They reached a triple fork in the passage. Without hesitation, Bowen chose the center one, which led on a gradual slant downward. Fifty paces further a brocaded curtain shut the passage. Here the light was bright from many swimming wicks set in the side wall.
“Straight in!” cried Bowen, and flung himself upon the curtain. As his fingers clutched the cloth to pull it aside, a long keen blade reached out, puncturing his side in a swift flash.
“Ah-h!” he cried. “The priests! Kill them!”
He stumbled, and in falling, brought down the heavy weight of the curtain across his body. Through the aperture eight wizened specimens, flourishing drawn swords, charged the invaders.
Roberts backed away, firing. From the floor, however, came the streams of fire which dropped three of the priests.
“They’re the ones who fixed me!” shrilled Bowen, firing as fast as his fingers could pull triggers.
The last toppled. The doorway was clear.
“You’ll—you’ll have to drag me.... I’m done....” Bowen continued, his voice suddenly weakening. “I’ll show you....”
Roberts stooped, picking up the slight figure as he might have lifted a tumbled chair, and darted inside the last chamber.