The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) Read Online Free PDF

and then flung them carelessly against the wall. He
dipped one fat hand into the copper bowl and smeared the Brigands' foreheads
with fresh blood. Then Kerish was pushed forward and the dripping fingers
traced the flower on his brow. Quesheg began an explanation but it did not seem
to be needed. The priest cut him short with a contemptuous gesture. Quesheg
kissed the crimson foot and crawled backwards.
    The only entrance to the temple was a dark
hole, half the height of a man. The priest disappeared through it and the blind
slaves forced Kerish to follow. As he passed under the crude arch, Kerish felt
as if it was the temple which was entering him and that his body was now
riddled with dark hollows and strange echoes.
    There was no light at all in the low
tunnel. The floor was uneven and, hindered by his crippled hand, Kerish's
progress was slow and painful. He could not see the priest ahead of him but he
heard the plump man's gasping breath and the occasional sharp command to hurry.
Then the slaves would strike at Kerish from behind and force him to go faster.
    At length, the roof rose. As Kerish
struggled up from his bruised knees he found his wrists seized by the two
slaves, who led him deftly through the darkness. The Prince guessed that they
were now passing through rooms of considerable size. There was only an
occasional chink of light between the rough stones, but both priest and slaves
seemed confident of their way. Sometimes, though, all three would pause and
stand very still, as if they were listening for something. Only when they were
sure of complete silence would they go on. Once they stood motionless for
several minutes, waiting for a faint rustling sound to die away.
    Finally Kerish's eyes caught the glint of
metal and after a moment he heard the sound of bolts being drawn back and a
door creaking. Then he was thrust forward into a narrow chamber and stood
blinking in the sudden torchlight. The wayward flame showed him a low couch,
draped with worn furs, and a dish of charred meat and a leathern flask placed
on a rough wooden table. The door was bolted behind him and the footsteps
receded into silence.
    Kerish walked slowly round the chamber. On
three walls he couldn't thrust a finger between the dank stones but the fourth
was cracked right across. The crack was level with his face and a hand wide,
but Kerish could make out nothing in the intense darkness beyond. Still, he was
certain the crack opened on to a vast chamber and perhaps it was that which
made him curiously uneasy. As he turned away, the crack seemed to have
imprinted itself on his eyes, a black slash across his vision. Impulsively
Kerish snatched up the fur coverlet and tried, one-handed, to block up the
crack. It wouldn't stay in place. Kerish kicked the useless fur into a corner
and paced back to the table.
    The room was oppressively hot. Kerish
raised the flask and gulped down the coarse red wine, fast enough to avoid
thinking about the taste. Then he realized how hungry he was. Kerish picked up
the meat and tore off chunks with his teeth. The skin was burnt and the inside
half raw but it tasted good. He stripped the bone of every sliver of flesh till
his face and hands were smeared with blood and grease.
    Suddenly disgusted, Kerish dropped the bone
and tried to clean himself with his sleeve. His head swam with the strength of
the wine. He lay back on the couch, intending to pray for his companions but as
he pictured them, dark crevices opened in their faces. Flinging the image from
him, Kerish curled up on the couch and began a formal prayer.
    Within a few minutes the measured words had
dissolved into meaningless repetition and he slipped into an unquiet sleep.
     
    *****
     
    As Khan O-grak and his retinue approached
the tallest of his three towers, a wooden door opened fifteen feet above the
ground and a voice called down, “Who seeks entry to the Towers of the Khan of
Orze?”
    Instead of calling out his name, O-grak
tilted back his head