The Tempting Of Larry

: The Moon Pool

We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur

of many voices. They parted; out came two--ushers, I suppose, they

were--in cuirasses and kilts that reminded me somewhat of

chain-mail--the first armour of any kind here that I had seen. They

held open the folds.



The chamber, on whose threshold we stood, was far larger than either

anteroom or hall of audience. Not less than three hundre feet long

and half that in depth, from end to end of it ran two huge

semi-circular tables, paralleling each other, divided by a wide aisle,

and heaped with flowers, with fruits, with viands unknown to me, and

glittering with crystal flagons, beakers, goblets of as many hues as

the blooms. On the gay-cushioned couches that flanked the tables,

lounging luxuriously, were scores of the fair-haired ruling class and

there rose a little buzz of admiration, oddly mixed with a

half-startled amaze, as their gaze fell upon O'Keefe in all his

silvery magnificence. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their

roseate radiance.



The cuirassed dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the

inner half--circle was another glittering board, an oval. But of those

seated there, facing us--I had eyes for only one--Yolara! She swayed

up to greet O'Keefe--and she was like one of those white lily maids,

whose beauty Hoang-Ku, the sage, says made the Gobi first a paradise,

and whose lusts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out

hands to Larry, and on her face was passion--unashamed, unhiding.



She was Circe--but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to

the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk hair a threaded

circlet of pale sapphires shone; but they were pale beside Yolara's

eyes. O'Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere

admiration flaming from him. She saw--and, smiling, drew him down

beside her.



It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O'Keefe, were in

white--and I wondered; then with a tightening of nerves ceased to

wonder as there entered--Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he

strode forward a silence fell a tense, strained silence.



His gaze turned upon Yolara, rested upon O'Keefe, and instantly his

face grew--dreadful--there is no other word than that for it.

Marakinoff leaned forward from the centre of the table, near whose end

I sat, touched and whispered to him swiftly. With appalling effort the

red dwarf controlled himself; he saluted the priestess ironically, I

thought; took his place at the further end of the oval. And now I

noted that the figures between were the seven of that Council of which

the Shining One's priestess and Voice were the heads. The tension

relaxed, but did not pass--as though a storm-cloud should turn away,

but still lurk, threatening.



My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the

exquisitely coloured, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands.

Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular

platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet

above the floor, its gleaming surface half-covered with the luminous

petals, fragrant, delicate.



On each side below it, were low carven stools. The curtains parted

and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the

curiously emotion-exciting, octaved drums. They sank into their

places. They touched their instruments; a faint, languorous measure

throbbed through the rosy air.



The stage was set! What was to be the play?



Now about the tables passed other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms

bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the

feasters.



My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marakinoff had

said, clearly it now filled his mind--even to the exclusion of the

wondrous woman beside him. His eyes were stern, cold--and now and

then, as he turned them toward the Russian, filled with a curious

speculation. Yolara watched him, frowned, gave a low order to the Hebe

behind her.



The girl disappeared, entered again with a ewer that seemed cut of

amber. The priestess poured from it into Larry's glass a clear liquid

that shook with tiny sparkles of light. She raised the glass to her

lips, handed it to him. Half-smiling, half-abstractedly, he took it,

touched his own lips where hers had kissed; drained it. A nod from

Yolara and the maid refilled his goblet.



At once there was a swift transformation in the Irishman. His

abstraction vanished; the sternness fled; his eyes sparkled. He leaned

caressingly toward Yolara; whispered. Her blue eyes flashed

triumphantly; her chiming laughter rang. She raised her own glass--but

within it was not that clear drink that filled Larry's! And again he

drained his own; and, lifting it, full once more, caught the baleful

eyes of Lugur, and held it toward him mockingly. Yolara swayed

close--alluring, tempting. He arose, face all reckless gaiety; rollicking

deviltry.



"A toast!" he cried in English, "to the Shining One--and may the hell

where it belongs soon claim it!"



He had used their own word for their god--all else had been in his own

tongue, and so, fortunately, they did not understand. But the contempt

in his action they did recognize--and a dead, a fearful silence fell

upon them all. Lugur's eyes blazed, little sparks of crimson in their

green. The priestess reached up, caught at O'Keefe. He seized the soft

hand; caressed it; his gaze grew far away, sombre.



"The Shining One." He spoke low. "An' now again I see the faces of

those who dance with it. It is the Fires of Mora--come, God alone

knows how--from Erin--to this place. The Fires of Mora!" He

contemplated the hushed folk before him; and then from his lips came

that weirdest, most haunting of the lyric legends of Erin--the Curse

of Mora:



"The fretted fires of Mora blew o'er him in the night;

He thrills no more to loving, nor weeps for past delight.

For when those flames have bitten, both grief and joy take flight--"



Again Yolara tried to draw him down beside her; and once more he



gripped her hand. His eyes grew fixed--he crooned:



"And through the sleeping silence his feet must track the tune,

When the world is barred and speckled with silver of the moon--"



He stood, swaying, for a moment, and then, laughing, let the priestess

have her way; drained again the glass.



And now my heart was cold, indeed--for what hope was there left with

Larry mad, wild drunk!



The silence was unbroken--elfin women and dwarfs glancing furtively at

each other. But now Yolara arose, face set, eyes flashing grey.



"Hear you, the Council, and you, Lugur--and all who are here!" she

cried. "Now I, the priestess of the Shining One, take, as is my right,

my mate. And this is he!" She pointed down upon Larry. He glanced up

at her.



"Can't quite make out what you say, Yolara," he muttered thickly.

"But say anything--you like--I love your voice!"



I turned sick with dread. Yolara's hand stole softly upon the

Irishman's curls caressingly.



"You know the law, Yolara." Lugur's voice was flat, deadly, "You may

not mate with other than your own kind. And this man is a stranger--a

barbarian--food for the Shining One!" Literally, he spat the phrase.



"No, not of our kind--Lugur--higher!" Yolara answered serenely. "Lo,

a son of Siya and of Siyana!"



"A lie!" roared the red dwarf. "A lie!"



"The Shining One revealed it to me!" said Yolara sweetly. "And if ye

believe not, Lugur--go ask of the Shining One if it be not truth!"



There was bitter, nameless menace in those last words--and whatever

their hidden message to Lugur, it was potent. He stood, choking, face

hell-shadowed--Marakinoff leaned out again, whispered. The red dwarf

bowed, now wholly ironically; resumed his place and his silence. And

again I wondered, icy-hearted, what was the power the Russian had so

to sway Lugur.



"What says the Council?" Yolara demanded, turning to them.



Only for a moment they consulted among themselves. Then the woman,

whose face was a ravaged shrine of beauty, spoke.



"The will of the priestess is the will of the Council!" she answered.



Defiance died from Yolara's face; she looked down at Larry tenderly.

He sat swaying, crooning.



"Bid the priests come," she commanded, then turned to the silent room.

"By the rites of Siya and Siyana, Yolara takes their son for her

mate!" And again her hand stole down possessingly, serpent soft, to

the drunken head of the O'Keefe.



The curtains parted widely. Through them filed, two by two, twelve

hooded figures clad in flowing robes of the green one sees in forest

vistas of opening buds of dawning spring. Of each pair one bore

clasped to breast a globe of that milky crystal in the sapphire

shrine-room; the other a harp, small, shaped somewhat like the ancient

clarsach of the Druids.



Two by two they stepped upon the raised platform, placed gently upon

it each their globe; and two by two crouched behind them. They formed

now a star of six points about the petalled dais, and, simultaneously,

they drew from their faces the covering cowls.



I half-rose--youths and maidens these of the fair-haired; and youths

and maids more beautiful than any of those I had yet seen--for upon

their faces was little of that disturbing mockery to which I have been

forced so often, because of the deep impression it made upon me, to

refer. The ashen-gold of the maiden priestesses' hair was wound about

their brows in shining coronals. The pale locks of the youths were

clustered within circlets of translucent, glimmering gems like

moonstones. And then, crystal globe alternately before and harp

alternately held by youth and maid, they began to sing.



What was that song, I do not know--nor ever shall. Archaic, ancient

beyond thought, it seemed--not with the ancientness of things that for

uncounted ages have been but wind-driven dust. Rather was it the

ancientness of the golden youth of the world, love lilts of earth

younglings, with light of new-born suns drenching them, chorals of

young stars mating in space; murmurings of April gods and goddesses. A

languor stole through me. The rosy lights upon the tripods began to

die away, and as they faded the milky globes gleamed forth brighter,

ever brighter. Yolara rose, stretched a hand to Larry, led him through

the sextuple groups, and stood face to face with him in the centre of

their circle.



The rose-light died; all that immense chamber was black, save for the

circle of the glowing spheres. Within this their milky radiance grew

brighter--brighter. The song whispered away. A throbbing arpeggio

dripped from the harps, and as the notes pulsed out, up from the

globes, as though striving to follow, pulsed with them tips of

moon-fire cones, such as I had seen before Yolara's altar. Weirdly,

caressingly, compellingly the harp notes throbbed in repeated,

re-repeated theme, holding within itself the same archaic golden

quality I had noted in the singing. And over the moon flame pinnacles

rose higher!



Yolara lifted her arms; within her hands were clasped O'Keefe's. She

raised them above their two heads and slowly, slowly drew him with her

into a circling, graceful step, tendrillings delicate as the slow

spirallings of twilight mist upon some still stream.



As they swayed the rippling arpeggios grew louder, and suddenly the

slender pinnacles of moon fire bent, dipped, flowed to the floor,

crept in a shining ring around those two--and began to rise, a

gleaming, glimmering, enchanted barrier--rising, ever rising--hiding

them!



With one swift movement Yolara unbound her circlet of pale sapphires,

shook loose the waves of her silken hair. It fell, a rippling,

wondrous cascade, veiling both her and O'Keefe to their girdles--and

now the shining coils of moon fire had crept to their knees--was

circling higher--higher.



And ever despair grew deeper in my soul!



What was that! I started to my feet, and all around me in the

darkness I heard startled motion. From without came a blaring of

trumpets, the sound of running men, loud murmurings. The tumult drew

closer. I heard cries of "Lakla! Lakla!" Now it was at the very

threshold and within it, oddly, as though--punctuating--the clamour, a

deep-toned, almost abysmal, booming sound--thunderously bass and

reverberant.



Abruptly the harpings ceased; the moon fires shuddered, fell, and

began to sweep back into the crystal globes; Yolara's swaying form

grew rigid, every atom of it listening. She threw aside the veiling

cloud of hair, and in the gleam of the last retreating spirals her

face glared out like some old Greek mask of tragedy.



The sweet lips that even at their sweetest could never lose their

delicate cruelty, had no sweetness now. They were drawn into a

square--inhuman as that of the Medusa; in her eyes were the fires of

the pit, and her hair seemed to writhe like the serpent locks of that

Gorgon whose mouth she had borrowed; all her beauty was transformed

into a nameless thing--hideous, inhuman, blasting! If this was the

true soul of Yolara springing to her face, then, I thought, God help

us in very deed!



I wrested my gaze away to O'Keefe. All drunkenness gone, himself

again, he was staring down at her, and in his eyes were loathing and

horror unutterable. So they stood--and the light fled.



Only for a moment did the darkness hold. With lightning swiftness the

blackness that was the chamber's other wall vanished. Through a portal

open between grey screens, the silver sparkling radiance poured.



And through the portal marched, two by two, incredible, nightmare

figures--frog-men, giants, taller by nearly a yard than even tall

O'Keefe! Their enormous saucer eyes were irised by wide bands of

green-flecked red, in which the phosphorescence flickered. Their long

muzzles, lips half-open in monstrous grin, held rows of glistening,

slender, lancet sharp fangs. Over the glaring eyes arose a horny

helmet, a carapace of black and orange scales, studded with foot-long

lance-headed horns.



They lined themselves like soldiers on each side of the wide table

aisle, and now I could see that their horny armour covered shoulders

and backs, ran across the chest in a knobbed cuirass, and at wrists

and heels jutted out into curved, murderous spurs. The webbed hands

and feet ended in yellow, spade-shaped claws.



They carried spears, ten feet, at least, in length, the heads of which

were pointed cones, glistening with that same covering, from whose

touch of swift decay I had so narrowly saved Rador.



They were grotesque, yes--more grotesque than anything I had ever seen

or dreamed, and they were--terrible!



And then, quietly, through their ranks came--a girl! Behind her,

enormous pouch at his throat swelling in and out menacingly, in one

paw a treelike, spike-studded mace, a frog-man, huger than any of the

others, guarding. But of him I caught but a fleeting, involuntary

impression--all my gaze was for her.



For it was she who had pointed out to us the way from the peril of the

Dweller's lair on Nan-Tauach. And as I looked at her, I marvelled that

ever could I have thought the priestess more beautiful. Into the eyes

of O'Keefe rushed joy and an utter abasement of shame.



And from all about came murmurs--edged with anger, half-incredulous,

tinged with fear:



"Lakla!"



"Lakla!"



"The handmaiden!"



She halted close beside me. From firm little chin to dainty buskined

feet she was swathed in the soft robes of dull, almost coppery hue.

The left arm was hidden, the right free and gloved. Wound tight about

it was one of the vines of the sculptured wall and of Lugur's circled

signet-ring. Thick, a vivid green, its five tendrils ran between her

fingers, stretching out five flowered heads that gleamed like blossoms

cut from gigantic, glowing rubies.



So she stood contemplating Yolara. Then drawn perhaps by my gaze, she

dropped her eyes upon me; golden, translucent, with tiny flecks of

amber in their aureate irises, the soul that looked through them was

as far removed from that flaming out of the priestess as zenith is

above nadir.



I noted the low, broad brow, the proud little nose, the tender mouth,

and the soft--sunlight--glow that seemed to transfuse the delicate

skin. And suddenly in the eyes dawned a smile--sweet, friendly, a

touch of roguishness, profoundly reassuring in its all humanness. I

felt my heart expand as though freed from fetters, a recrudescence of

confidence in the essential reality of things--as though in nightmare

the struggling consciousness should glimpse some familiar face and

know the terrors with which it strove were but dreams. And

involuntarily I smiled back at her.



She raised her head and looked again at Yolara, contempt and a certain

curiosity in her gaze; at O'Keefe--and through the softened eyes

drifted swiftly a shadow of sorrow, and on its fleeting wings deepest

interest, and hovering over that a naive approval as reassuringly

human as had been her smile.



She spoke, and her voice, deep-timbred, liquid gold as was Yolara's

all silver, was subtly the synthesis of all the golden glowing beauty

of her.



"The Silent Ones have sent me, O Yolara," she said. "And this is

their command to you--that you deliver to me to bring before them

three of the four strangers who have found their way here. For him

there who plots with Lugur"--she pointed at Marakinoff, and I saw

Yolara start--"they have no need. Into his heart the Silent Ones have

looked; and Lugur and you may keep him, Yolara!"



There was honeyed venom in the last words.



Yolara was herself now; only the edge of shrillness on her voice

revealed her wrath as she answered.



"And whence have the Silent Ones gained power to command, choya?"



This last, I knew, was a very vulgar word; I had heard Rador use it in

a moment of anger to one of the serving maids, and it meant,

approximately, "kitchen girl," "scullion." Beneath the insult and the

acid disdain, the blood rushed up under Lakla's ambered ivory skin.



"Yolara"--her voice was low--"of no use is it to question me. I am but

the messenger of the Silent Ones. And one thing only am I bidden to

ask you--do you deliver to me the three strangers?"



Lugur was on his feet; eagerness, sardonic delight, sinister

anticipation thrilling from him--and my same glance showed Marakinoff,

crouched, biting his finger-nails, glaring at the Golden Girl.



"No!" Yolara spat the word. "No! Now by Thanaroa and by the Shining

One, no!" Her eyes blazed, her nostrils were wide, in her fair throat

a little pulse beat angrily. "You, Lakla--take you my message to the

Silent Ones. Say to them that I keep this man"--she pointed to

Larry--"because he is mine. Say to them that I keep the yellow-haired

one and him"--she pointed to me--"because it pleases me.



"Tell them that upon their mouths I place my foot, so!"--she stamped

upon the dais viciously--"and that in their faces I spit!"--and her

action was hideously snakelike. "And say last to them, you handmaiden,

that if you they dare send to Yolara again, she will feed you to

the Shining One! Now--go!"



The handmaiden's face was white.



"Not unforeseen by the three was this, Yolara," she replied. "And did

you speak as you have spoken then was I bidden to say this to you."

Her voice deepened. "Three tal have you to take counsel, Yolara. And

at the end of that time these things must you have determined--either

to do or not to do: first, send the strangers to the Silent Ones;

second, give up, you and Lugur and all of you, that dream you have of

conquest of the world without; and, third, forswear the Shining One!

And if you do not one and all these things, then are you done, your

cup of life broken, your wine of life spilled. Yea, Yolara, for you

and the Shining One, Lugur and the Nine and all those here and their

kind shall pass! This say the Silent Ones, 'Surely shall all of ye

pass and be as though never had ye been!'"



Now a gasp of rage and fear arose from all those around me--but the

priestess threw back her head and laughed loud and long. Into the

silver sweet chiming of her laughter clashed that of Lugur--and after

a little the nobles took it up, till the whole chamber echoed with

their mirth. O'Keefe, lips tightening, moved toward the Handmaiden,

and almost imperceptibly, but peremptorily, she waved him back.



"Those are great words--great words indeed, choya," shrilled Yolara

at last; and again Lakla winced beneath the word. "Lo, for laya upon

laya, the Shining One has been freed from the Three; and for laya

upon laya they have sat helpless, rotting. Now I ask you

again--whence comes their power to lay their will upon me, and whence

comes their strength to wrestle with the Shining One and the beloved

of the Shining One?"



And again she laughed--and again Lugur and all the fairhaired joined

in her laughter.



Into the eyes of Lakla I saw creep a doubt, a wavering; as though deep

within her the foundations of her own belief were none too firm.



She hesitated, turning upon O'Keefe gaze in which rested more than

suggestion of appeal! And Yolara saw, too, for she flushed with

triumph, stretched a finger toward the handmaiden.



"Look!" she cried. "Look! Why, even she does not believe!" Her

voice grew silk of silver--merciless, cruel. "Now am I minded to send

another answer to the Silent Ones. Yea! But not by you, Lakla; by

these"--she pointed to the frog-men, and, swift as light, her hand

darted into her bosom, bringing forth the little shining cone of

death.



But before she could level it the Golden Girl had released that hidden

left arm and thrown over her face a fold of the metallic swathings.

Swifter than Yolara, she raised the arm that held the vine--and now I

knew this was no inert blossoming thing.



It was alive!



It writhed down her arm, and its five rubescent flower heads thrust

out toward the priestess--vibrating, quivering, held in leash only by

the light touch of the handmaiden at its very end.



From the swelling throat pouch of the monster behind her came a

succession of the reverberant boomings. The frogmen wheeled, raised

their lances, levelled them at the throng. Around the reaching ruby

flowers a faint red mist swiftly grew.



The silver cone dropped from Yolara's rigid fingers; her eyes grew

stark with horror; all her unearthly loveliness fled from her; she

stood pale-lipped. The Handmaiden dropped the protecting veil--and now

it was she who laughed.



"It would seem, then, Yolara, that there is a thing of the Silent Ones

ye fear!" she said. "Well--the kiss of the Yekta I promise you in

return for the embrace of your Shining One."



She looked at Larry, long, searchingly, and suddenly again with all

that effect of sunlight bursting into dark places, her smile shone

upon him. She nodded, half gaily; looked down upon me, the little

merry light dancing in her eyes; waved her hand to me.



She spoke to the giant frog-man. He wheeled behind her as she turned,

facing the priestess, club upraised, fangs glistening. His troop moved

not a jot, spears held high. Lakla began to pass slowly--almost, I

thought, tauntingly--and as she reached the portal Larry leaped from

the dais.



"Alanna!" he cried. "You'll not be leavin' me just when I've found

you!"



In his excitement he spoke in his own tongue, the velvet brogue

appealing. Lakla turned, contemplated O'Keefe, hesitant,

unquestionably longingly, irresistibly like a child making up her mind

whether she dared or dared not take a delectable something offered

her.



"I go with you," said O'Keefe, this time in her own speech. "Come on,

Doc!" He reached out a hand to me.



But now Yolara spoke. Life and beauty had flowed back into her face,

and in the purple eyes all her hosts of devils were gathered.



"Do you forget what I promised you before Siya and Siyana? And do you

think that you can leave me--me--as though I were a choya--like

her." She pointed to Lakla. "Do you--"



"Now, listen, Yolara," Larry interrupted almost plaintively. "No

promise has passed from me to you--and why would you hold me?" He

passed unconsciously into English. "Be a good sport, Yolara," he

urged, "You have got a very devil of a temper, you know, and so have

I; and we'd be really awfully uncomfortable together. And why don't

you get rid of that devilish pet of yours, and be good!"



She looked at him, puzzled, Marakinoff leaned over, translated to

Lugur. The red dwarf smiled maliciously, drew near the priestess;

whispered to her what was without doubt as near as he could come in

the Murian to Larry's own very colloquial phrases.



Yolara's lips writhed.



"Hear me, Lakla!" she cried. "Now would I not let you take this man

from me were I to dwell ten thousand laya in the agony of the

Yekta's kiss. This I swear to you--by Thanaroa, by my heart, and by

my strength--and may my strength wither, my heart rot in my breast,

and Thanaroa forget me if I do!"



"Listen, Yolara"--began O'Keefe again.



"Be silent, you!" It was almost a shriek. And her hand again sought

in her breast for the cone of rhythmic death.



Lugur touched her arm, whispered again, The glint of guile shone in

her eyes; she laughed softly, relaxed.



"The Silent Ones, Lakla, bade you say that they--allowed--me three

tal to decide," she said suavely. "Go now in peace, Lakla, and say

that Yolara has heard, and that for the three tal they--allow--her

she will take council." The handmaiden hesitated.



"The Silent Ones have said it," she answered at last. "Stay you here,

strangers"---the long lashes drooped as her eyes met O'Keefe's and a

hint of blush was in her cheeks--"stay you here, strangers, till then.

But, Yolara, see you on that heart and strength you have sworn by that

they come to no harm--else that which you have invoked shall come upon

you swiftly indeed--and that I promise you," she added.



Their eyes met, clashed, burned into each other--black flame from

Abaddon and golden flame from Paradise.



"Remember!" said Lakla, and passed through the portal. The gigantic

frog-man boomed a thunderous note of command, his grotesque guards

turned and slowly followed their mistress; and last of all passed out

the monster with the mace.