No guards were here; they, too, had gone inside to participate in the proceedings. Gene eased into the vast cavern, staying close to the wall so as not to be seen. A rumbling as of giant sobbing beat against his ears, accompanied by the droning undertone of a rhythmic chant.
He stood at the head of the broad stairs leading down to the cave proper; and from there he looked upon that which brought a gasp of stark incredulity to his lips.
Below, the Wronged Ones knelt on the floor of the cavern, heads bowed in veneration as they offered up the monotonous prayer. All were there: women, children, battle-scarred warriors, and aged folk who could but scarcely assume a kneeling position.
All this, he had more or less expected; for after all, these people were but superstitious savages who looked to their gods for guidance. But the thing that astounded him was the two colossal objects upon which the Wronged Ones bestowed their homage.
In the center of the ring of kneeling tribesmen stood twin machines, throbbing with power and sending off a weird effulgence. From one, a long, tapering tube thrust up through the ceiling of the cavern, vibrating violently under some great stress. Gene pressed nearer the wall, unconsciously fearful of the tremendous energy surging through that giant machine.
The other object of worship vaguely resembled an outsized dynamo, though such as Gene had never before seen. In truth, the resemblance was so little as to be all but non-existent.
Great comets! How did such a mass of intricate machinery get here, in this underground vault, on a world where metal was not known? And what was its purpose?
A narrow ledge ran around the chamber's walls, and Gene moved along this to a spot where he could look down on the scene without risk of being seen.
Now and again the droning supplication halted, and during these pauses Old One arose and moved about the machines. In his hand he carried a small skin sack. This he tilted over certain parts of the whirring, pounding colossi, and from it poured a thin trickle of what could be nothing but oil.
This ceremony performed, Old One moved back, then once more the gathered throng took up the melancholy strain of the interrupted invocation. Above all, the machines hummed and sang with unbelievable power; deathless power. Yet, it seemed the prolonged roar faltered now and then; stopped for the barest fraction of an instant. At such times, the multitude groaned; then prayed all the more fervently.