“They would take it as a bad sign for the coming year,” Bill told him. He looked around anxiously. “I wish I knew where John Whitley keeps himself.”
“So do I!” Tom whispered.
Challcuchima touched Cliff’s arm. They were silent.
Along the great square moved the Inca, slowly, majestically. He was clad in a gorgeous robe of the beautiful woven fleece of the vicuna, with gorgeously dyed patterns of vivid colors running through it; on his head was the borla, that crimson fringe carrying two feathers from the sacred bird, the caraquenque—sacred to the purpose of supplying feathers for the Inca’s head-dress. He wore many rich ornaments, laden with jewels, mostly emeralds, set in lavishly cut and worked golden shapes; from each earlobe hung the massive ornaments which, in years of wear, had drawn his earlobes down almost to his shoulders. Challcuchima was dressed as beautifully but he wore his yellow fringed and tasseled head-dress and his ears still were pierced by the golden bodkins which had been put there during his own festival, to remain until the flesh healed and left holes for the ornaments he might wear later on.
“We are bound for the Temple of the Sun,” Bill told them. It proved to be true: outside the great temple, its golden cornice glowing brightly in the newly risen sun’s rays, the procession halted. The people became silent. The priests and nobles drew aside and so did all but the Inca and Huamachaco, the high priest. Removing their sandals these two proceeded into the Temple of the Sun. No others were permitted in that sacred edifice except for purposes of cleaning and certain rites.
“I wish you’d look!” whispered Tom. From their stand they could see through the wide, open doorway. Within, the level rays of the sun made it very bright. Such marvels of gold, of ornamentation, such glorious tapestries and vivid colors had never before greeted the eyes of the four who stared, awed.
At the extreme end, where it faced the rising sun, was set a huge golden placque, a plate of gold many feet square. Its center was so carved and ornamented that it presented a rude semblance of a human face, eyes, nose, mouth: from the sides of its circle spread in every direction golden rays. It was a marvel of workmanship and of treasure.
After the Inca and his companion had performed certain rites they came out and more chants marked the resumption of the processional. They moved only a short way off, stopping again. Where they paused was an altar, a sinister object to Cliff and his comrades: they shuddered.
The chief priest advanced with some chant on his lips and began to use a strange curved mirror with which he concentrated the rays of the hot sun upon some prepared material on the altar.
“They have no fires burning during the fast days,” Bill told his friends, “now the priest kindles the sacred fire with his mirror and some of it is given to certain Virgins of the Sun to guard. It is mighty serious for them if they ever dare to let the fire go out during the coming year.”