right. We’ll see him,” replied Mabrey. “Send him in.”
A few moments later Pedro bowed the tall Indian and his two companions into the room. The two shorter men stood with arms folded, one at each side of the doorway, but the tall man advanced to meet us.
“I have come,” he said in English as good as our own, "to warn you to leave. You are in great danger.”
“From whom do you bring the warning, and what is the danger?” asked the professor.
The Indian’s face remained expressionless—immobile. “The great god, Nayana Idra, speaks through me. I am his prophet. Not so long ago I warned the man whom you came to seek. He would not heed my warning, and he is gone. So you seek fruitlessly. You dare the wrath of the Divine One in vain. Go now, before it is too late, or on your own heads let the blame rest for that which will follow.”
“Am I to understand that you are theatening us with the vengeance of this fabulous monster living in your alleged bottomless lake?” asked the professor, a trace of anger in his voice. “You seem well educated, and I confess that I am puzzled by a man of your apparent learning professing such superstitions.”
“I have studied the learning of your people,” replied Bahna, evenly, “but I have studied many things besides. You overreach yourself in calling them superstitions. They are the religion of my race, of which I am the hereditary leader. They are truths which you would neither appreciate nor understand. I have come to warn you, neither as a friend nor as an enemy, but solely as the mouthpiece of Nayana Idra, whom I serve.”
“And who, pray tell, is Nayana Ira?”
“Nayana,” said Bahna, with the air of a teacher lecturing a class, “is the Divine One, Creator of All Things. When he chooses to assume physical form he is Nayana Idra, the Terrible One, wreaking vengeance on those who have ignored or defied him.”
“In his physical form,” said the professor, “what does he look like?”
Bahna pointed to one of two great golden discs suspended in the pierced and stretched lobes of his cars. On it was graven a multi-headed serpent like that cut in the rock at the place of sacrifice.
“This,” he said, “is man’s crude conception of his appearance.”
“May I ask,” said Mabrey, “in what manner you received the message which you have conveyed to us from this alleged deity?”
His features as inscrutable as ever, the Indian drew a roll of hand-woven cloth from beneath his garments. Then, glancing about him, as if looking for a place to spread it, he walked to the desk, behind which Anita was sitting, unrolled it, and laid it down before us.
“There,” he said, “is the message. Heed it and you will live. Disregard it, and you will meet with a fate more terrible than you can imagine.”
We looked at the cloth curiously. It was embroidered with hieroglyphic symbols resembling those cut in the face of the sacrificial altar.
“When I awoke this morning,” said Bahna, “this magic cloth was spread over me. The message says: ‘Today there will come to the mountain three white strangers with their servants, to seek him on whom our vengeance had fallen. They are not of our people, and cannot understand our truths. Neither can they become our servants. You will warn them to leave, lest our wrath fall upon them.’ ”
“You seem,” said the professor, “to have cooked up a most interesting, if unconvincing cock-and-bull story. If you are able to make yourself understood to Nayana, you may tell him for us that we will come and go as we please. And now, Bahna, I bid you good afternoon.” By not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did Bahna betray the slightest emotion. Folding his cloth, he replaced it under his clothing and marched majestically through the doorway, followed by the two men who had accompanied him. We watched the three until they disappeared in the jungle. Then the professor reloaded his pipe, lighted it, and sat down in his
A few moments later Pedro bowed the tall Indian and his two companions into the room. The two shorter men stood with arms folded, one at each side of the doorway, but the tall man advanced to meet us.
“I have come,” he said in English as good as our own, "to warn you to leave. You are in great danger.”
“From whom do you bring the warning, and what is the danger?” asked the professor.
The Indian’s face remained expressionless—immobile. “The great god, Nayana Idra, speaks through me. I am his prophet. Not so long ago I warned the man whom you came to seek. He would not heed my warning, and he is gone. So you seek fruitlessly. You dare the wrath of the Divine One in vain. Go now, before it is too late, or on your own heads let the blame rest for that which will follow.”
“Am I to understand that you are theatening us with the vengeance of this fabulous monster living in your alleged bottomless lake?” asked the professor, a trace of anger in his voice. “You seem well educated, and I confess that I am puzzled by a man of your apparent learning professing such superstitions.”
“I have studied the learning of your people,” replied Bahna, evenly, “but I have studied many things besides. You overreach yourself in calling them superstitions. They are the religion of my race, of which I am the hereditary leader. They are truths which you would neither appreciate nor understand. I have come to warn you, neither as a friend nor as an enemy, but solely as the mouthpiece of Nayana Idra, whom I serve.”
“And who, pray tell, is Nayana Ira?”
“Nayana,” said Bahna, with the air of a teacher lecturing a class, “is the Divine One, Creator of All Things. When he chooses to assume physical form he is Nayana Idra, the Terrible One, wreaking vengeance on those who have ignored or defied him.”
“In his physical form,” said the professor, “what does he look like?”
Bahna pointed to one of two great golden discs suspended in the pierced and stretched lobes of his cars. On it was graven a multi-headed serpent like that cut in the rock at the place of sacrifice.
“This,” he said, “is man’s crude conception of his appearance.”
“May I ask,” said Mabrey, “in what manner you received the message which you have conveyed to us from this alleged deity?”
His features as inscrutable as ever, the Indian drew a roll of hand-woven cloth from beneath his garments. Then, glancing about him, as if looking for a place to spread it, he walked to the desk, behind which Anita was sitting, unrolled it, and laid it down before us.
“There,” he said, “is the message. Heed it and you will live. Disregard it, and you will meet with a fate more terrible than you can imagine.”
We looked at the cloth curiously. It was embroidered with hieroglyphic symbols resembling those cut in the face of the sacrificial altar.
“When I awoke this morning,” said Bahna, “this magic cloth was spread over me. The message says: ‘Today there will come to the mountain three white strangers with their servants, to seek him on whom our vengeance had fallen. They are not of our people, and cannot understand our truths. Neither can they become our servants. You will warn them to leave, lest our wrath fall upon them.’ ”
“You seem,” said the professor, “to have cooked up a most interesting, if unconvincing cock-and-bull story. If you are able to make yourself understood to Nayana, you may tell him for us that we will come and go as we please. And now, Bahna, I bid you good afternoon.” By not so much as the flicker of an eyelash did Bahna betray the slightest emotion. Folding his cloth, he replaced it under his clothing and marched majestically through the doorway, followed by the two men who had accompanied him. We watched the three until they disappeared in the jungle. Then the professor reloaded his pipe, lighted it, and sat down in his
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