{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_71085/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_71085","id":"gutenberg_71085","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71085","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Arabian Peninsula -- Fiction","Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Category: Short Stories","Extinct cities -- Fiction","Horror tales","Treasure hunting -- Fiction"],"text":"The Fire of Asshurbanipal\n\n                          By ROBERT E. HOWARD\n\n                _The tale of a silent dead sea of black\n            stone set in the drifting sands of the desert,\n               and of a flaming gem clutched in the bony\n             fingers of a skeleton on an ancient throne._\n\n    Robert E. Howard is dead, but his genius lives on in his\n    fascinating, vivid stories. He had the knack of depicting his\n    characters in action so that they stepped out of the printed page\n    and gripped the sympathies of the readers--Conan the barbarian\n    adventurer--Solomon Kane, the dour Puritan soldier and redresser\n    of wrongs--King Kull, the valiant fighter from the shadowy kingdoms\n    of the world's dawn--heroes all, and doughty men of might. The\n    posthumous weird tale by Mr. Howard presented here, \"The Fire of\n    Asshurbanipal,\" is an outre adventure story of much power. We\n    commend it to you.\n\n           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n                      Weird Tales December 1936.\n         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n\n\nYar Ali squinted carefully down the blue barrel of his Lee-Enfield,\ncalled devoutly on Allah and sent a bullet through the brain of a\nflying rider.\n\n\"_Allaho akbar!_\"\n\nThe big Afghan shouted in glee, waving his weapon above his head, \"God\nis great! By Allah, _sahib_, I have sent another one of the dogs to\nHell!\"\n\nHis companion peered cautiously over the rim of the sand-pit they\nhad scooped with their hands. He was a lean and wiry American, Steve\nClarney by name.\n\n\"Good work, old horse,\" said this person. \"Four left. Look--they're\ndrawing off.\"\n\nThe white-robed horsemen were indeed reining away, clustering together\njust out of accurate rifle-range, as if in council. There had been\nseven when they had first swooped down on the comrades, but the fire\nfrom the two rifles in the sand-pit had been deadly.\n\n\"Look, _sahib_--they abandon the fray!\"\n\nYar Ali stood up boldly and shouted taunts at the departing riders, one\nof whom whirled and sent a bullet that kicked up sand thirty feet in\nfront of the pit.\n\n\"They shoot like the sons of dogs,\" said Yar Ali in complacent\nself-esteem. \"By Allah, did you see that rogue plunge from his saddle\nas my lead went home? Up, _sahib_; let us run after them and cut them\ndown!\"\n\nPaying no attention to this outrageous proposal--for he knew it was\nbut one of the gestures Afghan nature continually demands--Steve\nrose, dusted off his breeches and gazing after the riders, now white\nspecks far out on the desert, said musingly: \"Those fellows ride as if\nthey had some set purpose in mind--not a bit like men running from a\nlicking.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" agreed Yar Ali promptly and seeing nothing inconsistent with his\npresent attitude and recent bloodthirsty suggestion, \"they ride after\nmore of their kind--they are hawks who give up their prey not quickly.\nWe had best move our position quickly, Steve _sahib_. They will come\nback--maybe in a few hours, maybe in a few days--it all depends on\nhow far away lies the oasis of their tribe. But they will be back. We\nhave guns and lives--they want both. And behold.\"\n\nThe Afghan levered out the empty shell and slipped a single cartridge\ninto the breech of his rifle.\n\n\"My last bullet, _sahib_.\"\n\nSteve nodded. \"I've got three left.\"\n\nThe raiders whom their bullets had knocked from the saddle had been\nlooted by their own comrades. No use searching the bodies which lay in\nthe sand for ammunition. Steve lifted his canteen and shook it. Not\nmuch water remained. He knew that Yar Ali had only a little more than\nhe, though the big Afridi, bred in a barren land, had used and needed\nless water than did the American; although the latter, judged from a\nwhite man's standards, was hard and tough as a wolf. As Steve unscrewed\nthe canteen cap and drank very sparingly, he mentally reviewed the\nchain of events that had led them to their present position.\n\nWanderers, soldiers of fortune, thrown together by chance and attracted\nto each other by mutual admiration, he and Yar Ali had wandered\nfrom India up through Turkistan and down through Persia, an oddly\nassorted but highly capable pair. Driven by the restless urge of\ninherent wanderlust, their avowed purpose--which they swore to and\nsometimes believed themselves--was the accumulation of some vague and\nundiscovered treasure, some pot of gold at the foot of some yet unborn\nrainbow.\n\nThen in ancient Shiraz they had heard of the Fire of Asshurbanipal.\nFrom the lips of an ancient Persian trader, who only half believed what\nhe repeated to them, they heard the tale that he in turn had heard\nfrom the babbling lips of delirium, in his distant youth. He had been\na member of a caravan, fifty years before, which, wandering far on the\nsouthern shore of the Persian Gulf trading for pearls, had followed the\ntale of a rare pearl far into the desert.\n\nThe pearl, rumored found by a diver and stolen by a shaykh of the\ninterior, they did not find, but they did pick up a Turk who was dying\nof starvation, thirst and a bullet wound in the thigh. As he died in\ndelirium, he babbled a wild tale of a silent dead city of black stone\nset in the drifting sands of the desert far to the westward, and of a\nflaming gem clutched in the bony fingers of a skeleton on an ancient\nthrone.\n\nHe had not dared bring it away with him, because of an overpowering\nbrooding horror that haunted the place, and thirst had driven him\ninto the desert again, where Bedouins had pursued and wounded him.\nYet he had escaped, riding hard until his horse fell under him. He\ndied without telling how he had reached the mythical city in the\nfirst place, but the old trader thought he must have come from the\nnorthwest--a deserter from the Turkish army, making a desperate attempt\nto reach the Gulf.\n\nThe men of the caravan had made no attempt to plunge still further\ninto the desert in search of the city; for, said the old trader, they\nbelieved it to be the ancient, ancient City of Evil spoken of in the\n_Necronomicon_ of the mad Arab Al-hazred--the city of the dead on which\nan ancient curse rested. Legends named it vaguely: the Arabs called it\n_Beled-el-Djinn_, the City of Devils, and the Turks, _Kara-Shehr_, the\nBlack City. And the gem was that ancient and accursed jewel belonging\nto a king of long ago, whom the Grecians called Sardanapalus and the\nSemitic peoples Asshurbanipal.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSteve had been fascinated by the tale. Admitting to himself that it was\ndoubtless one of the ten thousand cock-and-bull myths mooted about the\nEast, still there was a possibility that he and Yar Ali had stumbled\nonto a trace of that pot of rainbow gold for which they searched. And\nYar Ali had heard hints before of a silent city of the sands; tales\nhad followed the eastbound caravans over the high Persian uplands\nand across the sands of Turkistan, into the mountain country and\nbeyond--vague tales, whispers of a black city of the djinn, deep in the\nhazes of a haunted desert.\n\nSo, following the trail of the legend, the companions had come from\nShiraz to a village on the Arabian shore of the Persian Gulf, and there\nhad heard more from an old man who had been a pearl-diver in his\nyouth. The loquacity of age was on him and he told tales repeated to\nhim by wandering tribesmen who had them in turn from the wild nomads of\nthe deep interior; and again Steve and Yar Ali heard of the still black\ncity with giant beasts carved of stone, and the skeleton sultan who\nheld the blazing gem.\n\nAnd so, mentally swearing at himself for a fool, Steve had made the\nplunge, and Yar Ali, secure in the knowledge that all things lay on\nthe lap of Allah, had come with him. Their scanty supply of money had\nbeen just sufficient to provide riding-camels and provisions for a bold\nflying invasion of the unknown. Their only chart had been the vague\nrumors that placed the supposed location of Kara-Shehr.\n\nThere had been days of hard travel, pushing the beasts and conserving\nwater and food. Then, deep in the desert they invaded, they had\nencountered a blinding sand-wind in which they had lost the camels.\nAfter that came long miles of staggering through the sands, battered\nby a flaming sun, subsisting on rapidly dwindling water from their\ncanteens, and food Yar Ali had in a pouch. No thought of finding the\nmythical city now. They pushed on blindly, in hope of stumbling upon a\nspring; they knew that behind them no oases lay within a distance they\ncould hope to cover on foot. It was a desperate chance, but their only\none.\n\nThen white-clad hawks had swooped down on them, out of the haze of the\nskyline, and from a shallow and hastily scooped trench the adventurers\nhad exchanged shots with the wild riders who circled them at top\nspeed. The bullets of the Bedouins had skipped through their makeshift\nfortifications, knocking dust into their eyes and flicking bits of\ncloth from their garments, but by good chance neither had been hit.\n\nTheir one bit of luck, reflected Clarney, as he cursed himself for a\nfool. What a mad venture it had been, anyway! To think that two men\ncould so dare the desert and live, much less wrest from its abysmal\nbosom the secrets of the ages! And that crazy tale of a skeleton hand\ngripping a flaming jewel in a dead city--bosh! What utter rot! He must\nhave been crazy himself to credit it, the American decided with the\nclarity of view that suffering and danger bring.\n\n\"Well, old horse,\" said Steve, lifting his rifle, \"let's get\ngoing. It's a toss-up if we die of thirst or get sniped off by the\ndesert-brothers. Anyway, we're doin' no good here.\"\n\n\"God gives,\" agreed Yar Ali cheerfully. \"The sun sinks westward. Soon\nthe coolness of night will be upon us. Perhaps we shall find water yet,\n_sahib_. Look, the terrain changes to the south.\"\n\nClarney shaded his eyes against the dying sun. Beyond a level, barren\nexpanse of several miles width, the land did indeed become more broken;\naborted hills were in evidence. The American slung his rifle over his\narm and sighed.\n\n\"Heave ahead; we're food for the buzzards anyhow.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe sun sank and the moon rose, flooding the desert with weird silver\nlight. Drifted sand glimmered in long ripples, as if a sea had suddenly\nbeen frozen into immobility. Steve, parched fiercely by a thirst he\ndared not fully quench, cursed beneath his breath. The desert was\nbeautiful beneath the moon, with the beauty of a cold marble lorelei to\nlure men to destruction. What a mad quest! his weary brain reiterated;\nthe Fire of Asshurbanipal retreated into the mazes of unreality with\neach dragging step. The desert became not merely a material wasteland,\nbut the gray mists of the lost eons, in whose depths dreamed sunken\nthings.\n\nClarney stumbled and swore; was he failing already? Yar Ali swung along\nwith the easy, tireless stride of the mountain man, and Steve set his\nteeth, nerving himself to greater effort. They were entering the broken\ncountry at last, and the going became harder. Shallow gullies and\nnarrow ravines knifed the earth with wavering patterns. Most of them\nwere nearly filled with sand, and there was no trace of water.\n\n\"This country was once oasis country,\" commented Yar Ali. \"Allah knows\nhow many centuries ago the sand took it, as the sand has taken so many\ncities in Turkistan.\"\n\nThey swung on like dead men in a gray land of death. The moon grew red\nand sinister as she sank, and shadowy darkness settled over the desert\nbefore they had reached a point where they could see what lay beyond\nthe broken belt. Even the big Afghan's feet began to drag, and Steve\nkept himself erect only by a savage effort of will. At last they toiled\nup a sort of ridge, on the southern side of which the land sloped\ndownward.\n\n\"We rest,\" declared Steve. \"There's no water in this hellish country.\nNo use in goin' on for ever. My legs are stiff as gun-barrels. I\ncouldn't take another step to save my neck. Here's a kind of stunted\ncliff, about as high as a man's shoulder, facing south. We'll sleep in\nthe lee of it.\"\n\n\"And shall we not keep watch, Steve _sahib_?\"\n\n\"We don't,\" answered Steve. \"If the Arabs cut our throats while we're\nasleep, so much the better. We're goners anyhow.\"\n\nWith which optimistic observation Clarney lay down stiffly in the deep\nsand. But Yar Ali stood, leaning forward, straining his eyes into the\nelusive darkness that turned the star-flecked horizons to murky wells\nof shadow.\n\n\"Something lies on the skyline to the south,\" he muttered uneasily. \"A\nhill? I cannot tell, or even be sure that I see anything at all.\"\n\n\"You're seeing mirages already,\" said Steve irritably. \"Lie down and\nsleep.\"\n\nAnd so saying Steve slumbered.\n\nThe sun in his eyes awoke him. He sat up, yawning, and his first\nsensation was that of thirst. He lifted his canteen and wet his lips.\nOne drink left. Yar Ali still slept. Steve's eyes wandered over the\nsouthern horizon and he started. He kicked the recumbent Afghan.\n\n\"Hey, wake up, Ali. I reckon you weren't seeing things after all.\nThere's your hill--and a queer-lookin' one, too.\"\n\nThe Afridi woke as a wild thing wakes, instantly and completely, his\nhand leaping to his long knife as he glared about for enemies. His gaze\nfollowed Steve's pointing fingers and his eyes widened.\n\n\"By Allah and by Allah!\" he swore. \"We have come into a land of djinn!\nThat is no hill--it is a city of stone in the midst of the sands!\"\n\nSteve bounded to his feet like a steel spring released. As he gazed\nwith bated breath, a fierce shout escaped his lips. At his feet the\nslope of the ridge ran down into a wide and level expanse of sand that\nstretched away southward. And far away, across those sands, to his\nstraining sight the \"hill\" slowly took shape, like a mirage growing\nfrom the drifting sands.\n\nHe saw great uneven walls, massive battlements; all about crawled the\nsands like a living, sensate thing, drifted high about the walls,\nsoftening the rugged outlines. No wonder that at first glance the whole\nhad appeared like a hill.\n\n\"Kara-Shehr!\" Clarney exclaimed fiercely. \"Beled-el-Djinn! The city of\nthe dead! It wasn't a pipe-dream after all! We've found it--by Heaven,\nwe've found it! Come on! Let's go!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYar Ali shook his head uncertainly and muttered something about evil\ndjinn under his breath, but he followed. The sight of the ruins had\nswept from Steve his thirst and hunger, and the fatigue that a few\nhours' sleep had not fully overcome. He trudged on swiftly, oblivious\nto the rising heat, his eyes gleaming with the lust of the explorer.\nIt was not altogether greed for the fabled gem that had prompted Steve\nClarney to risk his life in that grim wilderness; deep in his soul\nlurked the age-old heritage of the white man, the urge to seek out\nthe hidden places of the world, and that urge had been stirred to the\ndepths by the ancient tales.\n\nNow as they crossed the level wastes that separated the broken land\nfrom the city, they saw the shattered walls take clearer form and\nshape, as if they grew out of the morning sky. The city seemed built\nof huge blocks of black stone, but how high the walls had been there\nwas no telling because of the sand that drifted high about their base;\nin many places they had fallen away and the sand hid the fragments\nentirely.\n\nThe sun reached her zenith and thirst intruded itself in spite of zeal\nand enthusiasm, but Steve fiercely mastered his suffering. His lips\nwere parched and swollen, but he would not take that last drink until\nhe had reached the ruined city. Yar Ali wet his lips from his own\ncanteen and tried to share the remainder with his friend. Steve shook\nhis head and plodded on.\n\nIn the ferocious heat of the desert afternoon they reached the ruin,\nand passing through a wide breach in the crumbling wall, gazed on the\ndead city. Sand choked the ancient streets and lent fantastic form\nto huge, fallen and half-hidden columns. So crumbled into decay and\nso covered with sand was the whole that the explorers could make out\nlittle of the original plan of the city; now it was but a waste of\ndrifted sand and crumbling stone over which brooded, like an invisible\ncloud, an aura of unspeakable antiquity.\n\nBut directly in front of them ran a broad avenue, the outline of which\nnot even the ravaging sands and winds of time had been able to efface.\nOn either side of the wide way were ranged huge columns, not unusually\ntall, even allowing for the sand that hid their bases, but incredibly\nmassive. On the top of each column stood a figure carved from solid\nstone--great, somber images, half human, half bestial, partaking of the\nbrooding brutishness of the whole city. Steve cried out in amazement.\n\n\"The winged bulls of Nineveh! The bulls with men's heads! By the\nsaints, Ali, the old tales are true! The Assyrians did build this city!\nThe whole tale's true! They must have come here when the Babylonians\ndestroyed Assyria--why, this scene's a dead ringer for pictures I've\nseen--reconstructed scenes of old Nineveh! And look!\"\n\nHe pointed down the broad street to the great building which reared at\nthe other end, a colossal, brooding edifice whose columns and walls\nof solid black stone blocks defied the winds and sands of time. The\ndrifting, obliterating sea washed about its foundations, overflowing\ninto its doorways, but it would require a thousand years to inundate\nthe whole structure.\n\n\"An abode of devils!\" muttered Yar Ali, uneasily.\n\n\"The temple of Baal!\" exclaimed Steve. \"Come on! I was afraid we'd\nfind all the palaces and temples hidden by the sand and have to dig\nfor the gem.\"\n\n\"Little good it will do us,\" muttered Yar Ali. \"Here we die.\"\n\n\"I reckon so.\" Steve unscrewed the cap of his canteen. \"Let's take\nour last drink. Anyway, we're safe from the Arabs. They'd never dare\ncome here, with their superstitions. We'll drink and then we'll die, I\nreckon, but first we'll find the jewel. When I pass out, I want to have\nit in my hand. Maybe a few centuries later some lucky son-of-a-gun will\nfind our skeletons--and the gem. Here's to him, whoever he is!\"\n\nWith which grim jest Clarney drained his canteen and Yar Ali followed\nsuit. They had played their last ace; the rest lay on the lap of Allah.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey strode up the broad way, and Yar Ali, utterly fearless in the face\nof human foes, glanced nervously to right and left, half expecting to\nsee a horned and fantastic face leering at him from behind a column.\nSteve himself felt the somber antiquity of the place, and almost found\nhimself fearing a rush of bronze war chariots down the forgotten\nstreets, or to hear the sudden menacing flare of bronze trumpets. The\nsilence in dead cities was so much more intense, he reflected, than\nthat on the open desert.\n\nThey came to the portals of the great temple. Rows of immense columns\nflanked the wide doorway, which was ankle-deep in sand, and from which\nsagged massive bronze frameworks that had once braced mighty doors,\nwhose polished woodwork had rotted away centuries ago. They passed into\na mighty hall of misty twilight, whose shadowy stone roof was upheld\nby columns like the trunks of forest trees. The whole effect of the\narchitecture was one of awesome magnitude and sullen, breath-taking\nsplendor, like a temple built by somber giants for the abode of dark\ngods.\n\nYar Ali walked fearfully, as if he expected to awake sleeping gods, and\nSteve, without the Afridi's superstitions, yet felt the gloomy majesty\nof the place lay somber hands on his soul.\n\nNo trace of a footprint showed in the deep dust on the floor; half a\ncentury had passed since the affrighted and devil-ridden Turk had fled\nthese silent halls. As for the Bedouins, it was easy to see why those\nsuperstitious sons of the desert shunned this haunted city--and haunted\nit was, not by actual ghosts, perhaps, but by the shadows of lost\nsplendors.\n\nAs they trod the sands of the hall, which seemed endless, Steve\npondered many questions: How did these fugitives from the wrath of\nfrenzied rebels build this city? How did they pass through the country\nof their foes?--for Babylonia lay between Assyria and the Arabian\ndesert. Yet there had been no other place for them to go; westward lay\nSyria and the sea, and north and east swarmed the \"dangerous Medes\",\nthose fierce Aryans whose aid had stiffened the arm of Babylon to smite\nher foe to the dust.\n\nPossibly, thought Steve, Kara-Shehr--whatever its name had been in\nthose dim days--had been built as an outpost border city before the\nfall of the Assyrian empire, whither survivals of that over-throw fled.\nAt any rate it was possible that Kara-Shehr had outlasted Nineveh by\nsome centuries--a strange, hermit city, no doubt, cut off from the rest\nof the world.\n\nSurely, as Yar Ali had said, this was once fertile country, watered by\noases; and doubtless in the broken country they had passed over the\nnight before, there had been quarries that furnished the stone for the\nbuilding of the city.\n\nThen what caused its downfall? Did the encroachment of the sands and\nthe filling up of the springs cause the people to abandon it, or was\nKara-Shehr a city of silence before the sands crept over the walls? Did\nthe downfall come from within or without? Did civil war blot out the\ninhabitants, or were they slaughtered by some powerful foe from the\ndesert? Clarney shook his head in baffled chagrin. The answers to those\nquestions were lost in the maze of forgotten ages.\n\n\"_Allaho akbar!_\" They had traversed the great shadowy hall and at\nits further end they came upon a hideous black stone altar, behind\nwhich loomed an ancient god, bestial and horrific. Steve shrugged his\nshoulders as he recognized the monstrous aspect of the image--aye,\nthat was Baal, on which black altar in other ages many a screaming,\nwrithing, naked victim had offered up its naked soul. The idol embodied\nin its utter, abysmal and sullen bestiality the whole soul of this\ndemoniac city. Surely, thought Steve, the builders of Nineveh and\nKara-Shehr were cast in another mold from the people of today. Their\nart and culture were too ponderous, too grimly barren of the lighter\naspects of humanity, to be wholly human, as modern man understands\nhumanity. Their architecture was repellent; of high skill, yet so\nmassive, sullen and brutish in effect as to be almost beyond the\ncomprehension of moderns.\n\nThe adventurers passed through a narrow door which opened in the end of\nthe hall close to the idol, and came into a series of wide, dim, dusty\nchambers connected by column-flanked corridors. Along these they strode\nin the gray ghostly light, and came at last to a wide stair, whose\nmassive stone steps led upward and vanished in the gloom. Here Yar Ali\nhalted.\n\n\"We have dared much, _sahib_,\" he muttered. \"Is it wise to dare more?\"\n\nSteve, aquiver with eagerness, yet understood the Afghan's mind. \"You\nmean we shouldn't go up those stairs?\"\n\n\"They have an evil look. To what chambers of silence and horror may\nthey lead? When djinn haunt deserted buildings, they lurk in the upper\nchambers. At any moment a demon may bite off our heads.\"\n\n\"We're dead men anyhow,\" grunted Steve. \"But I tell you--you go on back\nthrough the hall and watch for the Arabs while I go upstairs.\"\n\n\"Watch for a wind on the horizon,\" responded the Afghan gloomily,\nshifting his rifle and loosening his long knife in its scabbard. \"No\nBedouin comes here. Lead on, _sahib_. Thou'rt mad after the manner of\nall Franks, but I would not leave thee to face the djinn alone.\"\n\nSo the companions mounted the massive stairs, their feet sinking deep\ninto the accumulated dust of centuries at each step. Up and up they\nwent, to an incredible height, until the depths below merged into a\nvague gloom.\n\n\"We walk blind to our doom, _sahib_,\" muttered Yar Ali. \"_Allah il\nallah_--and Muhammad is his Prophet! Nevertheless, I feel the presence\nof slumbering Evil and never again shall I hear the wind blowing up the\nKhyber Pass.\"\n\nSteve made no reply. He did not like the breathless silence that\nbrooded over the ancient temple, nor the grisly gray light that\nfiltered from some hidden source.\n\nNow above them the gloom lightened somewhat and they emerged into a\nvast circular chamber, grayly illumined by light that filtered in\nthrough the high, pierced ceiling. But another radiance lent itself to\nthe illumination. A cry burst from Steve's lips, echoed by Yar Ali.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nStanding on the top step of the broad stone stair, they looked directly\nacross the broad chamber, with its dust-covered heavy tile floor and\nbare black stone walls. From about the center of the chamber, massive\nsteps led up to a stone dais, and on this dais stood a marble throne.\nAbout this throne glowed and shimmered an uncanny light, and the\nawe-struck adventurers gasped as they saw its source. On the throne\nslumped a human skeleton, an almost shapeless mass of moldering bones.\nA fleshless hand sagged outstretched upon the broad marble throne-arm,\nand in its grisly clasp there pulsed and throbbed like a living thing,\na great crimson stone.\n\nThe Fire of Asshurbanipal! Even after they had found the lost city\nSteve had not really allowed himself to believe that they would find\nthe gem, or that it even existed in reality. Yet he could not doubt the\nevidence of his eyes, dazzled by that evil, incredible glow. With a\nfierce shout he sprang across the chamber and up the steps. Yar Ali was\nat his heels, but when Steve would have seized the gem, the Afghan laid\na hand on his arm.\n\n\"Wait!\" exclaimed the big Muhammadan. \"Touch it not yet, _sahib_!\nA curse lies on ancient things--and surely this is a thing triply\naccursed! Else why has it lain here untouched in a country of thieves\nfor so many centuries? It is not well to disturb the possessions of the\ndead.\"\n\n\"Bosh!\" snorted the American. \"Superstitions! The Bedouins were scared\nby the tales that have come down to 'em from their ancestors. Being\ndesert-dwellers they mistrust cities anyway, and no doubt this one\nhad an evil reputation in its lifetime. And nobody except Bedouins\nhave seen this place before, except that Turk, who was probably half\ndemented with suffering.\n\n\"These bones may be those of the king mentioned in the legend--the dry\ndesert air preserves such things indefinitely--but I doubt it. May be\nAssyrian--most likely Arab--some beggar that got the gem and then died\non that throne for some reason or other.\"\n\nThe Afghan scarcely heard him. He was gazing in fearful fascination at\nthe great stone, as a hypnotized bird stares into a serpent's eye.\n\n\"Look at it, _sahib_!\" he whispered. \"What is it? No such gem as this\nwas ever cut by mortal hands! Look how it throbs and pulses like the\nheart of a cobra!\"\n\nSteve was looking, and he was aware of a strange undefined feeling of\nuneasiness. Well versed in the knowledge of precious stones, he had\nnever seen a stone like this. At first glance he had supposed it to be\na monster ruby, as told in the legends. Now he was not sure, and he had\na nervous feeling that Yar Ali was right, that this was no natural,\nnormal gem. He could not classify the style in which it was cut, and\nsuch was the power of its lurid radiance that he found it difficult to\ngaze at it closely for any length of time. The whole setting was not\none calculated to soothe restless nerves. The deep dust on the floor\nsuggested an unwholesome antiquity; the gray light evoked a sense of\nunreality, and the heavy black walls towered grimly, hinting at hidden\nthings.\n\n\"Let's take the stone and go!\" muttered Steve, an unaccustomed panicky\ndread rising in his bosom.\n\n\"Wait!\" Yar Ali's eyes were blazing, and he gazed, not at the gem, but\nat the sullen stone walls. \"We are flies in the lair of the spider!\n_Sahib_, as Allah lives, it is more than the ghosts of old fears that\nlurk over this city of horror! I feel the presence of peril, as I have\nfelt it before--as I felt it in a jungle cavern where a python lurked\nunseen in the darkness--as I felt it in the temple of Thuggee where the\nhidden stranglers of Siva crouched to spring upon us--as I feel it\nnow, tenfold!\"\n\nSteve's hair prickled. He knew that Yar Ali was a grim veteran, not to\nbe stampeded by silly fear or senseless panic; he well remembered the\nincidents referred to by the Afghan, as he remembered other occasions\nupon which Yar Ali's Oriental telepathic instinct had warned him of\ndanger before that danger was seen or heard.\n\n\"What is it, Yar Ali?\" he whispered.\n\nThe Afghan shook his head, his eyes filled with a weird mysterious\nlight as he listened to the dim occult promptings of his\nsubconsciousness.\n\n\"I know not; I know it is close to us, and that it is very ancient and\nvery evil. I think----\" Suddenly he halted and wheeled, the eery light\nvanishing from his eyes to be replaced by a glare of wolf-like fear and\nsuspicion.\n\n\"Hark, _sahib_!\" he snapped. \"Ghosts or dead men mount the stair!\"\n\nSteve stiffened as the stealthy pad of soft sandals on stone reached\nhis ear.\n\n\"By Judas, Ali!\" he rapped; \"something's out there----\"\n\nThe ancient walls re-echoed to a chorus of wild yells as a horde of\nsavage figures flooded the chamber. For one dazed insane instant Steve\nbelieved wildly that they were being attacked by re-embodied warriors\nof a vanished age; then the spiteful crack of a bullet past his ear\nand the acrid smell of powder told him that their foes were material\nenough. Clarney cursed; in their fancied security they had been caught\nlike rats in a trap by the pursuing Arabs.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEven as the American threw up his rifle, Yar Ali fired point-blank\nfrom the hip with deadly effect, hurled his empty rifle into the horde\nand went down the steps like a hurricane, his three-foot Khyber knife\nshimmering in his hairy hand. Into his gusto for battle went real\nrelief that his foes were human. A bullet ripped the turban from his\nhead, but an Arab went down with a split skull beneath the hillman's\nfirst, shearing stroke.\n\nA tall Bedouin clapped his gun-muzzle to the Afghan's side, but before\nhe could pull the trigger, Clarney's bullet scattered his brains.\nThe very number of the attackers hindered their onslaught on the\nbig Afridi, whose tigerish quickness made shooting as dangerous to\nthemselves as to him. The bulk of them swarmed about him, striking with\nsimitar and rifle-stock while others charged up the steps after Steve.\nAt that range there was no missing; the American simply thrust his\nrifle muzzle into a bearded face and blasted it into a ghastly ruin.\nThe others came on, screaming like panthers.\n\nAnd now as he prepared to expend his last cartridge, Clarney saw two\nthings in one flashing instant--a wild warrior who, with froth on his\nbeard and a heavy simitar uplifted, was almost upon him, and another\nwho knelt on the floor drawing a careful bead on the plunging Yar\nAli. Steve made an instant choice and fired over the shoulder of the\ncharging swordsman, killing the rifleman--and voluntarily offering his\nown life for his friend's; for the simitar was swinging at his own\nhead. But even as the Arab swung, grunting with the force of the blow,\nhis sandaled foot slipped on the marble steps and the curved blade,\nveering erratically from its arc, clashed on Steve's rifle-barrel. In\nan instant the American clubbed his rifle, and as the Bedouin recovered\nhis balance and again heaved up the simitar, Clarney struck with all\nhis rangy power, and stock and skull shattered together.\n\nThen a heavy ball smacked into his shoulder, sickening him with the\nshock.\n\nAs he staggered dizzily, a Bedouin whipped a turban-cloth about his\nfeet and jerked viciously. Clarney pitched headlong down the steps, to\nstrike with stunning force. A gun-stock in a brown hand went up to dash\nout his brains, but an imperious command halted the blow.\n\n\"Slay him not, but bind him hand and foot.\"\n\nAs Steve struggled dazedly against many gripping hands, it seemed to\nhim that somewhere he had heard that imperious voice before.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe American's downfall had occurred in a matter of seconds. Even as\nSteve's second shot had cracked, Yar Ali had half severed a raider's\narm and himself received a numbing blow from a rifle-stock on his left\nshoulder. His sheep-skin coat, worn despite the desert heat, saved his\nhide from half a dozen slashing knives. A rifle was discharged so close\nto his face that the powder burnt him fiercely, bringing a bloodthirsty\nyell from the maddened Afghan. As Yar Ali swung up his dripping blade\nthe rifleman, ashy-faced, lifted his rifle above his head in both\nhands to parry the downward blow, whereat the Afridi, with a yelp of\nferocious exultation, shifted as a jungle-cat strikes and plunged his\nlong knife into the Arab's belly. But at that instant a rifle-stock,\nswung with all the hearty ill-will its wielder could evoke, crashed\nagainst the giant's head, laying open the scalp and dashing him to his\nknees.\n\nWith the dogged and silent ferocity of his breed, Yar Ali staggered\nblindly up again, slashing at foes he could scarcely see, but a storm\nof blows battered him down again, nor did his attackers cease beating\nhim until he lay still. They would have finished him in short order\nthen, but for another peremptory order from their chief; whereupon they\nbound the senseless knife-man and flung him down alongside Steve, who\nwas fully conscious and aware of the savage hurt of the bullet in his\nshoulder.\n\nHe glared up at the tall Arab who stood looking down at him.\n\n\"Well, _sahib_,\" said this one--and Steve saw he was no Bedouin--\"do\nyou not remember me?\"\n\nSteve scowled; a bullet wound is no aid to concentration.\n\n\"You look familiar--by Judas!--you are! Nureddin El Mekru!\"\n\n\"I am honored! The _sahib_ remembers!\" Nureddin salaamed mockingly.\n\"And you remember, no doubt, the occasion on which you made me a\npresent of--this?\"\n\nThe dark eyes shadowed with bitter menace and the shaykh indicated a\nthin white scar on the angle of his jaw.\n\n\"I remember,\" snarled Clarney, whom pain and anger did not tend to make\ndocile. \"It was in Somaliland, years ago. You were in the slave-trade\nthen. A wretch of a nigger escaped from you and took refuge with me.\nYou walked into my camp one night in your high-handed way, started a\nrow and in the ensuing scrap you got a butcher-knife across your face.\nI wish I'd cut your lousy throat.\"\n\n\"You had your chance,\" answered the Arab. \"Now the tables are turned.\"\n\n\"I thought your stamping-ground lay west,\" growled Clarney; \"Yemen and\nthe Somali country.\"\n\n\"I quit the slave-trade long ago,\" answered the shaykh. \"It is an\noutworn game. I led a band of thieves in Yemen for a time; then again\nI was forced to change my location. I came here with a few faithful\nfollowers, and by Allah, those wild men nearly slit my throat at first.\nBut I overcame their suspicions, and now I lead more men than have\nfollowed me in years.\n\n\"They whom you fought off yesterday were my men--scouts I had sent out\nahead. My oasis lies far to the west. We have ridden for many days, for\nI was on my way to this very city. When my scouts rode in and told me\nof two wanderers, I did not alter my course, for I had business first\nin Beled-el-Djinn. We rode into the city from the west and saw your\ntracks in the sand. We followed them, and you were blind buffalo who\nheard not our coming.\"\n\nSteve snarled. \"You wouldn't have caught us so easy, only we thought no\nBedouin would dare come into Kara-Shehr.\"\n\nNureddin nodded. \"But I am no Bedouin. I have traveled far and seen\nmany lands and many races, and I have read many books. I know that fear\nis smoke, that the dead are dead, and that djinn and ghosts and curses\nare mists that the wind blows away. It was because of the tales of\nthe red stone that I came into this forsaken desert. But it has taken\nmonths to persuade my men to ride with me here.\n\n\"But--I am here! And your presence is a delightful surprize. Doubtless\nyou have guessed why I had you taken alive; I have more elaborate\nentertainment planned for you and that Pathan swine. Now--I take the\nFire of Asshurbanipal and we will go.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe turned toward the dais, and one of his men, a bearded one-eyed\ngiant, exclaimed, \"Hold, my lord! Ancient evil reigned here before the\ndays of Muhammad! The djinn howl through these halls when the winds\nblow, and men have seen ghosts dancing on the walls beneath the moon.\nNo man of mortals has dared this black city for a thousand years--save\none, half a century ago, who fled shrieking.\n\n\"You have come here from Yemen; you do not know the ancient curse on\nthis foul city, and this evil stone, which pulses like the red heart\nof Satan! We have followed you here against our judgment, because you\nhave proven yourself a strong man, and have said you hold a charm\nagainst all evil beings. You said you but wished to look on this\nmysterious gem, but now we see it is your intention to take it for\nyourself. Do not offend the djinn!\"\n\n\"Nay, Nureddin, do not offend the djinn!\" chorused the other Bedouins.\nThe shaykh's own hard-bitten ruffians, standing in a compact group\nsomewhat apart from the Bedouins, said nothing; hardened to crimes\nand deeds of impiety, they were less affected by the superstitions\nof the desert men, to whom the dread tale of the accursed city had\nbeen repeated for centuries. Steve, even while hating Nureddin with\nconcentrated venom, realized the magnetic power of the man, the innate\nleadership that had enabled him to overcome thus far the fears and\ntraditions of ages.\n\n\"The curse is laid on infidels who invade the city,\" answered Nureddin,\n\"not on the Faithful. See, in this chamber have we overcome our _kafar_\nfoes!\"\n\nA white-bearded desert hawk shook his head.\n\n\"The curse is more ancient than Muhammad, and recks not of race or\ncreed. Evil men reared this black city in the dawn of the Beginnings of\nDays. They oppressed our ancestors of the black tents, and warred among\nthemselves; aye, the black walls of this foul city were stained with\nblood, and echoed to the shouts of unholy revel and the whispers of\ndark intrigues.\n\n\"Thus came the stone to the city: there dwelt a magician at the court\nof Asshurbanipal, and the black wisdom of ages was not denied to him.\nTo gain honor and power for himself, he dared the horrors of a nameless\nvast cavern in a dark, untraveled land, and from those fiend-haunted\ndepths he brought that blazing gem, which is carved of the frozen\nflames of Hell! By reason of his fearful power in black magic, he put a\nspell on the demon which guarded the ancient gem, and so stole away the\nstone. And the demon slept in the cavern unknowing.\n\n\"So this magician--Xuthltan by name--dwelt in the court of the sultan\nAsshurbanipal and did magic and forecast events by scanning the lurid\ndeeps of the stone, into which no eyes but his could look unblinded.\nAnd men called the stone the Fire of Asshurbanipal, in honor of the\nking.\n\n\"But evil came upon the kingdom and men cried out that it was the curse\nof the djinn, and the sultan in great fear bade Xuthltan take the gem\nand cast it into the cavern from which he had taken it, lest worse ill\nbefall them.\n\n\"Yet it was not the magician's will to give up the gem wherein he read\nstrange secrets of pre-Adamite days, and he fled to the rebel city of\nKara-Shehr, where soon civil war broke out and men strove with one\nanother to possess the gem. Then the king who ruled the city, coveting\nthe stone, seized the magician and put him to death by torture, and in\nthis very room he watched him die; with the gem in his hand the king\nsat upon the throne--even as he has sat throughout the centuries--even\nas now he sits!\"\n\nThe Arab's finger stabbed at the moldering bones on the marble throne,\nand the wild desert men blenched; even Nureddin's own scoundrels\nrecoiled, catching their breath, but the shaykh showed no sign of\nperturbation.\n\n\"As Xuthltan died,\" continued the old Bedouin, \"he cursed the stone\nwhose magic had not saved him, and he shrieked aloud the fearful words\nwhich undid the spell he had put upon the demon in the cavern, and set\nthe monster free. And crying out on the forgotten gods, Cthulhu and\nKoth and Yog-Sothoth, and all the pre-Adamite Dwellers in the black\ncities under the sea and the caverns of the earth, he called upon\nthem to take back that which was theirs, and with his dying breath\npronounced doom on the false king, and that doom was that the king\nshould sit on his throne holding in his hand the Fire of Asshurbanipal\nuntil the thunder of Judgment Day.\n\n\"Thereat the great stone cried out as a live thing cries, and the king\nand his soldiers saw a black cloud spinning up from the floor, and\nout of the cloud blew a fetid wind, and out of the wind came a grisly\nshape which stretched forth fearsome paws and laid them on the king,\nwho shriveled and died at their touch. And the soldiers fled screaming,\nand all the people of the city ran forth wailing into the desert, where\nthey perished or gained through the wastes to the far oasis towns.\nKara-Shehr lay silent and deserted, the haunt of the lizard and the\njackal. And when some of the desert-people ventured into the city they\nfound the king dead on his throne, clutching the blazing gem, but they\ndared not lay hand upon it, for they knew the demon lurked near to\nguard it through all the ages--as he lurks near even as we stand here.\"\n\nThe warriors shuddered involuntarily and glanced about, and Nureddin\nsaid, \"Why did he not come forth when the Franks entered the chamber?\nIs he deaf, that the sound of the combat has not awakened him?\"\n\n\"We have not touched the gem,\" answered the old Bedouin, \"nor had the\nFranks molested it. Men have looked on it and lived; but no mortal may\ntouch it and survive.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNureddin started to speak, gazed at the stubborn, uneasy faces and\nrealized the futility of argument. His attitude changed abruptly.\n\n\"I am master here,\" he snapped, dropping a hand to his holster. \"I have\nnot sweat and bled for this gem to be balked at the last by groundless\nfears! Stand back, all! Let any man cross me at the peril of his head!\"\n\nHe faced them, his eyes blazing, and they fell back, cowed by the force\nof his ruthless personality. He strode boldly up the marble steps,\nand the Arabs caught their breath, recoiling toward the door; Yar\nAli, conscious at last, groaned dismally. God! thought Steve, what a\nbarbaric scene!--bound captives on the dust-heaped floor, wild warriors\nclustered about, gripping their weapons, the raw acrid scent of blood\nand burnt powder still fouling the air, corpses strewn in a horrid\nwelter of blood, brains and entrails--and on the dais, the hawk-faced\nshaykh, oblivious to all except the evil crimson glow in the skeleton\nfingers that rested on the marble throne.\n\nA tense silence gripped all as Nureddin stretched forth his hand\nslowly, as if hypnotized by the throbbing crimson light. And in Steve's\nsubconsciousness there shuddered a dim echo, as of something vast and\nloathsome waking suddenly from an age-long slumber. The American's\neyes moved instinctively toward the grim cyclopean walls. The jewel's\nglow had altered strangely; it burned a deeper, darker red, angry and\nmenacing.\n\n\"Heart of all evil,\" murmured the shaykh, \"how many princes died for\nthee in the Beginnings of Happenings? Surely the blood of kings throbs\nin thee. The sultans and the princesses and the generals who wore\nthee, they are dust and are forgotten, but thou blazest with majesty\nundimmed, fire of the world----\"\n\nNureddin seized the stone. A shuddery wail broke from the Arabs, cut\nthrough by a sharp inhuman cry. To Steve it seemed, horribly, that the\ngreat jewel had cried out like a living thing! The stone slipped from\nthe shaykh's hand. Nureddin might have dropped it; to Steve it looked\nas though it leaped convulsively, as a live thing might leap. It rolled\nfrom the dais, bounding from step to step, with Nureddin springing\nafter it, cursing as his clutching hand missed it. It struck the floor,\nveered sharply, and despite the deep dust, rolled like a revolving ball\nof fire toward the back wall. Nureddin was close upon it--it struck the\nwall--the shaykh's hand reached for it.\n\nA scream of mortal fear ripped the tense silence. Without warning\nthe solid wall had opened. Out of the black wall that gaped there,\na tentacle shot and gripped the shaykh's body as a python girdles\nits victim, and jerked him headlong into the darkness. And then the\nwall showed blank and solid once more; only from within sounded a\nhideous, high-pitched, muffled screaming that chilled the blood of\nthe listeners. Howling wordlessly, the Arabs stampeded, jammed in a\nbattling, screeching mass in the doorway, tore through and raced madly\ndown the wide stairs.\n\nSteve and Yar Ali, lying helplessly, heard the frenzied clamor of\ntheir flight fade away into the distance, and gazed in dumb horror at\nthe grim wall. The shrieks had faded into a more horrific silence.\nHolding their breath, they heard suddenly a sound that froze the blood\nin their veins--the soft sliding of metal or stone in a groove. At the\nsame time the hidden door began to open, and Steve caught a glimmer in\nthe blackness that might have been the glitter of monstrous eyes. He\nclosed his own eyes; he dared not look upon whatever horror slunk from\nthat hideous black well. He knew that there are strains the human brain\ncannot stand, and every primitive instinct in his soul cried out to\nhim that this thing was nightmare and lunacy. He sensed that Yar Ali\nlikewise closed his eyes, and the two lay like dead men.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nClarney heard no sound, but he sensed the presence of a horrific evil\ntoo grisly for human comprehension--of an Invader from Outer Gulfs and\nfar black reaches of cosmic being. A deadly cold pervaded the chamber,\nand Steve felt the glare of inhuman eyes sear through his closed lids\nand freeze his consciousness. If he looked, if he opened his eyes, he\nknew stark black madness would be his instant lot.\n\n[Illustration: \"If he looked, if he opened his eyes, he knew that stark\nblack madness would be his instant lot.\"]\n\nHe felt a soul-shakingly foul breath against his face and knew that the\nmonster was bending close above him, but he lay like a man frozen in a\nnightmare. He clung to one thought: neither he nor Yar Ali had touched\nthe jewel this horror guarded.\n\nThen he no longer smelled the foul odor, the coldness in the air\ngrew appreciably less, and he heard again the secret door slide in\nits groove. The fiend was returning to its hiding-place. Not all the\nlegions of Hell could have prevented Steve's eyes from opening a\ntrifle. He had only a glimpse as the hidden door slid to--and that one\nglimpse was enough to drive all consciousness from his brain. Steve\nClarney, iron-nerved adventurer, fainted for the only time in his\ncheckered life.\n\nHow long he lay there Steve never knew, but it could not have been\nlong, for he was roused by Yar Ali's whisper, \"Lie still, _sahib_, a\nlittle shifting of my body and I can reach thy cords with my teeth.\"\n\nSteve felt the Afghan's powerful teeth at work on his bonds, and as he\nlay with his face jammed into the thick dust, and his wounded shoulder\nbegan to throb agonizingly--he had forgotten it until now--he began to\ngather the wandering threads of his consciousness, and it all came\nback to him. How much, he wondered dazedly, had been the nightmares of\ndelirium, born from suffering and the thirst that caked his throat? The\nfight with the Arabs had been real--the bonds and the wounds showed\nthat--but the grisly doom of the shaykh--the thing that had crept out\nof the black entrance in the wall--surely that had been a figment of\ndelirium. Nureddin had fallen into a well or pit of some sort--Steve\nfelt his hands were free and he rose to a sitting posture, fumbling for\na pocket-knife the Arabs had overlooked. He did not look up or about\nthe chamber as he slashed the cords that bound his ankles, and then\nfreed Yar Ali, working awkwardly because his left arm was stiff and\nuseless.\n\n\"Where are the Bedouins?\" he asked, as the Afghan rose, lifting him to\nhis feet.\n\n\"Allah, _sahib_,\" whispered Yar Ali, \"are you mad? Have you forgotten?\nLet us go quickly before the djinn returns!\"\n\n\"It was a nightmare,\" muttered Steve. \"Look--the jewel is back on the\nthrone----\" His voice died out. Again that red glow throbbed about\nthe ancient throne, reflecting from the moldering skull; again in\nthe outstretched finger-bones pulsed the Fire of Asshurbanipal. But\nat the foot of the throne lay another object that had not been there\nbefore--the severed head of Nureddin el Mekru stared sightlessly up\nat the gray light filtering through the stone ceiling. The bloodless\nlips were drawn back from the teeth in a ghastly grin, the staring eyes\nmirrored an intolerable horror. In the thick dust of the floor three\nspoors showed--one of the shaykh's where he had followed the red jewel\nas it rolled to the wall, and above it two other sets of tracks, coming\nto the throne and returning to the wall--vast, shapeless tracks, as of\nsplayed feet, taloned and gigantic, neither human nor animal.\n\n\"My God!\" choked Steve. \"It was true--and the Thing--the Thing I\nsaw----\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSteve remembered the flight from that chamber as a rushing nightmare,\nin which he and his companion hurtled headlong down an endless stair\nthat was a gray well of fear, raced blindly through dusty silent\nchambers, past the glowering idol in the mighty hall and into the\nblazing light of the desert sun, where they fell slavering, fighting\nfor breath.\n\nAgain Steve was roused by the Afridi's voice: \"_Sahib, sahib_, in the\nName of Allah the Compassionate, our luck has turned!\"\n\nSteve looked at his companion as a man might look in a trance. The big\nAfghan's garments were in tatters, and blood-soaked. He was stained\nwith dust and caked with blood, and his voice was a croak. But his eyes\nwere alight with hope and he pointed with a trembling finger.\n\n\"In the shade of yon ruined wall!\" he croaked, striving to moisten his\nblackened lips. \"_Allah il allah!_ The horses of the men we killed!\nWith canteens and food-pouches at the saddle-horns! Those dogs fled\nwithout halting for the steeds of their comrades!\"\n\nNew life surged up into Steve's bosom and he rose, staggering.\n\n\"Out of here,\" he mumbled. \"Out of here, quick!\"\n\nLike dying men they stumbled to the horses, tore them loose and climbed\nfumblingly into the saddles.\n\n\"We'll lead the spare mounts,\" croaked Steve, and Yar Ali nodded\nemphatic agreement.\n\n\"Belike we shall need them ere we sight the coast.\"\n\nThough their tortured nerves screamed for the water that swung in\ncanteens at the saddle-horns, they turned the mounts aside and, swaying\nin the saddle, rode like flying corpses down the long sandy street\nof Kara-Shehr, between the ruined palaces and the crumbling columns,\ncrossed the fallen wall and swept out into the desert. Not once did\neither glance back toward that black pile of ancient horror, nor did\neither speak until the ruins faded into the hazy distance. Then and\nonly then did they draw rein and ease their thirst.\n\n\"_Allah il allah!_\" said Yar Ali piously. \"Those dogs have beaten me\nuntil it is as though every bone in my body were broken. Dismount, I\nbeg thee, _sahib_, and let me probe for that accursed bullet, and dress\nthy shoulder to the best of my meager ability.\"\n\nWhile this was going on, Yar Ali spoke, avoiding his friend's eye, \"You\nsaid, _sahib_, you said something about--about seeing? What saw ye, in\nAllah's name?\"\n\nA strong shudder shook the American's steely frame.\n\n\"You didn't look when--when the--the Thing put back the jewel in the\nskeleton's hand and left Nureddin's head on the dais?\"\n\n\"By Allah, not I!\" swore Yar Ali. \"My eyes were as closed as if they\nhad been welded together by the molten irons of Satan!\"\n\nSteve made no reply until the comrades had once more swung into the\nsaddle and started on their long trek for the coast, which, with spare\nhorses, food, water and weapons, they had a good chance to reach.\n\n\"I looked,\" the American said somberly. \"I wish I had not; I know\nI'll dream about it for the rest of my life. I had only a glance; I\ncouldn't describe it as a man describes an earthly thing. God help me,\nit wasn't earthly or sane either. Mankind isn't the first owner of the\nearth; there were Beings here before his coming--and now, survivals\nof hideously ancient epochs. Maybe spheres of alien dimensions press\nunseen on this material universe today. Sorcerers have called up\nsleeping devils before now and controlled them with magic. It is not\nunreasonable to suppose an Assyrian magician could invoke an elemental\ndemon out of the earth to avenge him and guard something that must have\ncome out of Hell in the first place.\n\n\"I'll try to tell you what I glimpsed; then we'll never speak of\nit again. It was gigantic and black and shadowy; it was a hulking\nmonstrosity that walked upright like a man, but it was like a toad,\ntoo, and it was winged and tentacled. I saw only its back; if I'd seen\nthe front of it--its face--I'd have undoubtedly lost my mind. The old\nArab was right; God help us, it was the monster that Xuthltan called\nup out of the dark blind caverns of the earth to guard the Fire of\nAsshurbanipal!\"","title":"The fire of Asshurbanipal","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":9377}