The Warlord of the Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

certainly no cleaner. It occurred to me that if the Kumbalaris disdained land, then they disliked water even more. I remarked on this to Risaldar Jenab Shah, who flung back his great turbaned head and laughed heartily—an action which caused the priests to frown at us in hatred and disgust. These priests were not shaven-headed, like most priests who wore the saffron robe. These had long hair hanging down their faces in many greasy braids and some had moustaches or beards which were plaited in a similar fashion. They were a sinister, unsavoury lot. Not a few had belts or cummerbunds into which were stuck scabbarded swords.
    We waited and they watched us. We returned their gaze, trying to appear much less concerned than we felt. Our horses moved uneasily under us and tossed their manes, snorting as if the stink of the city was too much, even for them.
    Then at last, borne by four priests, the golden litter appeared from what must have been the main entrance of the temple. The curtains were parted and there sat Sharan Kang.
    He was grinning.
    “I am here, Sharan Kang,” I began, “to listen to anything you wish to tell me concerning your raids on our frontier stations and to discuss the terms of a treaty which will let us live together in peace.”
    Sharan Kang’s grin did not falter, but I’m afraid my voice did a little as I stared into that wrinkled, evil face. I had never before felt convinced that I was in the presence of pure evil, but I did at that moment.
    After a moment he spoke. “I hear your words and must consider them. Meanwhile you will be guests here—” he gestured behind him—“here at the Temple of the Future Buddha which is also my palace. The oldest of all these ancient buildings.”
    A little nervously we dismounted. The four priests picked up Sharan Kang’s litter and bore it back inside. We followed. The interior was heavy with incense and poorly lighted by sputtering bowls of flaming oil suspended from chains fixed to the ceiling. There were no representations of the Buddha here, however, and I supposed that this was because the “Future Buddha” had not yet been born. We followed the litter through a system of corridors, so complicated as to seem like a maze, until we reached a smallish chamber in which food had been laid on a low table surrounded by cushions. Here the litter was lowered and the attendant priests retired, apparently leaving us alone with Sharan Kang. He gestured for us to seat ourselves on the cushions, which we did.
    “You must eat and drink,” intoned Sharan Kang, “and then we shall all feel more like talking.”
    After washing our hands in the silver bowls of warm water and drying them on the silken towels, we reached, rather reluctantly, towards the food. Sharan Kang helped himself to the same dishes and began to eat heartily, which was something of a relief to us. When we tasted the food we were glad that it did not seem poisoned, for it was delicious.
    I complimented the High Priest sincerely on his hospitality and he accepted this graciously enough. He was beginning to seem a much less sinister figure. In fact I was almost beginning to like him.
    “It is unusual,” I said, “to have a temple which is also a palace—and with such a strange name, too.”
    “The High Priests of Kumbalari,” said Sharan Kang smiling, “are also gods, so they must live in a temple. And since the Future Buddha is not yet here to take up residence, what better place than this temple?”
    “They must have been waiting a long time for him to come. How old is this building?”
    “Some parts of it are little more than fifteen hundred to two thousand years old. Other parts are perhaps three to five thousand years old. The earliest parts are much, much older than that.”
    I did not believe him, of course, but accepted what he said as a typical oriental exaggeration. “And have the Kumbalaris lived here all that time?” I asked politely.
    “They have lived here a long, long time.