“If we do not flee the malicious Div will hurl us into one of those bottomless chasms which swarm with venomous serpents,” warned the guide.
“Try we to retrace our course, or the bird of prey and the hyena will pick the flesh from our bones,” said the Bashi, in a mood of dark prophecy.
“Is it not God who rules this world and the stars? How can you be sure that evil will befall us if we enter that place? We are men of faith and stout hearts, and I propose that we proceed toward that dazzling city, no matter who they be who inhabit it,” was Cordosa’s fearless proposition.
“Thou shalt not find me craven if there be danger to face. The point of this spear has been buried in the body of the lion, and this heel has bruised the head of the rukta; if there be the evil one, I will face him,” exclaimed the Karawan-Bashi.
“Neither is thy guide of the stuff that shrinks before spectres, however monstrous. Let us know them who have built that marvelous city,” cried the guide heroically, and toward the city the caravan advanced.
It was that hour of the day when the lengthened shadows indicate the descent of the glowing orb, but the striking absence of bird or insect in a quarter where every inducement for their presence was to be seen in abundance gave the surroundings an air of desolation, and produced the sensation experienced by him who suddenly lights on a corpse. A broad avenue shaded by treble lines of orange trees in blossom, diffusing delicious odors, led up to a high portal giving admission to a vast enclosure walled by gray stones perfectly fitted by masterful hands, a fortress looking as new as though the masons had just given it the finishing touch. The wall was not high enough to hide the gorgeous edifices within; but the wayfarers pricked their ears in vain to catch a sound of life, the quiet being that of the graveyard. “This is a dead city,” observed the guide, in the hope of shaking the courage of Cordosa; “peradventure the desolate city built by the son of Ad.”
“They are not dead at night who are dead during the day,” added the Karawan-Bashi, with a similar object in view.
“God is strong enough to afford us protection against all evil powers. Here may be a mystery we are destined to solve. Knock at the gate for admission,” ordered Cordosa peremptorily.
“Allah illaha il Allah!” cried the Bashi, seized with a fit of unflinching heroism; “I will knock at the gate with my scabbard, be the place under the rule of grim Monkir; the faithful need not be afraid of the creatures of Eblis.”
The rap on the gate gave forth a hollow sound in response, yet the gateway opened with a jar, revealing a scene at which the intruders gazed with amazement. Sheddad’s garden of Irem could hardly equal the vernal luxuriance which hid the foundations of the wonderful buildings. Scattered here and there, among delightful flower-beds and thick clusters of the luscious vine, stood groups of fairies motionless, so handsome that their cheeks rivaled the rose in sweetness. They were all barefooted, their little feet resembling those of children. For headgear they wore crowns of golden hair; their garb was a transparent gauze, shining like moonlight, and bespangled with gold, and they were all armed with spears of that precious metal. Awful was their silence, their expression yet showing an intense anxiety to utter speech. The gate slammed to with its jarring note as soon as the last camel was within the precincts, and the Yemenites shuddered at the realization of their being locked in a dead city. Overcome by the awe of the surroundings, Cordosa exclaimed: “Great Lord, protect us!” Hereupon the whole mountain experienced a tremor, shared by the life-like fairies, who appeared to shiver at the mention of the Supreme.