CHAPTER XI
The Isle of Slaves
"Sheila!" cried Ramey Winters. "Sheila—kidnapped! But Ravana wouldn't dare! And why should he—?" He stopped suddenly, the full and terrible import of Syd's words dawning upon him. Again he seemed to hear the soft voice of the Lady Rakshasi purring in his ears. "'Thou and I, my Lord ... sweeping all others before us. Nor shall we stand alone. For, lo—there is even my brother Ravana, whose heart hungers after the goddess Sheilacita....'"
And Ramey saw, now, the full price he was paying for one careless slip of the tongue last night. So long as he and his companions were considered gods by the superstitious Videlians, none would have dared lay a hand on any of them. But he had dispelled that illusion, and the bold Ravana, aware at last that it was only men with whom he had to deal, had moved toward the accomplishment of his ambitions.
Ramey's fists knotted at his sides. He cried harshly, "Well, what are we waiting for? After them! Sugriva—surely you know which way they went?"
"Without a doubt," admitted the blue lord of Chitrakuta, "to Ravana's island stronghold of Lanka. And—Kohrisan was organizing a company to pursue them. But now he cannot."
"Cannot? Why not?"
"The Bow! Did you not say the Bow had been stolen?"
"Yes, but—"
"If Ravana turns it against us," declared the Gaanelian sombrely, "then are we all destroyed. And the plight of Sheila Aiken is an hundredfold worse."
"But the Bow ain't working," pointed out Red Barrett swiftly. "Ramey and me tried it out. Nothing happened."
Sugriva turned to the young airman eagerly. "Is this true, Ramey Winters?"
Ramey nodded. "I told you about it, my lord, remember? And you said it was just as well it wasn't operating. I pressed all the triggers, or grips, or whatever they are, but nothing happened. Nothing that Red and I could see, anyway. As a matter of fact, we couldn't even figure out what was supposed to happen."
Sugriva said, "You would have seen, my friend, had a charge fueled the Bow. I know not where you made this experiment, but believe me, had its chamber been munitioned, every living thing within range of the Bow's tremendous arc would have instantly withered and flamed in sudden death. Never in the world was there ever a more terrible weapon than that invented by my brother Rudra."
Red said, "You mean the Bow is a sort of a—a heatray, or something?"
"You might call it that," agreed the blue lord. "It might more accurately be termed a projector of cold heat."
"Cold heat?" snorted Lake O'Brien. "That's rhetorical jabberwocky! Sounds like 'dark light'!"
Dr. Aiken raised a thoughtful head. "Yes, Lake, but don't forget—there is such a thing as dark light. Rays that span distances invisible, and remain unseen until they touch the object upon which they are focussed. I can conceive of a cold heat which might be similar. A fierce, burning ray which does not expend its force until it touches the living object on which it has been aimed. Is this what you mean, Sugriva?"
The blue lord nodded. "Exactly, my friend. But not necessarily must the Bow be aimed at its target. Whatever it touches, that it consumes. Once—" His eyes clouded and he shook his head sorrowfully—"once, some decades ago when our colonies were first established, we were constrained to employ force against a camp of rebel Earthlings who seized and held one of our citadels. The destruction was—horrible. The entire fortress was seared clean of life. The very stones in the walls melted and ran together."
The maid Evavne spoke. "Yes, my lords, the governor Sugriva speaks truly. This happened even in my own land. There on a lifeless hill still stands the molten fortress, desolate and parched as if stricken by the lightnings."[8]
Ramey Winters was chafing with inactivity. Now he growled, "All right! But even granting the Bow is a frightful weapon, why should that stop us if it is not charged?"
"That is just the point," Sugriva told him. "It may be charged by now. There is no doubt but that the lord Ravana knows the manner of its fueling."
"Manner? You mean it requires some strange kind of ammunition?"
"Even so. That which must be fed into the operating chambers is a rare and obscure metal. I doubt that in all Chitrakuta there is sufficient of this precious element to charge the Bow a single time. But Ravana, having plotted this move for a long time, will have secretly stored fuel to gorge its lethal maw. We have no way of knowing, of course. But it would be suicidal to move against Ravana until we do know."
Red grunted, "Then we've got to find out, that's all! If he ain't got ammunition for the Bow, we've got to close in on him. If he has, somehow we got to get the Bow back. That right, Ramey?"
But it was not Ramey who answered. The reply sprang from an unexpected source. From the bonze, Sheng-ti, who now moved forward thoughtfully.
This was a different Sheng-ti from him who had eked out a squalid existence in the labyrinths of Angkor Vat. The elderly priest was clean, erect; eyes which had once veiled lurking mists of insanity now gleamed with shrewd reason.
"I am a man of peace, O my friends," he said. "Yea, even a priest of the very God of Peace. Yet much have I seen and learned in this strange world, much thought since my brain was swept clear of its fog by the lord Sugriva.
"And methinks the Way of Peace, which is the way of the lord Sugriva, now trembles under the blows of the Way of Darkness. Surely my Lord Buddha would advise that in a time like this a man must make a choice.
"So—mark ye! The Lord Ravana knows me not. I have been hid from his sight throughout the days of our stay here. My skin is yellow as that of the natives of these parts. Is there not some way in which I might gain entrance to Ravana's stronghold and there, perchance, regain the stolen weapon?"
Sugriva said slowly. "That might be possible. Yes ... it is possible...."
"Where is this Isle of Lanka?" demanded Ramey hotly.
"Not far from here. But a few hours' journey. It is a tiny island securely situated in the center of a great lake which lies to the south."
"Tonlé Sap!" cried Lake O'Brien with sudden comprehension. "That's the only great lake around these parts!" But Ramey was still pressing the ruler of Chitrakuta breathlessly.
"Your people are artists in many ways, my lord. Say, do they not also know the art of disguise? You have paints and pigments. Can you not darken my skin, make me seem like a wanderer from the Indies, and let me accompany Sheng-ti?"
Sugriva nodded. "Yes, it could be done, my son."
Dr. Aiken cried, "But, no, Ramey! We need you here with us. Let Sheng-ti go alone—"
"I got us into this mess," gritted Ramey, "and it's up to me to get us out again. There's no use talking, Doc, I've made up my mind. The rest of you stay here and plan a campaign against Lanka. Sheng-ti and I are going to get the Bow—and Sheila!"
Thus it was that before the sultry tropic sun hung high in the heavens, two seeming native coolies shuffled down the road that stretched beside the grey and greasy Siem-Reap to the lake called Tonlé Sap. Scuffed sandals shod their feet, loose hats of woven rush shadowed their faces, and the rudest of garments, tattered and begrimed, hung from their shoulders. Only, hot and heavy next to his skin, concealed by the folds of his coolie wrapper, Ramey Winters felt the reassuring bulk of an Army automatic; sole note, in this strange, forgotten world, of a civilization left behind—a civilization not yet born.
The scenery about him was not unfamiliar. The slow years work few changes in areca and coconut. Great, writhing diptocarpus trees flung air-roots ten feet in diameter across laboring branches; the sluggish river swelled into stagnant pools aflame with hyacinth and lily; from the all-engulfing jungle whispered the furtive sounds of hotland life. Once a mild, incurious water buffalo rose, snorting, from its muddy wallow to watch their passage; once a gaunt crane rose before them, lifting awkwardly on wings that flailed the sodden air as if too weak to bear their burden.
The scenery was not unfamiliar—save in one respect. The road on which they walked. It was not the typical baked-clay road of the Cambodia Ramey Winters had known. It was a broad and well-paved highway, sturdy enough to bear even the transport of a highly mechanized era. Treading its solid surface, Ramey marveled aloud, as oft before, that such a civilization should have been lost to man's very memory in the mists of time.
"I can't understand, Sheng-ti, what can have brought this great Gaanelian culture to an end. These roads ... those mighty temples at Chitrakuta ... the city itself! Why, it is a city of millions!"
The aged bonze said quietly. "The jungle is life-in-death, my friend. It is the mother who destroys her young."
"I know, but—"
"Let Man desert his cities for a decade," said Sheng-ti sombrely, "and the jungles will reclaim her own. The hardy grass will shatter these roads, impervious to wheel and boot. The tendril will bruise the rock, the soft shoot bring ruin to walls which withstand the battering-ram. Thus ever Nature reclaims such little space as Man borrows for his brief moment."
Ramey said, "I guess you're right. It doesn't take long either, does it? Even in our young country, the United States, we have ghost-towns. Abandoned cities, now overgrown with weeds, already crumbling into decay." And then, because his soldier instincts always lay closer to the front of his mind than any other, his thoughts returned to the main problem confronting them. "What I can't see is just what we're going to do about Ravana, anyway. If that bodyguard is any sample of his army, he has a tough force to overcome. Giants, every one of them. And Sugriva's 'militia' is nothing but a few, scantily-armed companies of trained apes!"
The Buddhist priest glanced at him searchingly. "I should not dismiss them so lightly, Ramey Winters."
"But that's all they are! Monkeys masquerading as men. Talking baboons, dressed in mens' clothing—"
His companion made a swift, indecipherable gesture. It might have been one of annoyance; it might have held some unknown religious symbolism. His voice was sharp, reproving.
"You know not whereof you speak, child of a younger culture! Hark ye! We of China are old; much lore had we forgotten before your white-skinned forebears built their first hopeful empire. In our ancient annals are tales ... legends of those jungle-bred warriors you call 'ape-men.' And great is the honor our elders paid to them. The Chu-King tells of a day when their prowess saved all earth for mankind—"
"Maybe so," said Ramey dubiously, "but they don't look much like fighters to me. Their captain—what's his name?—Kohrisan; a posing little jackanapes if I ever saw one."
"And what is Man himself," asked Sheng-ti, "but an ape bereft of his tail? No, Ramey Winters, you have not read aright the character of Kohrisan. I have talked with him. I know that beneath that hairy breast, beneath those over-gaudy habiliments, there beats a heart as warmly human as mine—or yours. It was a great thing the governor Sugriva did when he created out of the beasts of the jungle these new men."
It was Ramey's turn to stare. This was something he had not known before. A marvel it had not occurred to him to question.
"Created! Sugriva created—?"
"But, yes; did you not know? Sugriva is a wise man. He realized that the difference between man and the lower ape is slight. And he is a brilliant technician in matters pertaining to the brain. Kohrisan and the troops he leads are jungle creatures educated by Sugriva, given human thought and a knowledge of human tongues by the vilyishna.[9] The governor Sugriva's dream brought to fruition ... a proud, new race of intelligent beings hand-forged from Nature's rawest materials. A race of new men."
"New men!" repeated Ramey. "A race of new men!"
"Yes. But, now—" They had rounded a curve in the road; Sheng-ti's voice assumed a note of warning—"Quiet, my son! For we have come to the ferry-port!"
And Ramey saw that the sluggish stream beside which they walked had now widened, disgorging into a gigantic body of water. Its name he knew. It was the Tonlé Sap, the Great Lake of Indo-China. A tremendous expanse of brazen blue, 70 miles long and fifteen wide. And in its center, secure as if surrounded by barrier walls of steel, nestled a mist-veiled island which Ramey knew must be the stronghold of the Martian lord, Ravana. The citadel isle of Lanka.
But scant was the attention he could give this place now. For there was great activity before them. On the shore of the lake, but a few hundred yards distant, were numberless quais and wharves. These landing-docks were aswarm with the warriors of Ravana—and others! Small, frightened Annamese, bewildered little yellow men huddled together in tiny groups—no, not merely huddled! Chained! Chained in long queues, saw Ramey, and being herded into an endless stream of ferries shuttling back and forth across the lake!
He turned to Sheng-ti. "Sugriva was right! Ravana is enslaving the natives! These men do not want to be taken to Lanka. They're being forced there!"
"Quiet!" warned Sheng-ti. A frown creased his forehead; he moved as if to draw Ramey back with him into the shadow of overhanging brush. "This ruins our plan, Ramey Winters. We dare go to Lanka as freemen, but not as slaves—"
His warning, his change of heart, came too late. For interrupting him there came a loud cry from one of the Videlian soldiers. "Over there! Two more of them!" And before the pair could move a step, they were surrounded and seized by giant sons of the desert planet.