leadership, his men stopped, gazing with unconcealed fear at the grim, looming, granite escarpment.
“Sidi,” the sheikh began, unwontedly respectful again in his anxiety. “Allah forbid that we go farther! Before us are the mountains of the accursed land, that Allah gave to powers of evil. Beyond wait the djinn, to set our heads upon their poles.”
“Nonsense,” Price said. “Didn’t we show you the farengi weapons?”
Fouad muttered in his beard, and craftily demanded that he be paid the seven days’ wages due, that he might distribute the gold to encourage his timid men.
“It would only encourage them to desert,” Price told him grimly. “Not one piece, until we get back to the sea!”
“There is water in the mountains,” boomed Garth. “You know we must have water.”
“Bisshai,” Fouad agreed. “The skins are dry and the camels are thirsty. But even so—”
“Let us ride on,” Price cut him off.
And the old Bedouin, grumbling, at last returned to the head of the column. By sunset they had covered half the remaining distance to the lofty pass ahead, between cleft, towering masses of dark granite, capped with bands of somber red and livid white.
It was at sunset that they saw the first weird phenomenon that heralded the coming conflict with the alien power of the hidden land.
4. THE TIGER IN THE SKY
PRICE HAD URGED his weary camel to the head of the line again, to ride beside old Fouad and bolster the Bedouin’s courage. Jacob Garth was back among the men. As usual, the camels were strung out in single file; it was over a mile back to the tank, which brought up the rear, clattering and banging across the hard, flinty gravel.
But a few miles ahead the colossal rugged precipices of black granite plunged upward to red-and-white crowns of sandstone and limestone, forming twin towers that grimly guarded the pass.
“Ya Allah!” the Arab renegade shrieked suddenly, terror-stricken. “Be merciful!” Beneath his dark abba he raised a lean arm that shook with fear, and pointed above the pass.
Lifting his eyes, Price saw a strange thing in the sky, beyond the yawning gap, above dark, tumbling rocks that were incarnadined with the red glare of sunset.
Penciled rays of light were streaming upward in a vast, spreading fan, against the violet-blue of the east. Thin, pale beams of rose and saffron, flung out as if from a single radiant point hidden below the black range.
Price was startled; something about the luminescent display seemed weirdly artificial. Fighting back his momentary fear, he turned to the trembling Fouad, who had gone white as his pigmentation allowed.
“What is it?”
“The evil djinn of the accursed land rise beyond the hills!”
“Nonsense! Just the rays of the sun shining past a cloud, and seeming to converge in the distance. A natural phenomenon.”
Price rapidly scanned the sky for a cloud to prove his theory, but found its indigo dome, as usual, perfectly clear. He hesitated, then went on rapidly:
“A mirage, perhaps. We always see them in the morning and the evening. They are queer, sometimes. Once, in the Sind desert, hundreds of miles from the sea, I saw a steamer. Funnels and smoke and all. Even made out the boats in their davits. Simply reflection and refraction of light, in the atmosphere.”
“Bismillah wa Allahu akbar!” the old sheikh was groaning, too overcome to listen.
Price then saw that a picture was taking form above the fan of colored rays, somewhat as if projected upon the sky by a colossal magic lantern. Yet it seemed weirdly real, stereoscopic.
What he saw was madness. He knew that it should be mirage, grotesque fancy, illusion . It should have been hallucination, merely the projection of the Arabs’ fears against the sky. But he knew that it was not, knew that it was, in some strange way, a reflection of actual existence.
“The tiger of the accursed land!” Fouad was screaming. “The yellow woman of the mirage, whose fatal beauty
“Sidi,” the sheikh began, unwontedly respectful again in his anxiety. “Allah forbid that we go farther! Before us are the mountains of the accursed land, that Allah gave to powers of evil. Beyond wait the djinn, to set our heads upon their poles.”
“Nonsense,” Price said. “Didn’t we show you the farengi weapons?”
Fouad muttered in his beard, and craftily demanded that he be paid the seven days’ wages due, that he might distribute the gold to encourage his timid men.
“It would only encourage them to desert,” Price told him grimly. “Not one piece, until we get back to the sea!”
“There is water in the mountains,” boomed Garth. “You know we must have water.”
“Bisshai,” Fouad agreed. “The skins are dry and the camels are thirsty. But even so—”
“Let us ride on,” Price cut him off.
And the old Bedouin, grumbling, at last returned to the head of the column. By sunset they had covered half the remaining distance to the lofty pass ahead, between cleft, towering masses of dark granite, capped with bands of somber red and livid white.
It was at sunset that they saw the first weird phenomenon that heralded the coming conflict with the alien power of the hidden land.
4. THE TIGER IN THE SKY
PRICE HAD URGED his weary camel to the head of the line again, to ride beside old Fouad and bolster the Bedouin’s courage. Jacob Garth was back among the men. As usual, the camels were strung out in single file; it was over a mile back to the tank, which brought up the rear, clattering and banging across the hard, flinty gravel.
But a few miles ahead the colossal rugged precipices of black granite plunged upward to red-and-white crowns of sandstone and limestone, forming twin towers that grimly guarded the pass.
“Ya Allah!” the Arab renegade shrieked suddenly, terror-stricken. “Be merciful!” Beneath his dark abba he raised a lean arm that shook with fear, and pointed above the pass.
Lifting his eyes, Price saw a strange thing in the sky, beyond the yawning gap, above dark, tumbling rocks that were incarnadined with the red glare of sunset.
Penciled rays of light were streaming upward in a vast, spreading fan, against the violet-blue of the east. Thin, pale beams of rose and saffron, flung out as if from a single radiant point hidden below the black range.
Price was startled; something about the luminescent display seemed weirdly artificial. Fighting back his momentary fear, he turned to the trembling Fouad, who had gone white as his pigmentation allowed.
“What is it?”
“The evil djinn of the accursed land rise beyond the hills!”
“Nonsense! Just the rays of the sun shining past a cloud, and seeming to converge in the distance. A natural phenomenon.”
Price rapidly scanned the sky for a cloud to prove his theory, but found its indigo dome, as usual, perfectly clear. He hesitated, then went on rapidly:
“A mirage, perhaps. We always see them in the morning and the evening. They are queer, sometimes. Once, in the Sind desert, hundreds of miles from the sea, I saw a steamer. Funnels and smoke and all. Even made out the boats in their davits. Simply reflection and refraction of light, in the atmosphere.”
“Bismillah wa Allahu akbar!” the old sheikh was groaning, too overcome to listen.
Price then saw that a picture was taking form above the fan of colored rays, somewhat as if projected upon the sky by a colossal magic lantern. Yet it seemed weirdly real, stereoscopic.
What he saw was madness. He knew that it should be mirage, grotesque fancy, illusion . It should have been hallucination, merely the projection of the Arabs’ fears against the sky. But he knew that it was not, knew that it was, in some strange way, a reflection of actual existence.
“The tiger of the accursed land!” Fouad was screaming. “The yellow woman of the mirage, whose fatal beauty
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