Polaris and the Goddess Glorian

by Charles B. Stilson

At the call of Polaris, the dog backed out of the doorway, but still with a wary and suspicious eye to the movements of the red captain.

Mordo, the prison captain, was not in attendance, but certain of his servants were spreading the table near the center of the hall. The Americans and the Sardanians were gathered in a group about one of the pillars.

Everson looked wan, like one whose pillow had been ridden by evil visions. The others of the party seemed in better spirits and were talking among themselves. Zenas Wright gave evidence that his scientific zeal had only lain dormant. For now he noted all about him with a keen and kinding interest, paying his attention especially to the architecture of the lordly hall which had housed them, and its sculptures, of which there were many. Young Brooks' interest was fully as keen, if more material, as that of the geologist. The eyes of the ensign were all for the table preparations.

Seeing the party thus, and the broad bands of sunlight which streamed into the hall through windows of crystal high in the masonry, Polaris grew shamefaced.

"Now it seems that I alone, who of all should be wakeful, have slept dully like a wintered bear," he muttered.

"'Tis well. You have gained strength which perhaps shall not come amiss," Oleric answered.

Near the center of the hall a fountain played, its spray falling through a bar of sunshine which changed the silver drops to gold as they fell. Calling his morning greetings to his friend, Polaris went thither and laved his face and hands and smoothed his mass of tawny hair. The dog followed close at heel and lapped greedily from the fountain's basin.

"Strange that this brute should be here," said Oleric. "Do you know what manner of beast this is that so befriends you, Polaris?"

Polaris shook his head; nor did he at that time see fit to acquaint Oleric with the circumstances of the dog's appearance.

"This is one of the dogs the priests keep at the temple of Shamar," the captain informed. "There are few of the breed in the land, and all are at the temples of the god in the cities. Almost as sacred are these brutes as are the bulls, whereof you already know, and are likely to learn more. The holy men do say of them that they are dwelt in by the souls of heroes passed away, whom Shamar chooses to guard his temple gates, even as the bulls are inhabited by the souls of dead kings.