uleg.thetombsofatuan-第12节

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g　there：　the　smell　of　the　wild　sage　that　grew　on　the　desert　hills；　overhead；　under　the　open　sky。
　　Slow　and　quiet　she　moved　down　the　corridor；　following　her　nose。
　　After　perhaps　a　hundred　paces　she　heard　him。　He　was　almost　as　silent　as　she；　but　he　was　not　so　surefooted　in　the　dark。　She　heard　a　slight　scuffle；　as　if　he　bad　stumbled　on　the　uneven　floor　and　recovered　himself　at　once。　Nothing　else。　She　waited　awhile　and　then　went　slowly　on；　touching　her　right　hand　fingertips　very　lightly　to　the　wall。　At　last　a　rounded　bar　of　metal　came　under　them。　There　she　stopped；　and　felt　up　the　strip　of　iron　until；　almost　as　high　as　she　could　reach；　she　touched　a　projecting　handle　of　rough　iron。　This；　suddenly；　with　all　her　strength；　she　dragged　downward。
　　There　was　a　fearful　grinding　and　a　clash。　Blue　sparks　leapt　out　in　a　falling　shower。　Echoes　died　away；　quarreling；　down　the　corridor　behind　her。　She　put　out　her　hands　and　felt；　only　a　few　inches　before　her　face；　the　pocked　surface　of　an　iron　door。
　　She　drew　a　long　breath。
　　Returning　slowly　up　the　tunnel　to　the　Undertomb；　and　keeping　its　wall　to　her　right；　she　went　on　to　the　trapdoor　in　the　Hall　of　the　Throne。　She　did　not　hasten；　and　went　silently；　though　there　was　no　need　for　silence　any　more。　She　had　caught　her　thief。　The　door　that　he　had　gone　through　was　the　only　way　into　or　out　of　the　Labyrinth；　and　it　could　be　opened　only　from　the　outer　side。
　　He　was　down　there　now；　in　the　darkness　underground；　and　he　would　never　e　out　again。
　　Walking　slowly　and　erect；　she　went　past　the　Throne　into　the　long　columned　hall。　There；　where　one　bronze　bowl　on　the　high　tripod　brimmed　with　the　red　glow　of　charcoal；　she　turned　and　approached　the　seven　steps　that　led　up　to　the　Throne。
　　On　the　lowest　step　she　knelt；　and　bowed　her　forehead　down　to　the　cold；　dusty　stone；　littered　with　mouse　bones　dropped　by　the　hunting　owls。
　　〃Forgive　me　that　I　have　seen　Your　darkness　broken；〃　she　said；　not　speaking　the　words　aloud。　〃Forgive　me　that　I　have　seen　Your　tombs　violated。　You　will　be　avenged。　O　my　Masters；　death　will　deliver　him　to　you；　and　he　will　never　be　reborn！〃
　　Yet　even　as　she　prayed；　in　her　mind's　eye　she　saw　the　quivering　radiance　of　the　lighted　cavern；　life　in　the　place　of　death；　and　instead　of　terror　at　the　sacrilege　and　rage　against　the　thief；　she　thought　only　how　strange　it　was；　how　strange。。。
　　〃What　must　I　tell　Kossil？〃　she　asked　herself　as　she　came　out　into　the　blast　of　the　winter　wind　and　drew　her　cloak　about　her。　〃Nothing。　Not　yet。　I　am　mistress　of　the　Labyrinth。　This　is　no　business　of　the　Godking's。　I'll　tell　her　after　the　thief　is　dead；　perhaps。　How　must　I　kill　him？　I　should　make　Kossil　e　and　watch　him　die。　She's　fond　of　death。　What　is　it　he　was　seeking？　He　must　be　mad。　How　did　he　get　in？　Kossil　and　I　have　the　only　keys　to　the　red　rock　door　and　the　trapdoor。　He　must　have　e　by　the　red　rock　door。　Only　a　sorcerer　could　open　it。　A　sorcerer…〃
　　She　halted；　though　the　wind　almost　buffeted　her　off　her　feet。
　　〃He　is　a　sorcerer；　a　wizard　of　the　Inner　Lands；　seeking　the　amulet　of　Erreth…Akbe。〃
　　And　there　was　such　an　outrageous　glamor　in　this；　that　she　grew　warm　all　over；　even　in　that　icy　wind；　and　laughed　out　loud。　All　around　her　the　Place；　and　the　desert　around　it；　was　black　and　silent；　the　wind　keened；　there　were　no　lights　down　in　the　Big　House。　Thin；　invisible　snow　flicked　past　on　the　wind。
　　〃If　he　opened　the　red　rock　door　with　sorcery；　he　can　open　others。　He　can　escape。〃
　　This　thought　chilled　her　for　a　moment；　but　it　did　not　convince　her。　The　Nameless　Ones　had　let　him　enter。　Why　not？　He　could　not　do　any　harm。　What　harm　is　a　thief　who　can't　leave　the　scene　of　his　theft？　Spells　and　black　powers　he　must　have；　and　strong　ones　no　doubt；　since　he　had　got　that　far；　but　he　would　not　get　farther。　No　spell　cast　by　mortal　man　could　be　stronger　than　the　will　of　the　Nameless　Ones；　the　presences　in　the　Tombs；　the　Kings　whose　Throne　was　empty。
　　To　reassure　herself　of　this；　she　hastened　on　down　to　the　Small　House。　Manan　was　asleep　on　the　porch；　rolled　up　in　his　cloak　and　the　ratty　fur　blanket　that　was　his　winter　bed。　She　entered　quietly；　so　as　not　to　awaken　him；　and　without　lighting　any　lamp。　She　opened　a　little　locked　room；　a　mere　closet　at　the　end　of　the　hall。　She　struck　a　flint　spark　long　enough　to　find　a　certain　place　on　the　floor；　and　kneeling；　pried　up　one　tile。　A　bit　of　heavy；　dirty　cloth；　only　a　few　inches　square；　was　revealed　to　her　touch。　This　she　slipped　aside　noiselessly。　She　started　back；　for　a　ray　of　light　shot　upward；　straight　into　her　face。
　　After　a　moment；　very　cautiously；　she　looked　into　the　opening。　She　had　forgotten　that　he　carried　that　queer　light　on　his　staff。　She　had　been　expecting　at　most　to　hear　him；　down　there　in　the　dark。　She　had　forgotten　the　light；　but　he　was　where　she　had　expected　him　to　be：　right　beneath　the　spy　hole；　at　the　iron　door　that　blocked　his　escape　from　the　Labyrinth。
　　He　was　standing　there；　one　hand　on　his　hip；　the　other　holding　out　at　an　angle　the　wooden　staff；　as　tall　as　he　was；　to　the　tip　of　which　clung　the　soft　will…o'…the…wisp。　His　head；　which　she　looked　down　upon　from　some　six　feet　above。　was　cocked　a　bit　to　the　side。　His　clothes　were　those　of　any　winter　traveler　or　pilgrim；　a　short　heavy　cloak；　a　leather　tunic；　leggings　of　wool；　laced　sandals；　there　was　a　light　pack　on　his　back；　a　water　bottle　slung　from　it；　a　knife　sheathed　at　his　hip。　He　stood　there　still　as　a　statue；　easy　and　thoughtful。
　　Slowly　he　raised　his　staff　from　the　ground；　and　held　the　bright　tip　of　it　out　towards　the　door；　which　Arha　could　not　see　from　her　spy　hole。　The　light　changed；　growing　smaller　and　brighter；　an　intense　brilliance。　He　spoke　aloud。　The　language　he　spoke　was　strange　to　Arha；　but　stranger　to　her　than　the　words　was　the　voice；　deep　and　resonant。
　　The　light　on　the　staff　brightened；　flickered；　dimmed。　For　a　moment　it　died　quite　away；　and　she　could　not　see　him。
　　The　pale　violet　marshlight　reappeared；　steady；　and　she　saw　him　turn　away　from　the　door。　His　spell　of　opening　had　failed。　The　powers　that　held　the　lock　fast　on　that　door　were　stronger　than　any　magic　he　possessed。
　　He　looked　about　him；　as　if　thinking；　now　what？
　　The　tunnel　or　corridor　in　which　he　stood　was　about　five　feet　wide。　Its　roof　was　from　twelve　to　fifteen　feet　above　the　rough　rock　floor。　The　walls　here　were　of　dressed　stone；　laid　without　mortar　but　very　carefully　and　closely；　so　that　one　could　scarcely　slip　a　knife…tip　into　the　joints。　They　leaned　inward　increasingly　as　they　rose；　forming　a　vault。
　　There　was　nothing　else。
　　He　started　forward。　One　stride　took　him　out　of　Arha's　range　of　vision。　The　light　died　away。　She　was　about　to　replace　the　cloth　and　the　tile；　when　again　the　soft　shaft　of　light　rose　up　out　of　the　floor　before　her。　He　had　e　back　to　the　door。　Perhaps　he　had　realized　that　if　he　once　left　it　and　entered　the　maze；　he　was　not　very　likely　to　find　it　again。
　　He　spoke；　one　word　only；　in　a　low　voice。　〃Emenn；〃　he　said；　and　then　again；　louder；　〃Emenn！〃　And　the　iron　door　rattled　in　its　jambs；　and　low　echoes　rolled　down　the　vaulted　tunnel　like　thunder；　and　it　seemed　to　Arha　that　the　floor　beneath　her　shook。
　　But　the　door　stayed　fast。
　　He　laughed　then；　a　short　laugh；　that　of　a　man　who　thinks；　〃What　a　fool　I've　made　of　myself！〃　He　looked　around　the　walls　once　more；　and　as　he　glanced　upward　Arha　saw　the　smile　lingering　on　his　dark　face。　Then　he　sat　down；　unslung　his　pack；　got　out　a　piece　of　dry　bread；　and　munched　on　it。　He　unstopped　his　leather　bottle　of　water　and　shook　it；　it　looked　light　in　his　hand；　as　if　nearly　empty。　He　replaced　the　stopper　without　drinking。　He　put　the　pack　behind　him　for　a　pillow；　pulled　his　cloak　around　him；　and　lay　down。　His　staff　was　in　his　right　hand。　As　he　lay　back；　the　little　wisp　or　ball　of　light　floated　upward　from　the　staff　and　hung　dimly　behind　his　head；　a　few　feet　off　the　ground。　His　left　hand　was　on　his　breast；　holding　something　that　hung　from　a　heavy　chain　around　his　neck。　He　lay　there　quite　fortable；　legs　crossed　at　the　ankle；　his　gaze　wandered　across　the　spy　hole　and　away；　he　sighed　and　closed　his　eyes。　The　light　grew　slowly　dimmer。　He　slept。
　　The　clenched　hand　on　his　breast　relaxed　and　slipped　aside；　and　the　watcher　above　saw　then　what　talisman　he　wore　on　the　chain：　a　bit　of　rough　metal；　crescent…shaped；　it　seemed。
　
　　The　faint　glimmer　of　his　sorcery　died　away。　He　lay　in　silence　and　the　dark。
　　Arha　replaced　the　cloth　and　reset　the　tile　in　its　place；　rose　cautiously　and　slipped　away　to　her　room。　There　she　lay　long　awake　in　the　wind…loud　darkness；　seeing　always　before　her　the　crystal　radiance　that　had　shimmered　in　the　house　of　death；　the　soft　unburning　fire；　the　stones　of　the　tunnel　wall；　the　quiet　face　of　the　man　asleep。
　
　The　Man　Trap
　　
　　Next　day；　when　she　had　finished　with　her　duties　at　the　various　temples；　and　with　her　teaching　of　the　sacred　dances　to　the　novices；　she　slipped　away　to　the　Small　House　and；　darkening　the　room；　opened　the　spy　hole　and　peered　down　it。　There　was　no　light。　He　was　gone。　She　had　not　thought　he　would　stay　so　long　at　the　unavailing　door；　but　it　was　the　only　place　she　knew　to　look。　How　was　she　to　find　him　now　that　he　had　lost　himself？
　　The　tunnels　of　the　Labyrinth；　by　Thar's　accou