Weird Tales/Volume 30/Issue 1/The Last Pharaoh

by Thomas P. Kelley

The Last Pharaoh

By THOMAS P. KELLEY

A strange weird novel of a castle of doom on the West African coast—an
unbelievably fascinating tale of an English girl and her American
sweetheart, and the amazing fate that befell them

The Story Thus Far

SHANGHAIED to a mysterious fortress on the West African coast—the Castle of Gloom—Neil Bryant, young American, together with the lovely Carol Terry and the latter's brother, Bob, are taken to its age-old throneroom, where, amid ranks of guarding black soldiery, two human heads smile on them from bowls of stone—Atma, beauteous princess of old Egypt, and Karamour, last of the Pharaohs!

Here the surprized Terrys learn they are the descendants of the great Queen Hatshepsut, who ruled Egypt thirty-four hundred years ago. In the tale of Karamour they hear how the Queen fled before the rebellious hordes of Thothmes III, of her death in a lonely cave near Cusie, and Atma's own escape from the rebel leader in the capital city of Memphis.

They learn of the wise Sarcus and his Golden Oil of eternal life; how the princess of Egypt and Karamour made ready for the experiment that would render them immune to the centuries; of the separating of their heads from their bodies, and then at the supreme moment, when their lifeless forms were to be plunged into the vats that would strengthen them for the ages, of the arrow that flew into the tower to bury itself in the breast of Sarcus.

Their narrator tells of the flight of his small army from the oncoming Thothmes; of their months of wandering, and the journey's end by the waters of the great sea—they had spanned the Sahara Desert. He tells of the building of the aged fortress, of his long centuries of study that he might unite once more the head of the Princess, as well as his own, each to a walking body in whose veins still flowed the royal blood of Egypt, a form appropriate to their station. Then, at last, of how the required knowledge had become his, to conclude with the words: "And that, oh strangers, is why you have been summoned!"

The story continues:

---

12. Princess, or What?

As the last of the Pharaohs had told his enthralling story, we three prisoners sat like stone images, fascinated, while we watched the bodiless head of Karamour. The unbelievable antiquity, the glorious history of the talking head, forbade any answering retorts or protests. The ranks of guarding soldiery were quiet and motionless. Doctor Zola alone had seemed alive, and alternately his eyes rested upon us, as though to note the effects of his ruler's words.

"Perhaps, oh Prince," he drawled in his softest tone, "perhaps the stupid islanders are still in some doubt as to your meaning. Allowances must be made for their disgusting ignorance, Son of Ra. Recall you that they were even unaware as to their ancestry; oblivious to that greatest of all honors. Truly the bodies have descended from the ancient world, but the brains hold not its wisdom. The learning of old Egypt has long since departed from the minds of the fair race."

The dark head looked at Carol, frowning.

"But surely, you must have known that you are descended from the great Hatshepsut; that your distant fathers had been kings in the halls of Kemi, live thousand years before Troy was founded?"

"And how was she to know?" demanded Bob Terry. "You yourself have admitted in this cock-and-bull story that the Queen ruled Egypt over thirty-four centuries ago. No one can truthfully trace his ancestry to such distant antiquity'—it's ridiculous."

"Your mother was Egyptian," reminded Zola.

"And yours French," countered the Englishman. "But does that necessarily relate you to Joan of Arc?"

"Bah! that is all beside the point."

Weird Tales, Jul 1937 p 71

"This then was the dread pit so feared by the inmates of the castle."

"Damned if it is! That is all right to the point, and you know it."

"Desist!" commanded the dark head sternly. "Such conduct is both useless and improper before the last of the Oekheperkere."

His eyes flashed toward the defiant Terry. "You are wrong, young stranger, in thinking that ancestry cannot be traced to such a distant past. I have followed yours most carefully. Ah, how well was I informed through the centuries—my secret spies ever watching your forefathers as I labored and hoped for the great day when I might have need for them! And you think I do not know your departed? Listen:

"The second son of Hatshepsut's child Norfruse, a rash, impetuous youth, fled from the great palace with a dark-eyed concubine of Crete, the favorite of his father, the Pharaoh. Making their way to distant Jerusalem, his descendants remained in that ancient city till its destruction by the armies of Nebuchadnezzar, some nine hundred years later. From Babylon to Damascus, from the great walls of Troy to distant Nineveh, the children of the mother Queen wandered, to return to their homeland in the reign of the Ptolemies.

"Not always was the blood of the Oekheperkere in luxury and comfort. The river of time brought many changes of position and station; jewels and silks for some generations, poverty and hunger for the others—ever swaying from the highest to the worst, with only their courage and lineage eternal.

"Often your forefathers fought as common foot-soldiers in the armies of Persia and Carthage—archers for Hannibal, warriors for Xerxes, slingers who perished on Marathon's plain."

For a moment he paused to flash his age-old eyes upon us. Then:

"Yes, bold youth, I know well your blood. I have too long watched to err at this supreme moment. Undoubtedly, you are the descendant of the great Hatshepsut."

Bob Terry gave a gesture of impatience,

"And supposing that I am—it could mean nothing to you. Egypt's glory has gone. We now live in a different age, a new environment. Must one be dragged from his home like a common felon, simply because his ancestors may have been savage rulers thousands of years ago?"

"It could mean nothing to me?" cried the dark head in surprize. "You say that it could mean nothing to me! Then, why would you suppose I have had your blood traced through the ages? Why should I secure the services of Doctor Zola, the greatest surgeon of the day, to assist me in this great venture? Why did I build this fortress over thirty-four centuries ago?"

Carol Terry staggered to her feet.

"We do not know! We do not know!" she wailed. "Words, words—always words and yet no meaning. Ten days of mental hell have passed, but still we do not know your purpose. Torture—kill if you must—but for God's sake, tell us why?"

And before I could spring forward to catch her, Carol Terry had slipped to the floor in a swoon.

I had lifted her to the chair, when the voice of the Pharaoh spoke again.

"It is just as well. What is to be said will no doubt fall hard on the tender ears of the golden one. Give her your attention, Doctor, while I speak to the sullen males."

"To the tower of surgery?" asked Zola, as he held the girl's limp body in his arms.

The dark head nodded, and when the Frenchman disappeared with his burden, turned his dark eyes once more upon us.

"As to the rest, I shall be brief. From the blood of the Oekheperkere I have come. It is to that royal lineage which I shall now return. I am to be free—to live, to laugh, to walk once more."

The voice sank to a trembling whisper of desire.

"I will be free—to conquer!"

Had I gone mad? Was all this some wild hallucination or a grim reality? The bodiless ruler continued:

"Yet I must return only as a Pharaoh; a true son of old Egypt in whose veins still flows the blood of the mother Queen. You, pale Englishman of the outer world, have the body I must own. It is——"

His dark eyes turned upon me. "Are you the intruder? You are he, of whom I was told? You were not summoned, nor are you a royal one?"

For the first time I spoke to Karamour:

"My being here is through no fault of my own. The lying fiend you call Doctor Zola caused my capture as he did like-wise to my companions. We were betrayed through deceit and——"

"Then what is to be said is not for your ears. It is best that you be chained and held till some near-by hour, when your fate will be decided.

"Bansura!" he called to a near-by black, take that carrion to the dungeons to be held till summoned."

"But carefully," cried the beauty from the stone bowl. "No harm must come to him if you would keep your eyes.—Fear not, man of the new land," she spoke to me. "If the eleven Gods but smile on the great experiment, your release is but a matter of hours. Truly, you have found favor in the eyes of Atma."

Why did the swarthy face of Karamour stare at me with a look of hatred?

A tall negro came forward.

"Go with him, old fellow," put in Terry, as I made ready to resist the black. "Won't do any good to try a scuffle—hundred to one against us."

"Resistance is a folly we punish severely," warned the Pharaoh.

And so it was that I submitted to be led from the golden-floored throneroom of Karamour. True, a struggle, however useless, might have been more heroic, but in the end it would have been all the same.

At the great folding doors I paused for one last look at that weird assembly, to behold all eyes upon me—the watching soldiery, the stern Egyptian monarch, and smiling Bob Terry, who waved a brave farewell.

But Atma: The eyes of the Princess had been turned toward me in an encouraging smile; a friendly beam intended to dispel any fear or foreboding that might have been mine. Yet, now as I halted and faced her, for a fleeting instant the lovely face hardened. Two exquisite brows raised slightly, and then came the one swift gesture that has ever been the world's oldest. No haughty glare, no besieging look of wordless appeal or the beguiling smile of the coquette — but a wink; a quick lowering of a long-lashed lid that needed no words to complete its apparent purpose; the meaning signal that has announced iniquity since the dawning of time; the age-old professional sign of the first Daughter of Sweetness.

Held in the strong hands of two stalwart blacks, I was roughly hustled down a long corridor that led to the gaping entrance of a subterranean passage. Here waited another, a dark, towering Arab of war-like visage, whose curved sword hung from a heavy belt.

As we drew nearer, the tall man smiled and spoke some unknown words to the blacks that caused them to laugh loudly. Grasping a lighted torch from a niche, the grim swordsman motioned us to follow, and led the way down a vast series of time-worn steps. We made our faltering way ever farther into the earth. A damp coldness told of our great distance below the surface.

We halted before a sturdy wooden door, securely held by massive iron bars. Stopping only to unlock and push the shrieking obstacle aside, we entered a low-ceilinged vault that was destined to be my prison.

The floor of the foul-smelling pit was covered with a hard, moist sand. Mighty iron rings were set in the stone walls. To these were fastened heavy chains, and at the far end of several of the chains were the attached forms of whitened skeletons.

One of these the Arab kicked ruthlessly aside. The large padlock was then opened, and the chain that had so recently held the gleaming bones of one long dead, was clasped around my ankle. For a while the three talked in an unknown tongue. Then they left, taking the light with them.

I was alone without hope of succor; alone in the deep dungeon of an ancient castle, with only drying bones of dead men for companions—men whose horrible fate I might so soon be called upon to share.

For twelve long hours of mental torment and worry I remained in the black pit of Karamour. Leaning against the rocky walls of the dungeon I thought of the strange words of the Pharaoh: "You pale Englishman of the outer world, have the body I must own. Once again may I become whole." I sought their meaning, but in vain. Why did he need us? Supposing there was some possible truth to that impossible tale, how could the Terrys help him from his hopeless predicament? What could the Englishman do that would be of any assistance to him?

My reveries were suddenly broken by a light, hesitant tread on the steps beyond. My nerves gave a sharp tingle at the sound. Was it the noise of the Arab swordsman coming to lead me to some terrible doom? Could it be some horrible beast whose keen scent had detected my presence, that was now entering to destroy me? Turning my head toward the sound, with straining eyes I awaited my unknown visitor. There was a pause beyond the doorway, and then I heard the heavy breathing of one who had come both far and fast. The door was pushed slowly open to shriek in dismal protest against this unaccustomed disturbance, and with flaming torch held high, the tall form of Captain Alexis Barakoff entered the foul dungeon.

The cruel smile that habitually lit his dark face had vanished. Instead the bearded features showed only a frightened excitement, as his restless eyes wandered incessantly to the surrounding blackness.

"You are still alive!" he whispered, with an effort.

I nodded. He swung his torch around to light every corner of that dreary dungeon.

"Not a pretty place, Monsieur. These gruesome pits have been haunted by the ghosts of tortured men for over three thousand years. Ghostly blue lights flicker at frequent intervals, while the great vaults are filled with a hideous laughter."

An agonized scream sounded far above us.

"Pay no attention to that, Bryant, but listen to me, as you value your life." He knelt quickly beside me, his bearded face but an inch from mine. "Answer my questions truthfully. You will find it to your advantage if you do so. Softly; though—even the pits of Karamour have ears. Can you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Good! Now, first of all, tell me, is it true what I have heard Zola say—that you are a man of great wealth?"

Instinctively I knew that the truthful answer of "no" would not only be harmful, but would discourage the Russian from further confidences. I must not relinquish this unexpected hope.

"I have money," I answered, feigning skepticism, "a great deal of it. But why speak of that now?"

A smile of relief stole over the bearded features.

"You wish to be free?" he asked.

"I don't relish the idea of starving here."

"Then listen," came the low voice. "I have been sent to return you to your former room. It is there that he intends you should stay. The great devil is maddened with joy at his new-found freedom, and has actually become gracious. Oceans of his ancient wines have been brought from the cellars for his warriors; two slaves have been given over to the tortures that make a gala holiday for the tribesmen. For once their vigilance is lax. It is at such a time that we must act.

"Tonight I leave for Havana to take on another consignment of guns. It should be a simple matter for you to drop from the balcony and evade the night guards. They will be half drunk anyway, celebrating their master's release. Once free of the castle, you could easily follow the coast line for a mile to the south, eh?"

"It should not be hard," I agreed.

"It will not be hard. Nor is it difficult for me to have the yacht halted and a small boat rowed ashore to pick you up and bring you aboard. Yes, it could be done, and I might consider doing it, though my risk is a great one."

"What do you wish in return?" I asked.

"What is your freedom worth to you?"

I could scarce suppress a smile. Even in the age-old pits of an Egyptian Pharaoh, avarice and greed were prevalent.

With an effort I looked into the watching eyes of the expectant Russian.

"I will pay you well, Captain Barakoff."

"You will pay me five thousand pounds and not a ruble less. The venture is worth twice the amount, but my kind heart ever goes out to the unfortunate.

"Oh, the transaction is a simple one," he continued. "Once aboard the yacht you can wire your American bankers and have the amount waiting for us at Havana. None need ever know of our little business affair, and it will be easy for you to procure passage from the Cuban port to your own country. That is the price of your life and liberty, Monsieur Bryant. Do you agree?"

"Agreed," I answered.

The Russian bent forward, and with his ready key opened the lock that held me.

"Be careful," he cautioned. "That damned Usanti is everywhere, and reports his hearings to the Pharaoh.

"Station yourself at the window tonight, and shortly after nine, when you see the lighted yacht steam out and leave the harbor—act. A small boat will be waiting for you a mile up the beach. But come, already have we delayed too long. There must not be the slightest suspicion to arouse their ever skeptical minds."

We had started for the stairs, when I suddenly halted.

"One moment. The plan for my escape is all well and good, but what of my companions?"

My demand visibly annoyed the commander of the Star of Egypt.

"Well, what of them?"

"A great deal. We must arrange to take them with us. I certainly cannot leave without them."

"Sh—not so loud, not so loud!" he hissed. "You do not realize your danger. Spies are everywhere. No, we cannot take them—the risk is too great. You must come alone. Besides—well, perhaps they would not care to come with us anyway."

An unaccountable chill of horror swept over me at his words.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, turning quickly toward him. "They have not been harmed? They are still alive?"

The bearded Russian stared stupidly at me.

"Answer me!" I shouted, an awful fear rising at his silence. "What has been done to them? Are they alive?"

The man raised his hands in a frightened, imploring manner.

"For God's sake, Monsieur, be quiet!" he sobbed. "He will have us thrown into the pit! Oh, you do not know him. Yes, yes, your friends are alive. They are still alive, but——" The sudden appearance of a descending black cut short his words.

The fellow's approach had been noiseless. A short, sickly-looking, repulsively ugly figure, his bloodshot eyes looked suspiciously at our startled faces.

"The great Pharaoh has commanded that I conduct the prisoner to his quarters, Captain Barakoff," he whined in a shrill voice, "and for you to report to him at once."

The Russian gave a feeble smile.

"Of course, Usanti," he faltered. "We—I—we were just leaving. Yes, of course. Come, Bryant."

As we mounted the steps, the eyes of Barakoff signaled a swift warning of silence. The man's fear of discovery was almost pathetic in his struggling efforts for a bearing of indifference. For my part, I said nothing, but that our planning had entirely escaped the ears of the black, I was doubtful.

On reaching the great corridors above, the Russian walked briskly toward the distant hail of pillars; while I, following the tiny black, was led once more to my allotted room.

13. I Talk with Atma

Standing on the tiny balcony that led from my luxurious chamber, I could look far over the terrace below where stood the swarthy raiders of Karamour. Numerous white-robed Arabs, standing singly or in small groups, smoked their strong tobacco as they talked in the lonely gardens. Intermingled with the chatting guests were several Negro slaves, their naked black bodies a strong contrast to the snowy garments of the idlers, who silently served in tiny cups the thick, hot coffee so loved by the dark sons of the desert.

A little apart from the general group, three old sheiks looked attentively at a tall, richly robed man, whose ringing voice and imperative gestures showed him to be one of importance. Far below, in the lazy sea, the Star of Egypt appeared as a white dot on a world of blue.

What purpose could have brought the war-like horde to this fair Eden? The care-free laughter and friendly manner of the blacks showed that the castle had not succumbed to attack. I had heard no shouts of conflict, nor did the giant soldiery of the throneroom issue forth to repel the invaders. Plainly they were allies and followers of the bodiless ruler.

As I stood watching the shouting horde of muscular nomads, a dull, familiar noise sounded far to the north. High in the lonely Sahara sky floated the dark outline of a tiny airplane, moaning dismally. Nearer and nearer it came, till directly over the castle it circled the giant fortress, zooming lower as though making ready to land.

As the first sounds of the approaching plane reached them, the Arabs lapsed into a watchful silence. Dark hands shaded searching eyes, while muscular brown fingers toyed nervously with wicked-looking knives. Could it be an enemy, or had some lost flyer entered this forbidden territory?

Now, however, as the ship drew nearer and a painted white skull appeared on the under wings, all doubts vanished. The watching Arabs broke into hoarse cheering. Plainly the newcomer was both expected and welcome.

As the plane disappeared to find its landing-field behind the palace, the commanding figure shouted a brief order to his cohorts. Instantly the wild horde rushed from the gardens to greet the grim-omened flyer.

Among the last of the stragglers I noticed the running figure of the grotesque Usanti. Did his presence there mean that I was unguarded? Quickly I made for the door, to find a deserted corridor without. The landing plane had temporarily gained the attention of the castle's inmates. This, then, was the ideal moment to search for the missing Terrys, and knowing my time to be limited, I stole quickly down the silent hallway.

It was a weird sensation, this treading the unknown corridors of a Pharaoh's castle; a mighty fortress whose great foundations had been dug some fourteen hundred years before the tragedy on Calvary. It seemed as though I had suddenly been transplanted back through the centuries to a far distant day when the world was young.

At the far end of the hall a gilded door, slightly ajar, led to a large chamber, similar to my own. Into this spacious room I made my quiet way, to find caution unnecessary. The abode was empty.

A small door at the right led to a tiny balcony, from which I could see the shouting Arabs swarming around the now landed plane. There must have been a hundred of them, tall, powerful men, who pulled and laughed good-naturedly at the small bedraggled figure that descended from the cock-pit.

The flyer received their rough attentions smilingly, and shook hands with several of the company. Then, leaving the blacks to unload the many tiny brown packages from the ship's interior, the laughing horde made its slow way back to the fortress.

The marble walls around me had been recently shaded to a golden hue. That the room belonged to one of high station was evident by the costly furnishings and elaborate wearing-apparel in the clothes-press. Perhaps it was the quarters of the Pharaoh himself. But all this brought me no nearer in my quest, and I was about to leave the chamber when my eyes were widened by two almost simultaneous discoveries. The first was a loaded pistol lying on a small stand near the doorway; the other, a full-view portrait of Carol Terry that stood on the massive dresser.

The richly colored photo, undoubtedly a recent one, showed the pretty girl in a smiling, happy mood. Underneath in her handwriting I knew so well were the words: "With all my love—Carol."

Each hour but added to the mysteries of this horrible castle of gloom. The bodiless Pharaoh, the wondrous Princess; humans who had seen and known the glories of the past. Shouting fanatics who thirsted for battle; the arrival from the sky; and now the portrait of one, who, until her recent capture, had never been within a thousand miles of this ancient structure.

As I stood silent and perplexed before the startling find, loud voices in the halls below told that the swarthy company had entered the palace. Quickly pocketing the pistol, I stepped out into the still deserted corridor. At the stairway, heavy treading told of the ascending guards. The hallway would soon swarm with armed sentries, and knowing further searching to be useless, I quietly entered my own room, closing the door behind me.

The venture had not proven worthless. I had seen the landing of the desert flyer, discovered the puzzling portrait of Carol Terry; and behind the large picture over the bed, destructive and ready, was the secreted pistol, waiting for the time when I should need its powerful assistance.

Late that afternoon a gentle knock sounded on my door as a musical voice asked softly, "May I enter?"

The frail obstacle was pushed aside, and a vision of loveliness stood in the doorway. Two indescribably beautiful long-lashed eyes rolled beneath a waving mass of black hair. Slightly parted red lips displayed a perfect row of teeth, while the tall, shapely body, richly appareled in a low-cut gown of shimmering white satin that revealed the full outline of her lovely breasts, moved with the soft ease of a tigress.

Instantly I recognized the wondrous features I had seen in the throneroom. It was she whose lovely head had graced the massive stone bowl, whose eternal history had been told by the Pharaoh, Atma, Princess of Egypt!

"You are surprized. Confess it now, you really are surprized."

I had risen at the entrance of Hatshepsut's lovely daughter.

"Surprized!" I gasped, smilingly. "I—I am amazed."

The beauty laughed gayly, and seating herself on a plush-covered bench, crossed shapely legs as her dark eyes smiled into mine.

"But you need not remain standing." Her manicured hand motioned to a chair.

"Is it not the proper thing to do?" I had asked.

"We can dispense with formalities. Just be your natural self—I know I will enjoy it."

"In that case, you will find me curious."

"Curious? And why that?"

Seated on a chair, I looked long and earnestly at the superb creature before me. Last night I had gazed at those same exquisite features when it was only a head that had spoken and watched me. And now there sat an enchantress whose body would have put to shame the form of a Salome.

"Princess Atma, there is one—there are two things I would like very much to know. I wonder if it would seem rude for me to ask them."

The wondrous smile deepened.

"And what are these so vitally important questions?" she parried.

Hopefully I continued.

"What has become of my companions, and where are they now? It is only right I should know. We were dragged into this horrible business together, but I feel responsible for them. Also, how is it that I see you as you now are, when last night it was only a——" I paused, uncertain of my words. "Oh, you must know what I mean."

"Of course I do, and will readily answer your queries—at least one of them. Your friends are safe—that I promise you! I talked to them but a short while ago, and had their own assurance as to their welfare. It is needless to be alarmed or worried. Your other question must go unanswered for a short time. Later on, perhaps, when certain changes have been effected, you may be told."

"But it all seems so impossible."

"And best, perhaps, when not thought of. No," she continued as I would have remonstrated; "for the present you must be satisfied with what I have told you."

Her firm voice told the folly of insistence.

"The knowledge of my companions' safety is a pleasant one, and I thank you, Princess, for that consolation. As to the other—I await its answer with patience," and I smiled at my lovely visitor.

"It is well. You will know all in good time, I promise. But come, tell me of yourself, of your country—that great land I have so yearned to see."

There was a world of longing in her words, and the dark eyes looked searchingly at me, as though to find in my features the answer to her curiosity.

"I am afraid you would find it very disappointing. It is only its distance that lends enchantment. Black smoke, deafening noises and grimy high buildings would scarce make a pleasant change from the blue skies and peaceful quiet of your own lovely land."

The daughter of the ages shook her head in a cheerful negative.

"No, I would love it. The new lands, especially America, have fascinated me. I thrill at the stories of its cool, high mountains, its great cities and eager, reckless people. I have dreamed through the years of its gilded halls of pleasure, the exclusive clubs and racing autos, gigantic liners entering its harbors of a million lights. Tell me of these many wonders."

"Of course, if you wish it; yet it seems rather needless. So accurate is your description, it would appear as though you yourself had been there."

"Ah, those are only memories of what I have heard. No, I have not yet traveled to the new world, though the day is not distant when that dream will be realized."

And so for a long hour I told the Egyptian Princess of the new lands that lived and loved beyond the hot desert; of their struggles for supremacy, the many marvelous inventions of the recent years, as well as a brief outline of the leading figures that governed and worried a harassed people.

During my lengthy description Atma had stared at me in wide-eyed fascination. Plainly her heart had deserted the land of the pyramids.

"Oh, it is just as I knew it would be!" she exclaimed when I had ended. "Exactly like the countless books I have read and memorized through the waiting years."

"You read English as well as speak it?"

"I read and speak all languages. I learned them to help pass the dreary centuries. Alone, of all humans, I can de- cipher the two existing scrolls of the Uzusiki, the original picture language of the first yellow men who came from the moon, eight thousand years ago."

I must have looked the surprize I felt.

"Then it is true! It is really true—that wild unbelievable tale that was told to us in the throneroom!"

"The Prince of Egypt has not lied."

"But it's—it's unthinkable! You are so young—so very young; and yet it is said you have known the Pharaohs."

Again that bewitching smile.

"I have seen many of the famous people of history," she admitted. "Thothmes III, my own illustrious mother, as well as the wise historian priest, Manetho. The great Alexander has kissed my lips as he pledged his undying vows of love. No Arab ever thirsted for the sweet wells as I yearned for my release and the strong arms of Hannibal. Balkis too——"

"Balkis?"

"The Queen of Sheba," explained Atma. "Some five hundred years after our horrible imprisonment, whispers of Karamour's great knowledge and wonderful oil readied her in distant Chilor, the city beyond the hot hills. Heading a long caravan that contained her famed treasures, the titian-haired ruler came to this great fortress, asking of the Prince the anointment of life eternal.

"Karamour at that time had not perfected his golden elixir to the point of enabling perpetual existence. The oil itself, while beneficial, could not grant immortality without the aid of certain unknown chemicals. He told his visitor that she must wait till further years of study had given him the required wisdom, but this did not please the Queen. Knowing that the oil would only preserve the features as they were at the time of its use, and fearing old age before the fluid would be ready, the Sabean, who did not like the thoughts of eternal life as an aged woman, and hearing that Karamour's secret prayers to Osiris would awaken from death's sleep all who died by the bitter drugs, drank of the fatal cup of Ecila. Thus, dying while still young, she could wait with content for the great hour, assured that when perfected, and having been called back and anointed with the golden oil, she would pass on down through the centuries while still in the appearance of youthful glamor."

"But the Queen of Sheba is still dead," I reminded.

"And always will be. Shortly after her demise, Prince Karamour perfected the right ingredient for the oil, as his experiment with Zena, the Queen's giant guard, so satisfactorily proved; though it was not till thirty centuries later that he achieved his supreme triumph. But as for raising the dead—it is only one of the many myths of the ancient world."

"And you?" I asked. "Are you to be young and beautiful through the ages to come?"

The royal Egyptian laughed gayly.

"Sacred cat of Bubastis!" she cried, "but you are inquisitive. But we will talk no more of the Old World's characters. Let their memories, like their bones, rest undisturbed. I would much rather hear you. Tell me of the many pleasures of your world. Ah, yes," she added quickly, "your dislikes—I would know of them."

"And you have said that I am inquisitive," I smiled.

"Curiosity," she laughed, "—a feminine trait that must always be forgiven."

"And so we find a Princess with a fault?"

"A Princess with many faults, perhaps; nor do I wish to correct them." The musical voice paused slightly, and then she added: "And could you guess my latest failing—one taught me by the Twentieth Century?"

"Not in a thousand years," I had answered.

"You wish to know?"

"With all my heart."

"Slang," she whispered in mock seriousness. "Those cute little words that are so short, yet hold a world of meaning."

"S-slang!" I gasped. "But where could you have possibly learned it?"

"From a very interesting teacher. Billy was an American sailor that deserted at Tangier. He had drifted down the coast and stumbled on this wayward place by chance. For two long years he was here, and never a day passed that we did not spend hours together. Chaktu! but he was a darling; a burning, impatient darling, with his blue eyes and soft fair hair. Oh, so gay, so careless and eager! Not like the boresome fools of this ancient place, who talk only of Egypt's lost glory and of people long dead. He lived only to love and laugh."

The eyes of Atma sparkled as she spoke.

"He fell wildly in love with me, and talked only of the future and our escape. Always he told what we should do when I had become whole. For countless hours he amused me with his pleadings of love, and then in a gay mood he would dance and sing the most ridiculous songs till I was weary with laughter. Oh, you should have heard him," she insisted.

"And he has left?"

"None ever leaves this castle of death. Some spy must have overheard us and reported it to Karamour. I never knew, or bothered to ask. One day he disappeared—that was all."

The calmness with which she spoke the words horrified me.

"So you must not be shocked if I use the slang of your country."

"On the contrary, I would like it," I answered dryly, aware of a vague fear of this weird creature.

The gray shades of eventide had now stolen across the sky. Already could be felt the first cool breeze that announced the quick coming of the tropical night. High above us in the spiral belfry, the evening bells were tolling the lonely hour of dusk.

My last answer had pleased the royal beauty, and she now leaned slightly toward me. Her curving body glowed with the flaming warmth of Africa. Her lovely face was temptingly close to mine. The fragrance of a delicate perfume was wafted toward me. A soft sigh escaped her perfect lips; and then, with a thrill that burned like dancing flames, her ivory fingers ran through my hair.

"I am going to like you," came the soft whisper. "I am going to like you very much, and you will quickly learn to care for me. We will have wonderful hours together—just you and I—wonderful, happy hours. I must leave you now, but carry your memory with me always. Karamour departs at sunrise for a three-day inspection of the desert tribes, taking his savage raiders with him. There will be but a few slaves left at the castle. Only some faithful servants whose tongues are ever silent—and ourselves!"

Her voice was eager, expectant.

"Tomorrow night, when the moon hangs low over the waters, I will have Zena bring you to the beach, where I will be waiting. Will you come?"

Like one entranced, I could but nod.

"I will instruct the slaves to allow you complete freedom, Mr. Bryant," came her clear voice, as she rose. "You will be at liberty to come and go from the gardens as you choose. Tonight Karamour will send for you, but have no fear. I have seen to your safety."

At the doorway the enchantress turned suddenly, in a reckless wide-eyed manner.

"Remember then," she whispered eagerly. "Tomorrow night on the beach—we meet—alone—just you and I. And when we do ——" A snap of her fingers, the roll of her eyes, accompanied the next two sharply accented words:

"Oh, Baby!"

14. The Justice of Karamour

Early that evening I had taken my solitary watch upon the tiny balcony that gave a view of the lighted yacht in the harbor below. The one forlorn hope of freedom depended on my vigilance, but long before the appointed time set by the Russian as his hour of departure, the hideous Usanti had come to escort me once more to the throneroom.

In the great reception hall lolled some fifty Arab henchmen of the Pharaoh, grim and silent in the shadows of the pillars. But these richly robed men were all chieftains. Plainly, some important meeting could be expected. Their dark eyes watched my every move with an ominous silence.

The Princess Atma had told me that I might expect a summons to the thronethroneroom. Perhaps it would mean another lengthy oration by the bodiless Karamour. If so, I would doubtlessly meet my fellow prisoners. I longed to see Carol, to talk to her, to hear from her own lips that she was still unharmed.

Presently we were joined by the garrulous Zola. The sleek Frenchman, immaculate in white flannels, seemed in excellent spirits as he laughed and chatted with the guards and tribesmen. How I hated that cultured fiend!

At length his wandering gaze fell upon me, and with a loud exclamation of pleasure he strode quickly forward.

"Ah, Monsieur, but this is a surprize! A glorious treat for us undeserving mortals. As well as the leading sheiks and tribesmen, Monsieur Bryant honors us with his presence. He wishes to be a witness during the process of justice? Or can it be that he is a bit alarmed as to what fate might befall an accomplice of treachery?"

A disinterested yawn had no effect on the mock politeness.

"The brave Monsieur could hardly consider himself dealt with unfairly if a sentence of twenty lashes or the loss of one eye was inflicted on his own person. After all, his conduct on the Star of Egypt was hardly that which would cause his countrymen to cheer."

I looked squarely into the mocking face.

"Some day we are going to be alone," I told him softly. "Alone, where there will be no surrounding guards or swordsmen to put you at an advantage. We will then see if your conduct is such that it would cause cheers. Cheers, Doctor Zola—or will it be jeers?"

The booming crash of a giant gong cut short whatever retort he might have given. As though awaiting this deafening signal, the massive doors at the far end of the hall were suddenly flung open from within, and we were ushered into the great throneroom of Karamour.

On either side of the enormous chamber were long tiers of seats. Toward these we were motioned by the black doormen, to sit in a strained, silent suspense; and presently from a dark passageway beyond the throne, a tall figure emerged from the cavernous depths beneath the room.

As he came into the brilliant glare of the chandeliers, with a thrill of horror I recognized him. It was he—the dark cruel head that had talked from the great bowl—Karamour, the masterful Prince of Egypt!

Silently the inmates of the room stood at attention, while the athletic figure mounted the jewel-inlaid seat beneath the canopy.

"Followers of Karamour," he began, "you see before you the blood of the Oekheperkere, a survivor of that golden age that was Egypt's—the Eighteenth Dynasty. Surely the Gods in granting my rebirth have given sufficient proof that Osiris smiles on our plans of eternal supremacy for the earth's oldest civilization.

"This morning after the early sacrifices in the temple, as I stood on the high tower of Horus to greet the rising Ra, I was once more assured of the great cause. 'Destroy all others but the chosen,' whispered the desert winds. 'Slay if you must, but make Egypt supreme,' cooed a snow-white dove that descended from the blue. Surely this was the departed spirit of Den-Setual. And then, as I waited and thrilled at these heavenly omens, the flaming God himself wrote five golden words in the sky: 'For You An Eternal Kingdom.'"

The watching Arabs, impressed by the wild words, nodded in silent assent.

"Some six months ago you were summoned to this great fortress. At that time I knew the end of the great curse was at hand, and awaited only the arrival of the pale people from the island to free me from the living dead. Now I have again become whole, and with that change comes also the hour to strike.

"Sheik Arbul Ben Kaden!"

A portly Arab, his leathery skin blackened by many years under the hot Sahara sun, stepped forward.

"Your report of the north," demanded Karamour.

Sheik Arbul Ben Kaden bowed low.

"The words of the messengers have met with a response far beyond our wildest dreamings, oh great one," he answered solemnly. "The hot sands of Igidi swarm with impatient warriors awaiting your commands. Kufra desert lives but for you, while the ten thousand swords of near-by El-juf will be drawn only in the service of the oldest ruler."

The Pharaoh nodded approvingly.

"You have done well, loyal follower, and have earned an eternal resting-place in the Valley of the Kings. May the smile of Osiris be always with you. And you, Achmet Eldood?"

An old sheik came forward.

"From the far-off Lybian desert, to Tana's blue waters in distant Ethiopia, the stalwart sons of the old world would resume the rule of the Pharaoh."

"And the Sudan—the Anglo-Egyptian land of the ancients—what of that?"

"El-Obeid down to warm Uganda—yes. A protesting few to be slain at Omdurman; perhaps a feeble resistance at the Lado, and the white Nile is won. Inland to the lonely waters of Lake Chad, your voice is ever law."

Sheik Arbul Ben Kaden spoke again.

"Word has come to us from that sunny land across the water. Again it brings an urgent message from the one who lives only in the past and would restore the ancient glory of his country. He would join us."

"You mean——"

"Yes, oh master, the powerful——"

The Pharaoh gave a shudder of disgust.

"Dark pits of Jzual!" he exclaimed. "Well do I know the thoughts that ever possess his ambitious mind. It is no love of Egypt's lost grandeur, or of Karamour and his cause that prompts the decision. He would unite with us solely to gain that land which borders his own foreign possessions. Restore the ancient glory of his country, you say. Bah! Egypt had known fifty centuries of the Pharaohs while his land was still a wilderness. Nay, we have no need for such as he in the ranks of the chosen."

"And tomorrow, oh glorious one," spoke a stout chieftain. "We leave then?"

"At dawn," came the reply. "Far to the south, away from the spying eyes of the unbelievers, to a point already designated, we go to test the blue fluids sent us by the mad one of Moscow. A slight experiment has already given us great hopes, but we would test them more fully. If their powers indeed be as great as he would have us believe"—a sudden light of triumph leaped to the dark face,—"the world is ours!"

A hoarse yell rang out from the Arabs at the shouted words, and with one accord the curved swords of the swarthy horde were unsheathed and lifted high in barbaric salute.

Karamour had risen and was watching the cheering cutthroats with the wild eyes of a maniac, while the agile body shook with suppressed emotion. Presently the Pharaoh raised a hand for silence.

"Tomorrow, then, we ride south, but tonight our hearts must be made heavy with the dread that another of the chosen might have proven false. I have called you, therefore, to hear the plea of one charged with that always unpardonable crime—treason!"

Karamour turned suddenly toward me.

"Stranger of the new world, I have given my pledge to the Princess Atma, who, influenced by some strange whim, has asked that you be granted clemency. Thus you are to be spared from a trial that might result in your death.

"Your conduct since imprisonment has been unworthy. Aboard the Star of Egypt a mutiny was incited by you. Your coming was not desired, and now you help to tempt one whose loyalty has long been waning. Twice have you been spared; do not tempt fate a third time. On my return from the desert I will have further words with you. Till then, though you are allowed liberty of the palace and surrounding gardens, I warn you to use discretion."

The thin lips tightened.

"Do not be deluded with this kindness as a lack of vigilance. For three hundred miles the sands are patrolled by my men. To escape means capture, and capture means death! Remember those words."

Four black guards had appeared in the doorway dragging a resisting figure roughly to the throne. A death-like pallor shone on the blood-smeared features of their victim, but it could not disguise my fellow plotter of the pits, Captain Barakoff.

The Pharaoh glared hard at the man before him.

"Dog," he growled, "it has been said that you are an unworthy follower. How answer you this charge?"

The Russian grinned in an agonized manner.

"I—I have done no wrong, master," he faltered.

"That I intend to find out—and quickly," came the grim reply. "You have been strong in your claim of innocence—let us now hear the words of your accusers.

"Doctor Zola!"

The Frenchman, ever ready to welcome attention, came forward from the rows of waiting Arabs.

"What say you against the loyalty of this man?" demanded the Pharaoh.

Etienne Zola bowed low before his inquirer.

"You will recall," he purred in his softest voice, "that I have always been suspicious of the prisoner. His bad record in the Czar's army, as well as his avarice—his love of money was well known on the west coast. Always desirous of protecting my Prince, I kept a careful watch, and not without result."

The physician produced a letter which he opened and held before him.

"Captain Barakoff," he continued, with a sneering look at the unhappy wretch, "wrote this letter, which I had intercepted, to his beloved in far-off Archangel. Its contents conclusively prove his treachery. I will read a——"

Karamour waved an impatient hand.

"Its wording is already known to me. What of the slaves' report?"

Usanti, now called, told of hearing Barakoff offer to free me for a certain sum. He admitted the amount had escaped him, but readily recalled the disrespectful manner in which the Russian had spoken of the Pharaoh, as well as his plan for halting the yacht while a boat would be rowed ashore to bring me aboard. Evidently the black had wondrously sharp ears, or else our voices in the quiet of the dungeon must have carried farther than we thought. All in all, it was a damning denunciation against one already doomed.

As Usanti ceased speaking, a brief silence fell on the grim assembly. All eyes were turned upon the tall figure who stood before the Pharaoh.

"What do you say against the word of the slave?" asked Karamour at length.

"He lies, great Pharaoh! My heart was—and is—ever loyal to the cause," came the answer, in a weak, halting tone that plainly told his guilt.

"But the proof—what have you to show that would make me believe the slave's words to be false? Speak quickly; though your trial is just, it should be brief also. Haste—your proof against the charges."

"I did not plot with the captive, oh master. The sole purpose of my descent to the dungeons was to escort him to his former quarters, as you yourself had ordered. Believe me when I say my heart is ever true to the Pharaoh. In all the hosts of Karamour, there is none more loyal than Alexis Barakoff. Ask the captive—ask Bryant; he will tell you——" and the man's eyes turned appealingly toward me for a confirmation of his lie.

Karamour leaned forward like a striking serpent.

"Usanti's words," he hissed.

"But lies, only lies!" cried the Russian. "He has fiendishly condemned me to raise himself in your favor; he would lie to kill your faithful followers and surround the court with slinking parasites. I have said or done no wrong, and well he knows it. He is but a miserable deformed wretch who has always hated me and seeks my ruin."

"Might he not have a just cause for such enmity?" asked Zola.

"Just cause—no. He entered my quarters once and I punished him for it. He has never forgiven me."

Was the wily Barakoff to win his way to freedom?

"Treason is a grave offense," the Frenchman reminded him.

"I have always thought it so."

"You persist then in your denial?"

"I persist in denying an untruth."

"None other has ever accused the black of untruths."

"None other has ever accused me."

"But the letter, my captain," Zola put in quickly. "Would you say Usanti wrote that also?"

Again that hesitant, condemning gulp.

"I—I do not know."

"A lie! a lie that comes from the depths of your black heart!" thundered Karamour. "Oh miserable creature, you have betrayed the trust of your ruler; broken your vows to the great cause. The countless centuries of love and reverence that would have kept your name sacred have been forgotten in that greed for gold. There is but one sentence for such treachery; but one punishment befitting that ever unpardonable crime:

"The Pit!"

A scream of terror rang out from the doomed man as the judgment was pronounced.

With a quickness that told of long practise, the dread sentence was now carried out. In the center of the great floor an iron ring had been securely fastened. A stout chain was now run through the ring, and with three blacks tugging hard on the iron links, a portion of the floor was slowly raised to disclose a cunningly concealed pit some six feet square.

A nauseating odor arose from the dark interior, a damp, smothering smell, made more terrible by the loud, blood-tingling squeals that accompanied it—sharp, angry barks that brought a sickly pallor to the sun-tanned faces of the Arabs, while the black guards cast nervous glances at their ruler. With one accord the entire assembly moved forward to that awful hole of death.

Rats! Huge, dirty, horrible rats! Bounding, famished creatures of an enormous size that brought a shudder from the watchers, leaped and snarled in that terrible pit. The slippery sides of the ten-foot depth prevented them from emerging, though the rodents were constantly attempting the hopeless climb. Sharpened spikes had been driven into the bottom rocks, while the brilliant lights above plainly showed the twinkling eyes, the red maws and sharp teeth of the rolling brown mass. This then was the dread pit so feared by the inmates of the castle.

The sneering Zola could not resist the temptation of a final taunt at the condemned man, who, now stripped of all garments and with naked arms lashed firmly to his sides, stood looking in wild-eyed terror into the pit into which he would so soon be plunged.

"Three hundred of them, Captain! Three hundred with sharp teeth and no food for two days! You will find them appreciative of your company," the fiend laughed.

Of all the heartless gathering, the physician alone seemed unperturbed. White-robed Arabs, wide-eyed and nervous, looked silently on. The four black jailers were visibly affected by the awful din. Even the Pharaoh was somber and serious as he silently motioned the slaves to continue.

A long chain was now firmly attached to the legs of the Russian, who, despite his pleadings, was swung head foremost and quickly lowered into the pit. At the appearance of the nude body, the snarls increased to a deafening roar. Squealing rats, now standing upright in anticipation, awaited the gleaming flesh. And even as I closed my eyes to turn from the horrible scene, the screaming victim was hurried to his awful destruction.

15. The Enchantress of Sin

The swarthy hordes of Karamour left at dawn. As the sun rose, I stood on the balcony watching the Arabs mount their splendid beasts and form a long line behind a white horse held by a waiting black.

There was no shouting or carefree laughter now. All mirth and revelry had been replaced by tightening jaws and determined faces that well showed the desperate ride expected by these desert nomads. Wordless, they held the eager steeds and awaited their leader. The lonely waste of water in the west formed a sparkling background.

While I watched the mounted horde with wondering silence, a tall figure strode from the gardens to the waiting horse. It was Karamour.

As the lithe body swung into the saddle, his gaze fell full upon me. Instantly the dark face lighted.

"Remember well my warning of last night, oh stranger," he shouted. "To escape means capture, and capture means certain death!"

Then, with a wild whoop and a command to the Arabs, the last of the Pharaohs set spurs to his horse and dashed over the sand dunes to the south, while behind him, their long white robes fluttering in the morning winds, came his savage band of cutthroat followers.

As the last of the Arabs rode into the distant blue, a peal of feminine laughter rang from the towering turrets, a long-drawn-out laugh of scornful derision that was followed by a foul oath.

Late that afternoon I had put my newly proclaimed liberty to use, and descending the great stairs, casually passed the two guards at the terrace door to saunter out into the gardens beyond.

I wandered through the delightful fairyland that had been transplanted to the sandy wastes of the African coast, admiring the stately trees, the elaborate carvings on the benches and spraying fountains, as well as the brilliantly plumed birds that graced the well-kept sward. Soft music from the radio in the rustic summer house at the cliff's edge but lent an added enchantment to the surroundings. The gardens of Karamour combined the luxuries of the new world with the splendor and beauty of the old.

That night, under the rays of the tropical moon and a million blazing stars, I was guided by Zena to the winding steps that led from the gardens of Karamour to the sandy beach below. There, standing in the shadows of a graceful palm, with the lighted castle on the cliffs above, I awaited the lovely Atma.

For a long hour I had kept my lonely watch, expecting momentarily the appearance of the Princess on the steps above, when my attention was drawn to a pearl-white figure that swam through the waters far to the left. With steady, superb strokes, the swimmer cut through the silvery surf, to emerge, wet and dripping, a tall, shapely girl, whose nude body shone like ivory in the moonlight.

"Atma!"

Standing on the wet sands, the cool winds caressing her, the lovely face turned dreamily toward the stars, stood the glamorous daughter of the ages, a dark-eyed Princess from the mists of time, whose tiny feet had trod the great halls of the Pharaohs.

Ah, the weird beauty of that moment! Even now its memory comes to haunt me — a picture from the past; a vision that might well have been the lonely Eve by some desolate sea at the earliest dawn of history. High overhead from the summer house near the cliff's edge, came strains of soft music; dreamy, melodious airs, artistry of today. But the glorious figure that swayed in the starlight had danced and strained her lithe body to the crashing of mighty timbrels, thirty-four hundred years ago!

Slowly the royal Egyptian made her way up the beach, stopping only to don the waiting garments that lay on a sand dune near the surf. Then in the scanty attire of long ago—golden breast-plates, filmy four-slit skirt and cobra-ensigned head-band—the girl came unhesitatingly toward me, her features wreathed in a bewitching smile.

"I swam far out to sea," came the musical voice. "Oh, it was such a long, long way! No sound could reach me from the distant shore, the low sand dunes had disappeared. Even the lighted castle seemed small and distant. I was alone in a vast world of silence. Ah, it was wonderful, lying out there in the dark waters, to be rocked by the rolling waves. For an hour I drifted and dreamed in the starlight. Once a great ocean liner, a sparkling mass of golden lights, passed far to the east, but they did not hear the lonely cry of Atma. Perhaps I might have forgotten the world and swum on thus for ever, had I not known the young American would be waiting for me."

Together we sat on the dark cloak the Princess had left in the sand.

"And now you are tired after that long swim."

Atma had sat in a posture of ease beside me, so close that I could feel the warmth of her half-naked body. At my question she drew back where she could better see my face.

"Tired?" she repeated, and then she laughed. "You think a little swim would tire me?"

I smiled at her apparent surprize.

"Then am I to believe it has not?"

"It could never tire me—physical exertion seldom does. Why, once when I was a little girl and the royal troops of Egypt beat back the Hyksos beyond Thaubasium, I danced the steps of victory from sunset till dawn in the great halls of the Moon Goddess. Nay, if I am to tire, the cause must be other than weary muscles."

"Mental boredom, perhaps?"

The girl shrugged her graceful shoulders.

"It is possible," she admitted. "But no, no—it is not that. I am weary of this castle, of this country. I dread that constant talks of Egypt's lost glory—of the many gods and their terrible anger at our wrong doings—of anything connected with antiquity. I am tired of—of him!" she whispered.

Her eyes looked at me in a strange, beseeching manner.

"Surely you will understand," she went on in an earnest tone. "I wish to be free, to be away from all this. The old world no longer appeals to me; I would know of the new, to see the many things the eager Billy told me—spacious dwellings—evenings at the lighted theatres in wraps of ermine—graceful dancing in a polished ballroom. Ah, it is what my heart calls for—it is what I should have."

Her beautiful face was close to mine, waiting, I knew, for a confirmation of her words.

"But is that not impossible?" I protested. "A daughter of the Pharaohs to——"

"Oh damn the Pharaohs!" cried the Princess of Egypt hotly. "Must I always hear that loathsome word? Am I to stay for countless years in these ancient halls, hearing only the chanting of Egypt's lost glory? It is the new lands I want—their delicious thrills—their pleasures!

"Do you not know the awful centuries I spent imprisoned on that great bowl of stone — the ages that passed while I was but the living dead? Can you realize what the torture of three hundred years would mean to one who could but hope and yearn once more for the joys and loves of her maidenhood? No, no, you could never know. You are a man of the cold Twentieth Century, to whom the pulsing warmth of the eternal passion must for ever remain a mystery.

"But I, who have thirsted through the ages, know its fires, and am free once more for that glorious ecstasy." She added after a slight pause: "Free to laugh and live as of yore. Free to enjoy the many pleasures so long denied me. Free to care, to—to love."

Her voice sank to a low whisper.

Atma was looking at me in an eager, expectant manner. One slender arm had encircled mine, and her supple body leaned closer. Parted red lips were near my own. A wild rush of madness swept over me. Pulses pounding, heart thumping, I yearned to cover that perfect mouth with smothering kisses till she would lie helpless, panting in my arms.

We were alone! We were alone! Dazed with the fragrance of her hair, I could feel her loveliness tremble with desire as her lips brushed mine. It was as though this one moment had been snatched from all eternity, to carry us a billion miles beyond the planets and the suns. Only with the greatest effort could I draw away.

"But Karamour—he will never consent to your leaving here. This—this is madness! He would not forsake the land of his father, nor would you leave without him."

"Why do you say that?" she cried. "He means nothing to me—never has. I have always felt a strong dislike for the loveless fool who thinks only of the past and Egypt's forgotten grandeur. Nay, I have planned my flight too long to let anything prevent it, and never was the time so ripe as now. Listen:

"Karamour has ridden into the desert to test liquids—some wild dream of a crazed scientist, that he thinks will render useless the man-power of other nations. I, of course, know that it is but a hopeless dream. The great guns of the new countries will quickly crush both him and his feeble power; yet we must let the fool find that out for himself.

"But you and I—why should we stay here to perish miserably with the rest? Is it not wiser to flee these ancient halls and spend the years in the pleasures of the new worlds, than lie as whitened skeletons amid the charred castle ruin?"

"And my friends—you could arrange to have them come with us?" I asked quickly.

Atma hesitated a moment before replying.

"Yes, we can do that," she answered finally. "Leave with them when the plane returns the day after tomorrow. Of course, the tiny ship will make two trips necessary, but as it is only some nine hours' journey from here to Tangier, it could be done."

An escape! An escape, and return to the lands we loved and knew! But this royal daughter of the Nile—did she realize the strangeness of the new world? Could she know and understand the countless changes that had taken place since her tiny feet trod the flower-strewn halls of old Memphis?

"Wait," I cautioned. "You are going to find the new world strange in more ways than one. True, it has all the luxuries of which you speak, as well as many more. Each, however, demands its price. Money is as essential to the modern land as an unerring sword arm was to the old."

Atma laughed softly.

"The answer to all that lies but a short distance in the desert," she murmured, "and it is ours for the taking. Tomorrow night, while the castle sleeps, we will take three blacks and ride to the cast, where, in the eternal halls of night that lie below a forgotten valley, we can soon load ourselves with unthinkable riches."

As the girl ceased speaking, a soft melody from the cliffs above caused her to turn quickly. The radio in the summer house that had been playing soft, unknown music, suddenly began a melody I knew well, a lovely, tantalizing air, that seemed to breathe the glamor of old Egypt—the weirdly throbbing Vision of Salome.

As the first dreamy notes reached us, an eager thrill ran through the supple body of the Egyptian. Now, with the ease of an uncoiling serpent, she rose to her lovely height. Only for an instant did she pause to smile at me, wide-eyed and glorious; and then, with a slow, exotic grace, the long-limbed Princess began the dance of the centuries.

It was fascinating. Soft, rolling muscles played beneath the ivory surface. A perfect body swayed enchantingly. Slender arms encircled the shapely head, while the beautiful face, beaming through a mass of wavy black hair, seemed lost in wondrous dreaming.

As though in rhythm with the dancer swayed the tropical palms. The sparkling ocean seemed motionless and quiet. A mellow moon hung low; while high above, the blazing stars flashed their light to illuminate dimly the beauty of that whirling siren.

I watched as one entranced. For me, at least, time had ceased to exist, and I had been drawn back across the void to behold a swaying vision that had enslaved the hearts of men ages upon ages before the dancing Salome roused the passions of King Herod. Weird music, that strange, exotic ringing—was that the crashing of ancient timbrels from the rolling fogs of time? High overhead among the stars, those hazy shimmering outlines—were they the disapproving frowns of Pharaohs from the dawning? And surely my wonderment was seen by the Egyptian, for high above the blaring blasts her silvery laugh came to me.

Higher rose the quickening music. Wilder, faster became the dancing. The flashing breast-plates—the fluttering garments! Her tiny feet seemed scarcely to touch the sand; the flying body was but a whirling ivory mass. And then the barbaric air rose up as a great roar, to stop with a crash that sent the dancer hurling herself with complete abandon into my outstretched arms.

I drew the yielding body quickly to me.

"You are glorious," I groaned, "so maddeningly glorious!" And raising that perfect head, I kissed the red lips of the most beautiful creature this world has ever known.

"Kiss me! Oh kiss and love me!" she whispered. "My veins flow not with the ice of the girls of your world, but a desiring thirst that grows more burning with each passing second!"

Her white arms pressed me closer.

"Kiss me! Crush me, stronger, tighter, till I die within your arms! This moment of bliss must never end — we will make its joys eternal. Again! Again!" she murmured. "Oh eleven sinful gods, again! We are alone, beloved, we are alone! The stars for ever hold all secrets. The sleeping world is far and distant. My eager heart cries wildly for you—and the night is long."

16. Sheba's Treasure

The following night I rode far into the desert with the Princess of Egypt in search of the fabulous wealth of which she had spoken.

I was now hopelessly in love with the beautiful Atma, madly obsessed with a passion that obliterated all else but her charm. The amorous moments in those perfect arms had erased all memories of Carol, or any responsibilities I should have felt for the imprisoned Terrys.

I no longer planned escape, either for myself or for my friends. Ambition, like reason, had gone. Gone also was the long-planned retribution. The caresses of the dark-eyed siren had taken both manhood and will-power, to leave but a characterless weakling, who would lie, steal—or if need be, kill—but to bask in the glamor of her love.

Only vaguely had I been told our destination, and now as I swung to my saddle in the dimly lit courtyard, I observed among the three mounted blacks designated as our followers, the hideous dwarf, Usanti.

The keen eyes of the treacherous imp roved incessantly, as though fearful that some sign or move might escape him.

I leaned toward Atma, who, dressed in riding-breeches and open-necked shirt, with a heavy automatic pistol strapped around her slender waist, sat carelessly on her horse beside me.

"That black—the short one. It was he who betrayed Barakoff to the Pharaoh," I whispered. "Do you think it wise to take him with us?"

An expression of merciless cunning crossed the beautiful face as a long-lashed eye winked slyly at me.

"Of all the palace guards, these three alone I trust not. The hidden vaults of treasure must for ever remain a secret"—her lips smiled slightly—"that is why they ride with me this night."

As she finished the strange words, the Princess of Egypt brought her sharp whip down on the horse's haunches and dashed out into the night, while I and the three horsemen followed behind as best we could.

For two miles we rode sharply to the east in a lonely waste of sand into which the horses sank fetlock-deep at nearly every step. The barren, uneven country was cut into numerous ravines, lumpy stretches and shrubless little hillocks that showed dreary and foreboding in the moonlight. A hard wind had enveloped us, sending the tiny grains of sharp sand to cut our lips and faces, while the horses blinked and whinnied in helpless misery. Yet, with the persistence that the thought of riches will always inspire, we plodded patiently on behind the sprightly steed of our dauntless leader.

On reaching a cluster of palm-trees, Atma turned northward. The country became wilder as we advanced. Distant mountains showed on the far horizon, and from out of the blackness would come the cries of prowling desert creatures.

Silently we continued over the desolate wastes, once to pause at a tiny oasis, and several times to seek brief respite from the blowing sand in one of the numerous ravines. At length, after three hours of steady travel, we entered a deep valley from which many boulder-strewn gorges diverged. Here Atma halted her splendid beast and beckoned me closer.

"The second pass to the left!" she cried. "It is the one we seek. I have too often heard its description to be wrong. We will dismount here and tether our horses to these trees. Instruct Usanti to bring the long rope he carries—we shall need it in our climb. The boulder is a high one and the ascent to its summit hard and dangerous."

Stopping only to tie the weary horses, we presently entered a narrow gorge which led to the left from the valley. Here lay a narrow passage. On either side the black cliffs shot upward to the stars. Sneaking forms of prowling jackals slunk through the darkness. Stunted trees stood as lonely sentinels, while numerous large boulders, white and gleaming, were strewn on the bed of what in prehistoric times had been a mighty river.

Standing somewhat apart from the other rocks was a huge granite boulder. Toward this we were now led. There, in the shadow of its frowning height, Atma turned to face us. We had reached our destination.

The dark-eyed Princess looked long at her travel-stained followers.

"We are about," she began, addressing the three wondering blacks, "to descend deep into the earth, far down near the pits of hell, through ancient corridors built by men whose bones have long since turned to dust."

Standing in the moon rays that flooded the rocky pass, a slender riding-whip slapping her open palm, with an amused smile the Egyptian watched the rolling eyes of the blacks.

"You will come, Usanti?"

The dwarf stared at her in silent misery.

"You mangy dog!" she snapped. "What is there to fear? What crazy superstition holds you back from the riches that lie within?"

"The spirits of the departed, oh mistress," whispered one. "They will be waiting to tear us asunder. They will choke us with their ghastly breath, and feed our bodies to the crawling things that lie in the gloom of the deep pits. Always have we heard of the terrible anger of the tomb gods."

"You miserable fool!" cried Atma. "The dead are dead; they can neither help nor harm you. Their powers have long vanished, nor are there any spirits or ghosts to avenge them. It is all lies—the stories you may have heard about the angry gods who will destroy the desecrator of ancient tombs. All myths—only lies and myths." The silvery voice rose higher. "But the pit of Karamour is no myth, nor does Atma lie when she says your lashed bodies will be lowered to the hungry inmates of its bottom if you fail your Princess!"

The blacks shifted nervously but said no words, while I could but look in amazement at the fearless beauty who spoke so scornfully of the gods and legends she had been reared to respect and fear.

"But this hidden tomb of which you speak," I asked. "Where is it, and whose sarcophagus lies within?"

The girl pointed upward.

"A most unusual place for a most unusual ruler," she replied. "Lying on the summit of this great boulder is a flat rock that, once removed, will reveal an opening within. Descending, we will follow a long corridor to a gilded door, behind which lie the riches and preserved body of Balkis, Queen of Sheba!"

This, then, was where the famed treasure of antiquity lay hidden; the fabulous wealth that for thirty centuries, in legend and in song, had lured adventurous spirits from the far-off corners of the earth, and caused the hot sands to be littered with their bleaching bones.

"Out here, so far from her homeland?" Atma nodded.

"Awaiting her restoration, as promised by Karamour. Awaiting that which can never be. But come—time passes. We must ascend the boulder."

There was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm among the blacks, but finally a tall, muscular fellow hesitantly volunteered the climb, and after several attempts, succeeded in reaching the summit. Once there, he threw down an end of the long rope he had carried, and by means of this crude ladder we at last stood on the high peak.

Now the fiat rock was dislodged to show a gaping pit beneath. Again we adhered to the slender rope, and leaving a sentinel to guard the summit, with flaming torches the four intruders stood in the age-old corridors of Balkis. Holding high the feeble lights we groped our way through the blackness. Down a long hall that had been hewn in the living rock, a mighty passageway untrodden for over thirty centuries, we slowly advanced, and the grotesque carvings that showed in the gloom appeared as the angry eyes of the departed.

To think that within these winding halls had once been carried the body of her who had borne a child to Solomon; that the long-dead hands which had hewn this forgotten vault might have been raised in salute to David. Twice we passed the silent blackness of intersecting corridors, and once stepped carefully over the grisly remains of a faithful guard, beside whose moldering body lay a sword that could well have been the one called for by the great Jewish King in his judgment of the two sorrowing mothers and the child. Along the rocky floor were deep deposits of dust, an indication that the passage had long been unused. The granite sides converged as they rose to the top of the shaft some ten feet above us. Securely hidden in the very bowels of the earth below that lonely valley, the silent corridors had escaped the ravages of countless treasure-hunters as well as the many tomb-robbers of antiquity. The great Queen had been most cautious in selecting the vault for her riches. Atma had told how, at Karamour's orders, the slaves who had hewn the pass were slain by soldiers, who, in a like manner, were also slaughtered that none might know the resting-place of Sheba.

For a long half-hour we continued our dismal way. The winding passage had now straightened to a run in a direct line. Suddenly the flickering torchlight shone on a great yellowish mass.

The beauteous white face of Atma turned toward me.

"The great image of Thoat!" she cried. "Surely we have at last reached the vault of riches!"

Before a great doorway stood a huge, grotesque idol of a bird-headed god. In one massive claw it held a stone scroll that bore many hieroglyphics. The richly painted surface of the grim deity flashed yellow and red in the torchlight.

The two terrorized blacks, since making their reluctant entry to the gloomy corridor, had huddled closely together. Great beads of perspiration were standing on their brows, and now, at the sight of this grim omen, they trembled as though suddenly afflicted with ague.

"The God of the Ancients!" whispered the dwarf. "The terrible god with the bird-head who will presently awake and tear us to pieces with his sharp beak and claws. We are doomed! We are twice horribly doomed, as our spirits will be forever compelled to sail the endless sea of fire that has been allotted as punishment for those who enter the vaults of their ancestors."

The girl but smiled at the words, and wresting the light from the terrorized Usanti, she held the torch high to look long at the ancient inscription before her.

"It's only one of those meaningless warnings," she laughed at length in a careless manner. "A warning and praise of Sheba's glory. The usual custom of the ancients. It reads:

"The Queen is not dead. She can never die. She has become as one who rises like the morning sun from the eastern horizon. She now rests from life like the setting sun in the west. Yet always shall she return. Again on some far distant day will she dawn anew in the east. She cannot die. She must not die. She is the sun. She is the burning glory of life. She lives for ever. The Queen has but flown. She has been taken up to the skies by Ra. The stairs of the heavens have been lowered that she may ascend thereon to the blue. To the sky. To the sky. To the great jeweled throne in the clearness has she gone. Sail on, oh beauteous one, in thy barge of the sun. Sail on till you return like a flaming ruby to your earthly realm. Yet even as thou hast departed, oh Queen, let thy earthly shell retain and use its terrible powers to blast with loathsome disease and frightful death all those who would enter to disturb thy earthly slumbers, or touch with vandal hands one glittering jewel."

As Atma ceased speaking, the hideous Usanti fell to his knees with a shriek that rang out through that dismal hall of silence.

Like a tigress the Princess of Egypt turned on the offending black.

"Silence!" she hissed, as one hand flew to her leather holster in a suggestive manner. "Silence, you fool, or you will feel my own way of blasting frightful death!"

The terrorized dwarf gulped loudly as though choked by unseen hands. A weak sigh escaped the trembling lips, but with an effort he rose on his frail legs, to look piteously at his mistress.

Pausing but to encircle the great image, the tireless Atma motioned us to follow, and going to the ancient door pushed back the massive creaking barrier, while behind her, three wide-eyed men looked in speechless wonderment at the scene before them.

A low moaning sound; a soft musical wailing that might have been a murmur from the ages, floated from the silent chamber. But it was not that alone which held us spellbound. Lying along the walls and down the length of the long floor, from beneath the grayish mass of dust and cobwebs, there glowed and sparkled in the torchlight the scintillating brilliance of the world's greatest treasure.

On either side of the high room, large piles of golden ingots rose to the ceiling. As though hastily stowed, the precious metal lay in careless mounds. In many places great tablets of gold had been set in the solid masonry of the floor. An exquisite urn showed a thousand pearls of priceless beauty, while the three large chests in the center of the room flashed with the radiance of diamonds, emeralds and other precious stones.

At the far end of the great vault four stone steps led up to a tiny room of black marble. There, on a rising stone slab of exquisite carving lay a jewel-encrusted sarcophagus. An atmosphere of mournful silence prevailed in that ancient tomb of riches.

Slowly I turned to Atma.

"It's wonderful!" I whispered in an awed tone. "It's—it's too wonderful!"

The girl nodded.

"And securely hidden, too," she added. "I doubt not that thirty centuries more could pass and its great wealth would still lie undisturbed."

"Who else knows of its location?"

"Only Karamour, and he would not dare enter these halls of eternal night. Even the bravest of the ancients trembled at the vengeance of the gods to a desecrator of a tomb. But come, let us look upon Balkis."

With a warning of instant death to the blacks if they dared to touch the jewel chests, the Princess of Egypt made her way through the piles of riches to the small room where rested the famed Queen of antiquity.

Within the open sarcophagus lay a richly appareled woman of striking beauty. So fresh, so natural was her appearance, it seemed as if she were but sleeping. The eyes, half open, were turned toward us. Two bejeweled hands lay crossed on her large pearl breast-plates. The lovely thick hair, combed in a strange yet becoming manner, lay in a waving mass on the dark olive skin of her neck and arms. The faintest flush seemed to have mounted her cheeks, while the half-opened lids were curled in a sad half-smile.

"Sheba!" I gasped. "Sheba, the beloved of Solomon!"

"The large ring that encircles her thumb—a parting gift from the Jewish King. It was once worn by Abraham."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me of it long ago," answered Atma. "Poor Balkis! It is better, perhaps, that she continues her long sleep. Great would be her anguish to arise and find that her country, once so rich and powerful, has dwindled to a comparatively weak and defenseless nation."

The strain of the subterranean tomb had told on the blacks. Now, with nerves completely broken, they begged their Princess the privilege of returning to the outer world.

The girl looked at the two kneeling men in scornful silence. Suddenly she turned to me, fearless and beautiful in the torchlight.

"Their courage has snapped," came her firm voice. "In a few minutes they will be gibbering idiots. But we must not let that deter us. For riches we came, and with riches we shall leave. All the rattling bones of eternity will not stop me! Hold the light above those jewel chests, while I select the most precious stones. The gold is far too heavy for us to handle, though we may have need of it later."

From the deep pockets of her riding-breeches the daughter of Hatshepsut produced a small leather pouch, and standing above the chests, filled the bag with priceless stones, scrutinizing each chosen gem carefully. Again and again her long fingers ran through the sparkling mass.

"I cannot understand it," she said at length, when her tireless hands had at last ceased their searching. "The great emerald of Saul, the most priceless gem in all the world, is missing."

"Thieves, perhaps?"

"No, no," she cried, "it cannot be that. None other has entered this vault—and yet the stone is gone. A curse to the damned! The one gem I——" A wild smile leaped to her face.

"Yes, of course! That's where it is."

With a quick leap the girl was beside the sarcophagus.

"Hold the torch high," she cried. "It's here! Yes, it's here in her mouth!" and her eager hands shook the long-dead body.

"Stop!" I shouted, fearful of some great profanation.

The dark eyes looked their surprize.

"What are you going to do?" I stepped quickly toward the girl.

"Get the jewel, of course."

"But—but you can't do that! God! Are you entirely shameless? To desecrate the body of a good Queen long dead—you can't! It's—it's horrible!"

The daughter of Hatshepsut gave a shudder of disgust.

"Don't be a fool!" she snapped. "It can make no difference to her what I do. The jewel is there; I intend to have it. Let that suffice."

And with a carefree laugh, the Princess opened the long-closed mouth of Solomon's beloved to extract an enormous emerald that flashed and sparkled in the torchlight.

Sickened with horror, I watched the calm Atma leisurely inspect the glittering bauble and then drop it into the leather pouch at her side.

"And now we may leave," she consented. "The hour is late, with many weary miles of travel."

Quickly we passed from that gloomy tomb of riches. Atma herself dosed the great wooden barrier; and then we intruders from the outside world made once more for the distant boulder summit.

We had left the dreary corridors far behind, and were emerging from the rocky gorge to the valley beyond. The cool night wind brushed the musty dust of the ages from our garments and filled our nostrils with its sweetness. The three blacks were walking happily before us in silent rejoicing at their release from the ghostly halls. A tropical moon had flooded the pass, and in its clear rays I followed the jewel-laden Atma. All seemed calm in this quiet vale; death and terror should have been left in the deep pits beyond. Yet, despite the horrid scene I had witnessed within the tomb, the greatest tragedy was still to be enacted. Suddenly the girl drew the heavy Mauser pistol from its holster and began firing. Six times the dark gun flamed red, and with unerring aim, two bullets sped into each of the black slaves.

Running forward as she slipped a fresh clip of shells into the pistol, and standing above the groaning, blood- stained men, the Princess of Egypt sent shot after shot into the torn, helpless bodies.

And as silence came once more to the lonely valley, "It was the only way," she murmured softly; "the only way to keep for ever a secret the hidden treasure of Sheba."

——————

The amazing weird denouement of this story will be told in the fascinating chapters that bring the tale, to an end in next month's issue of WEIRD TALES. Reserve your copy at your magazine-dealer's now.