it onto a narrow, paved highway. As the sky brightened Sandra saw another jeep ahead of them on the road. As they drew closer she could make out the giant Turk and the uniformed Heinrich Mueller sitting in the back seat.
Presently they entered the outskirts of a large city which Heinz Lammerding announced was Amman. The sun was coming up and its rays gleamed on distant domes and minarets and nearby ramshackle stone buildings. The rubble of construction and demolition partly blocked the streets in many places; telephone wires crossed wide, terraced roads and narrow lanes that seemed to lead off to an exotic, other-worldly skyline of mosques and spires. The town seemed a mixture of the hideously modern and the picturesquely ancient.
The two jeeps stopped before a crumbling stone hut in front of which stood a metal gasoline drum with a crude hand pump protruding. Even as the engines quieted, a distant voice rang out, clear and musical, from a slender minaret poised against the dawn.
"Praise be to Allah, the beneficent, the merciful, ..."
The four Moslems immediately scrambled out of the jeeps, knelt facing south and bowed till their foreheads touched the ground.
Lord of all beings, King of the Day of Judgement, ..."
Sandra noticed that several Arabs on the streets had also assumed supplient positions. Most were dressed in flowing robes but a few wore European clothing.
"Thee we worship, of Thee we beg aid."
The two German sat in their jeeps, looking bored. Sandra saw the black-clad American in the front seat of Mueller's vehicle. He was looking at several sheets of paper which he shuffled occasionally.
"Direct us in the right way, the way of thy favored ones,
Not in the way of those who offend Thee, nor those who go astray."
The people rose and continued about their business. A scabby, shrivelled Arab emerged from the stone hut and began laboriously to pump gas into the jeeps. When he had finished Mueller tossed him a few coins, and the vehicles sped on their way in a cloud of dust.
They passed through Amman, whose downtown section seemed more modern than its outskirts -- cars outnumbered camels and asses considerably -- and continued out on the highway to the south. Mile after mile passed, and the sun grew hotter. Lammerding donned a white pith helmet and handed one to Sandra. She accepted it gratefully but in silence. She could not bear to look at the German. Her mind was numb and she was dreadfully tired, but somewhere down deep a horrible dread burned and produced a dull tension that would not go away. She hardly saw the dry country that flashed past on her retinas, mile after mile.
"Why do you snub me?" demanded Lammerding. "Why do you refuse to talk?"
"What?" Sandra's mind snapped back to an orientation with reality.
"You think you are so good you can ignore me," muttered the German. "Well, you had better realize, Miss Helgeson ..."
"Mrs. Helgeson," Sandra correctly shortly.
"Ach! I did not realize. Still ..."
"He was killed in the war -- at Normandy."
"So!" grunted Lammerding. "But as I was going to say, it does not matter. Not now. You must realize that your future well-being depends entirely on my good will. Should you continue to treat me in so arrogant a fashion, life could become distinctly unpleasant. You've seen what can happen ..."
"Arrogant! My God, do you think I ..."
"Silence! You've seen, I say, what can happen to a woman who displeases us here. You've seen enough, in fact, to realize that you can never be allowed to go back to America under any circumstances. But you are not a stupid person, uh -- Mrs. Helgeson -- and I am not an ungenerous man if treated civilly. All I ask ..."
Fahad was peering aroun at Sandra, grinning salaciously. The German scowled at him and he quickly faced about. Sandra turned away from Lammerding and stared out at the bleak, rocky hills. No more was said.
As they continued south the road became more indifferently paved, and the camels and pedestrians along it grew fewer and fewer. The country became increasingly more arid. Finally, in mid-afternoon, the jeeps turned onto a branch road just south of Ma'an and began a long dusty climb into the dry hills to the northwest.
A jouncing ride of about twenty miles brought them to the picturesque, narrow valley of Wadi Musa. Here the jeeps were parked and, leaving the two Arab soldiers to watch them, the party set out on foot along a trail that followed the creek bed down the gully.
In spite of her tiredness, Sandra was roused to wonder by the weird, surrealistic country she had entered. The hills were of strikingly colored sandstone, worn by the wind into strange contours like bulbs and spires, exhibiting almost every shade of orange, red and purple. The trail led into a defile so high and narrow that it seemed almost a cave -- a deep cleft wider at the bottom than at the top, so that the light from above filtered dimly down from a thin line of blue sky. The rock was smooth from aeons of wind and water.
For over an hour they followed this gorge, until at last they emerged into the full glaring light of day once more. Sandra stood silent, her weariness forgotten in woner at the sight of the huge temple that stood nearby, complete with vast Roman portico and elaborate entablature. Amazingly, it had been carved as one immense work of sculpture from the red sandstone cliff to which it was still attached. In the distance, occasional ruins could be seen along the high, rounded summits of the skyline, black against the fading sunlight.
"So this is Petra," said Mueller, surveying the picturesque valley somewhat arrogantly. His eyes roved over the red cliffs that rose on either hand, and down the slope to where a circular group of ruins clustered. "Is this the temple of Kuos we're looking for?"
The American, who ha taken a sheet of paper from his brief case and was studying it, merely shook his head.
They moved on down the valley, and Sandra beheld with a strange awe the ruins of old walls and buildings sparsely strewn along its floor. It was about a mile long and half that in width. A large mountain towered over it to the west, and near the summit shone the dome of a stone structure, white against the dark rock around it.
"Maybe that's it," suggested Lammerding.
"No," said Fahad. "That is the tomb of the most holy Aaron, brother of the prophet Moses. Praise Allah that he has granted me the privilege of seeing it!"
"This way," said the American.
They left the trail and moved along the base of a sandstone cliff flanking the valley, passing occasional tomb-facades hewn from the living rock. Presently they arrived at the uninspiring ruin of an incredibly worn and weathered edifice. It lay across a steeply sloping gully -- or, more properly, the gully cut through it, for the structure seemed little more than the remnants of a deep bas-relief cut from the steep slope. No columns or carvings adorned its smooth-worn front, and only the massive lintels of a great stone door showed up with any distinctness. This door was itself almost completely buried under a talus of rock that had accumulated at the base of the cliff.
The man called Taggart rustled some papers. "This is the place," he said. "Let's see if we can unblock the door."
Suleiman climbed up the talus pile and began to throw great stones down into the gulley. In a few minutes he called down to Fahad, who immediately scrambled up with a coil of rope and two flashlights. Then for an instant the two men disappeared down behind the rocks. Presently Fahad's head rose into sight again.
"Come!" he yelled down. "We have found the way."
Mueller climbed up the rocks with ease, Heins Lammerding following somewhat more laboriously. Sandra hung back, hoping for a chance to speak with the American, but Lammerding called for her to follow. Taggart came up last, brief case in hand.
One by one they all crawled under the massive lintel, down the opposite side of the talus pile into a dark hole, and presently stood on the solid rock floor of a cool, high-ceilinged chamber.
Sandra looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly in spite of the beams of the two flashlights playing over the stone walls. The place was little more than a large artificial cave; it contained no decorations, no features at all except a large stone platform near the back. A few bones and a couple of skulls littered the floor.
"Not much of a temple," commented Lammerding, brushing the sandstone dust from his white suit.
"It's old," said Taggart, fingering his beard. "Three thousand years at the least. That stone dias is where the god Kuos used to stand. Probably Amaziah had its image destroyed when he conquered this city -- he wasn't as open-minded about foreign gods as his predecessor Solomon."
"But the wealth!" said Mueller impatiently. "What about the wealth of Queen Balkis?"
"We'll see. Have your Turk move the altar if he can."
Suleiman advanced and gripped one of the four corners of the dias. Bracing his feet against the rock wall, he strained with all his might -- and the altar-stone grated ever so slightly along the floor. Again and again he strained, and each time the stone slid back a little farther. Finally he ceased and stood upright, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his arms and neck. At his feet a black opening gaped in the floor -- an inky triangle some three feet across.
"It stinks down there," grunted the Turk.
Lammerding grabbed the flashlight from Fahad and beamed it down into the pit. A flight of stone steps led downward.
"Let's get this over with," he said. "Suleiman, you stay close behind me. Fahad, you bring the packsacks; leave the rope here -- I doubt we'll need it. Just let me get through this hole -- there. Now, Suleiman, can you make it? Ah -- good. Now you, Fahad. And now Mrs. Helgeson ..."
"I'll come next," said Mueller. "Mrs. Helgeson will follow me."
Sandra did not like the man's tone; if anything, she disliked him even more than she did Lammerding. Declining his aid, she reluctantly lowered herself after him into the black hole. Taggart followed close behind.
There was a strange smell about this place, Sandra noticed; if what Taggart had speculated was true, the air in it might be thirty centuries old.
The narrow steps led downward between rock walls about four feet apart. The ceiling was low, and Sandra saw that the Turk had to stoop constantly. Beneath her feet the rock felt gritty, even though the steps appeared smooth and concave as from the passage of many feet in bygone times.
Down and down they went -- until, abruptly, the stone became smooth and dark and the polished walls shone almost wetly, though they were dry to the touch. The air was cool, but it was stagnant and oppressive nonetheless. Sandra felt her spirits sink and all her fears seemed to take on a greater magnitude. God -- but those steps seemed to go on forever! Was there no end to them? Down and down and down ...
She turned once and saw the American close behind, the luminous buckle of his strange belt glowing like a dim gas flame in the dark. The highlights of his spectacles flickered expressionlessly; his eyes she could not see. She turned away uneasily and continued to descend. The thought of all the tons of rock that must lie between her and the open air was oppressive. She was frightened, depressed, but determined not to panic. She wondered if the American would help her escape. Perhaps if she could find an opportunity to talk to him ... But her doubts told her that she knew nothing about him -- that he seemed as soulless as the rest -- that hope was useless and would only end in more despair. And still they descended -- down, down, down, ...
Then Sandra felt a hand on her shoulder, restraining her. She stopped, her heart beating faster in the dark.
"Wait!" she heard Taggart whisper.
Sandra stood silent in the darkness. She saw Mueller's flashlight fade away in front of her, the clatter of boots growing fainter as the others continued on down the basaltic steps. Blackness and silence were closing in on her.
Taggart took his hand from Sandra's shoulder. She could neither feel nor hear him in the dark, but when she turned she could make out the faint glow of his belt clasp. The man remained silent, unmoving. Sandra grew uneasy and felt she had to speak.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Some instinct made her keep her voice to a whisper.
"We are only fifty steps from the bottom," said Taggart.
Sandra heard the clatter of boots echoing up from below -- then heard Lammerding cry out excitedly. His voice seemed to reverberate, as if he now stood in a large chamber.
"Mr. Taggart," said Sandra, "did you want to talk to me?"
A crimson flash suddenly illuminated the tunnel for an instant -- and then a wild, terrible scream echoed violently up from below. Sandra jumped, clutching at the wall for support; for a moment she stood frozen in the dark silence, feeling a sweat breaking out all over her. Then shouts and oaths began to ring out.
"Good," said Taggart quietly. "Now let's go down."
Sandra descended the steps slowly, surprised that she could see them. The American followed closely; a faint blue nebulosity surrounded him, apparently caused by the clasp of his belt. His face was expressionless.
They emerged into a hemispherical chamber about fifty feet across and half that in height. Its featureless, curved surface gleamed like black glass, sending back distorted images in the light of the flashlights which Mueller and Fahad carried. These two men were muttering excitedly to one another, while the huge Turk was back against the wall, scowling apprehensively. Near a circular platform of black stone in the center of the chamber lay Heinz Lammerding, writhing on the floor and groaning horribly.
Mueller whirled and faced the American. He held a Luger pistol in his right hand.
"Why did you hold back?" he snapped. "Did you know this would happen?"
"Not for sure," said Taggart.
"But you suspected. Why didn't you warn us about it?"
"I wanted to make sure."
Lammerding groaned loudly, and Sandra saw at a glance that he was dying. Blood spattered his white suit and spread in a widening pool on the floor about him. His left arm and shoulder seemed to have been intensely burned, for the flesh was blackened and bubbling and a stench like that of charred meat hung heavily on the air. The German writhed in pain and a section of flesh sloughed away from his upper arm, showing the white gleam of bone beneath.
Sandra froze in horror. Much as she had hated this man, she suddenly felt herself as somehow witness to an awful tragedy. She felt that same pain followed by strange detachment that she remembered always feeling in the presence of terrible suffering, whether her own or another's -- and suddenly, eerily, it seemed that someone or something was watching this horrible scene through her with avid, gloating intentness.
Lammerding's face grew whiter and whiter; his good hand clutched spiderlike at the rock floor while his eyes stared and bulged ceilingward. Suddenly his eyes grew even wider, as if the pressure of the blood behind them were about to force them from their sockets, and his mouth gaped wide as in horror.
"No!" he screamed. "No -- ahhh! They watch! They watch!"
Then his screams subsided to spastic, throaty rattles; his legs jiggled convulsively for a moment against the cold stone floor, and he lay still.
"I ought to kill you, Herr Taggart," said Mueller levelly.
Taggart made no answer; his hands hung limply at his sides. Mueller fingered his Luger, his face working. Then he lowered his pistol and slipped it back into the holster.
"Tell me how it happened," said Taggart calmly.
"There -- that thing!" cried Fahad, pointing to a dark object resting on the circular stone dais. "He tried to pick it up ..."
The flashlights played full upon the thing. It was a many-faceted crystal about two feet in diameter and somewhat flattened. By some strange, optical contradiction it seemed to be transparent and completely black at the same time. A dim orange star appeared to burn deep within its dark heart.
"He tipped it toward him," said Mueller. "Then there was a terrific red flash -- and now he is dead."
Taggart drew a small compass from his pocket and held it level in his hand. "Lammerding was standing to the southeast of the crystal when he tipped it up," he remarked.
Mueller scowled. "What has that to do with it?"
Taggart pocketed the compass and walked around the altar to the side opposite the corpse of Lammerding. Carefully the grasped the crystal and pulled it toward him.
"Beware!" growled Suleiman. "There is a devil in the stone."
The American tipped the massive jewel sideways, resting it on the altar upon one of its many angles. Sandra saw now that there was a many-angled hole in the flattened top of the crystal. At the bottom of this hole the orange spark glowed brightly. Slowly Taggart began to turn the crystal on its upright axis.
Then, at the instant the hollow faced in the direction of the corpse of Lammerding, a lurid beam of light flashed forth from its depths to the opposite wall.
Sandra gasped; she heard Mueller curse, saw Fahad leap back with a high-pitched yelp. Taggart held the crystal steady for a moment, then tilted it carefully back to its original position. Immediately the beam vanished -- and where it had touched the rock wall a circular area about two inches across glowed with a dull red that faded slowly.
"We must be careful not to point it to the southeast," said Taggart.
"Incredible!" breathed Mueller.
"I do not like this place," muttered Suleiman. "Where are the jewels hid? Let us find them and begone."
"They're probably under the altar," said Taggart. "The book mentions 'stone an mortar.' The altar's the only separate stone here, and there seems to be a line of mortar along its base."
Fahad emptied his packsack; two heavy hammers, two chisels and a pickaxe clattered out on the stone floor. Without further ado he and the Turk began to attack the base of the altar. The chamber reverberated to the sound of hammering.
Taggart took up the empty knapsack and carefully slipped the great black crystal into it so that the faceted hollow faced toward the rear. The thing just fit inside, with no room to spare. Then the American strapped the pack shut and eased his arms through the carrying loops so that it rested on his back. Mueller scowled at him suspiciously.
"Don't worry -- I won't turn around fast," said Taggart. "Just don't get to the southeast of me."
Suddenly Fahad cried out excitedly. Part of the altar had flaked away in a large chunk, and the gleam of metal shone from beneath. In another moment a hefty bronze vase had been hauled to light.
"Nothing more here," said Suleiman, peering under the dais.
Mueller took up the vase and shook it; it rattled slightly. He upended it -- and six large, bright stones rolled out into his palm.
"Emeralds!" exclaimed Fahad, his eyes glittering like dark jewels themselves.
Mueller flung the vase away with a snort of disgust, and it went clanging across the floor.
"Is this the treasure of Solomon?" he cried, holding up the jewels in his clenched fist.
Taggart shrugged. "Evidently the priests spent some of it," he said.
"Damn you!" snarled Mueller. "We need millions of dollars for our purposes. You promised we'd find it here. Instead we find a handful of stones worth only a few thousand -- perhaps fifty thousand at the most ..."
"Four thousand of it is ours," ventured Fahad. "Herr Lammerding promised us ..."
"Lammerding is dead. In any case, he had no right to offer you money belonging to the International Nazi Party."
"But the woman!" protested Fahad.
"She's your problem. Perhaps some desert sheik will buy her. Do not haggle with me -- it is unbecoming to the dignity of your new status as a loyal storm trooper. Any disagreement will be regarded as insubordination!"
Fahad glanced at Suleiman, but he saw no encouragement in the Turk's hard, inscrutable face. Mueller turned abruptly and started back up the stone steps. Taggart followed him.
"By Allah, all thieves are not among the Jews!" muttered Fahad under his breath. Then, aloud, "Here, woman -- if you are my slave, you shall make yourself useful. Take these tools and this other packsack, and carry them up the stairs ahead of me."
Sandra burned with a momentary rage; fear and anger struggled within her. A hammer lay on the floor nearby. She wanted to pick it up and smash the arrogant little Arab's head with it. But near her stood the giant Turk, between her and the outer air was Heinrich Mueller, and even the American seemed alien and detached. Her eyes smarted, and she felt overwhelmed with hopelessness and humiliation as she took up the tools and the packsack and started the long, long climb back to the upper world.
Sandra woke shivering. The ground was cold and hard under the blanket in which she lay rolled and huddled. Dawn was creeping over the hills to the east, but no warming rays had yet probed into the deep Wadi Musa.
"Praise be to Allah, the beneficent, the merciful, ..."
The four Moslems were over by the jeeps, performing their morning rigmarole. Sandra sat up, feeling stiff an sore all over. Several bruises ached, and her left knee was raw. She remembered blundering into rocks in the dark on the way back through the narrow pass. She rubbed her eyes, which felt partially gummed shut, and sat up. The hills were a blaze of color where the sun struck them, all white and red and purple under the blue sky, blending into shadow. Sandra rose, weak and trembling and intensely thirsty. She walked down to the narrow, bubbling stream that wandered through the rocky gorge and drank deeply from it, heedless of possible polution, splashing it over her dry face. "I can't take much more of this," she thought desperately.
"Mrs. Helgeson."
She turned. Heinrich Mueller was standing behind her. She rose slowly.
"What do you want?"
"Merely to assure you," said the German, "that as I said before, if you need my assistance at any time I am at your service."
"How nice," said Sandra. "But if you're so concerned about my welfare, why don't you buy me?"
Mueller smiled tightly. "That will not be necessary. I am in command here, and Fahad has now been ordered to treat you with all the respect due an Aryan woman. should he overstep that command, I trust you will inform me."
"Yesterday you told him he could sell me to some sheik."
The German chuckled, waved his hand as if to brush to matter aside. "The heat of a moment, Mrs. Helgeson -- the disappointment at not finding what we had expected to find. And, of course, the loss of Heinz. But then" -- in a more confidential tone -- "that's not really such a great loss, is it? If I saw correctly, his attentions were not always welcomed on your part."
"You saw correctly," said Sandra.
"You needn't snip at me, Mrs. Helgeson. I am not making advances. I will be perfectly frank with you. When I want you I will take you, and you will have nothing to say about it. I have never paid for a woman -- with money or in any other way. Remember that. But remember also that I extend to you my protection. You are an Aryan and will be treated with the respect due that distinction."
"Thanks," said Sandra. "Does that mean you won't give me to the Turk when you're tired of me?"
Mueller flashed a tense grin. "Heinz was a fool to expose you to such things. I shall not be so thoughtless. Come ..." He held out his hand.
Sandra back up a step and laid her hand on a coconut-sized rock. "If you touch me," she said, "I'll do my best to kill you."
Mueller laughed aloud. "You have spirit," he said approvingly. "Come -- we shall have breakfast before we start back to Amman."
Sandra reluctantly followed the man back to the jeeps. The four Moslems were sitting together in one of the vehicles, eating from tin cans. The American was seated on the ground, back against a rock, his brief case beside him. He munched on a dry bread roll while he read a large book that lay open across his knees. Mueller lifted a box of rations from the unoccupied jeep and sat down on a rock near him.
"Herr Taggart," he said, breaking open the box, "hereafter you must be frank with me."
The American looked up at him, his dark eyes expressionless.
"You knew," Mueller went on, "that something would happen if we approached that crystal wrongly -- that 'Stone of Yog,' as your old book calls it. You used us as guinea-pigs -- no?"
"Yes," said Taggart.
"And you also hoped that we might all be killed, and that you would then get the entire treasure for yourself."
Taggart shrugged. "If I'd wanted the treasure I'd have taken it."
Mueller scowled. "Ah -- but you did take the great black crystal. And that is what I want to know about. What is it? What sort of mysterious power does it possess? Yes, I admit I considered Lammerding a fool for giving credit to the old legends -- but now I am ready to reconsider them."
"Well, then," said Taggart, "can you get me across the border into Saudi Arabia?"
"Certainly. Our organization moves freely between all countries of the Arab League. All enemies of the Jews are our allies."
"Last night, after we got back here, I checked the direction of the Stone's energy beam," said the American. He took a map from his brief case and opened it out on a large, flat rock. "The crystal is activated when its orifice is pointed horizontal at about 100 to 105 degrees. That means the other component of the thing must lie in this area." He pointed to a region on the map.
"The Nafud desert," said Mueller.
"Yes. Now, I see there is a road to this town at the desert's northern edge."
"I see -- al Jauf. I know a sheik who stays there much of the year -- a man of culture and taste who shares our views on the Jews and the New Order."
"Can he furnish camels and supplies?"
Mueller withdrew a packet of wafers and passed the ration box to Sandra. "Before I promise you any more aid, Herr Taggart, I must know your full plans. What is this black crystal you brought up out of the earth last night? And what is its 'other component' that you just mentioned?"
Taggart drew a bunch of papers out of his brief case and handed one of the sheets to Mueller. The German perused it for a few minutes in silence. Finally he flung it down at his feet in exasperation.
"Is this all you have to go on?" he demanded.
"That's all."
"More stuff from that old book of yours, I suppose."
"Yes."
"But this is nonsense!" exclaimed the German. "Pure superstition. A lost city in the desert -- yes, that's possible, I supposed, but not these old, incredible gods and this -- this 'Will-crystal' ... and a demon to watch over it!"
"The book has been right in essence so far," said Taggart. "You've seen what this 'Stone of Yog' can do. You asked me what my intentions were. I've told you. Do you still want to help me?"
Mueller rubbed his chin. "This alleged stone city -- is there any mention of treasure there?"
"None. But if we find any, you're welcome to all of it."
"Ah -- how generous you are! But I, too, am interested in this 'Stone of Yog' and its 'other component.' Obviously you think there is vast power to be gained by possessing these two 'components.' And perhaps you are right -- I will not be so skeptical after what I saw last night. No, the possibility of treasure is not enough. We must strike a better bargain."
"What, then?"
"That gun," said Mueller, pointing to the bulky holster at Taggart's hip, "and that belt you wear -- we need such weapons. With only a dozen such belts and guns we could drive the Jews from Palestine in a week. Tell us where such weapons can be obtained and who makes them, so that we can begin negotiations toward purchasing a number of them."
"That's impossible."
"Impossible!" stormed Mueller. "Why? We have money. We have agents all over the world, and the entire Arab League at our back. We can smuggle in weapons -- any weapons -- from anywhere. The manufacturer has nothing to fear. We will finance him generously. We know it is no nation that has created these weapons, or that nation would now rule the world. It must be some private inventor somewhere, guarding his secret jealously. Perhaps you, even -- is it not so?"
"No."
Mueller stood up. "Unless you can grant me that much, Herr Taggart, we cannot afford to assist you further. Will you, for the last time, tell me where you got those weapons you carry?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I did."
"Perhaps not; however, I consider myself reasonably open to proof. Would you care to try me?"
Taggart smiled slightly. "Very well. Tonight, if you wish, I'll show you where they came from."
A puzzled frown crept over the German's face. "You mean when we get back to Amman?"
"Yes."
"I am very curious now, Herr Taggart. I will be looking forward to this evening."
The German turned and strode away -- somewhat irritated, Sandra thought. He barked some orders at the soldiers, and they began to load the jeeps and fuel them from the spare cans. The American turned back to his old book. Sandra puzzled over the conversation she had just heard, but it made no sense to her. Then she saw the sheet of paper Mueller had cast down, and she carefully stooped and picked it up. It was covered with modern Arabic writing on both sides, and read:
As Sandra finished reading the paper and glanced up, she noticed that the American was looking at her.
"Does it strike you as nonsense, too?" he asked.
"Why, I ... I don't know what to think of it. It sounds like a rather gruesome chapter from the Arabian Nights. Some of it seems familiar, though ... Yes, of course -- it ties in with that other translation I read -- the one in English." Sandra paused, then suddenly went on, "I'm curious -- what was it about that translation you didn't want me to tell Lammerding or Mueller?"
"Oh, that. There were just a few directions left out of the modern Arabic version I did for them -- a few key words turned around."
"Such as?"
Taggart grinned slightly. "I remember substituting 'west' for 'east' in one place."
"I see," said Sandra quietly. "That's why you stopped on the stairs last night. And that's why Lammerding got killed."
Taggart did not reply. His face had resumed its unreadable expressionlessness.
Mueller called out from the jeeps. The American gathered up his papers and stuffed them together with his great old book into the brief case. As they walked to the vehicles Sandra noticed again the man's wide, metallic belt and the bulky handgun that hung from it -- and felt the hair on her neck prickle strangely.
Created: September 18, 1997; Updated: August 9, 2004