Their bloodshot eyes rolled savagely, their claw-like fingers twitched with the desire to rend in pieces the intrepid trio; but the bold front of the latter daunted them. A moment’s wavering on the part of the Ayuti—a stumble—and the whole horde would have swept forward, irresistible as an avalanche. But Chenobi’s hand was steady as a rock as he held the jewelled dagger to his captive’s throat. He took each backward step calmly and deliberately, avoiding all projections in the rough-hewn floor of the gallery with a care that bore witness to his splendid nerve.
So for a space the retreat went on. Further and further the three friends drew from the wolf-men. Then suddenly they rounded a bend in the tunnel, which bore them out of sight of the savages, and on the instant a swelling roar like the sound of many waters, came to their ears. The spell which had held the wolf-men was broken. They were sweeping forward in pursuit.
“Run!” roared Chenobi, and, flinging Nordhu over his shoulder, he turned and leapt forward like a deer. After him went the others at their topmost speed, Seymour, for all the weight of his armour, getting over the ground at an astonishing pace. Into the main gallery they swept, and turned for the temple, with the fearsome cries of their pursuers growing louder each moment.
In a surging brown torrent the wolf-men came on, their numbers constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, who, aroused by the clamour, poured in hundreds from every gallery. The whole troglodytish community was now thoroughly aroused; the place seemed to hum with life, like a gigantic hive; and ever the pursuers gained upon the daring trio.
Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drew up, although the friends strained every muscle to outdistance them; and the swelling roar of their voices sounded like a death-knell to the ears of Seymour and the engineer.
Gasping for breath, they plunged onward after the racing form of the king, fearing each moment that their strength would fail and that they would drop in their tracks, to be trampled out of all semblance to humanity beneath the feet of the savage horde behind.
Suddenly the skin curtain loomed before them. With a vicious tug Chenobi tore it down and bounded into the temple.
“Only a few hundred yards further,” Seymour was panting to his friend, when, out of the shadow of the great idol, a score of figures advanced and stood menacingly across the track, their weapons flashing in the light which poured from Chenobi’s jewel. They were the priests, Nordhu’s assistants in his horrible work of sacrifice.
Not an inch did the Ayuti swerve from his course, not for a moment did he hesitate. With a ringing war-cry he hurled himself upon the waiting band. Thrice his dagger flashed, then he was through them, racing for the den of the great spider.
Like a thunderbolt Seymour followed, clearing a passage by sheer weight, and, close at his heels, came the engineer, his great sword swinging like a flail. Closing up behind them, the priests joined in the chase, making the vast amphitheatre ring with their cries of rage.