Once, more than a thousand years before when the
walls of Memphir were young, Asti had lived among men below. But in the
richness and softness which was trading Memphir, empire of empires, Asti
found no place. So He and those who served Him had withdrawn to this
mountain outcrop. And she, Varta, was the last, the very last to bow
knee at Asti's shrine and raise her voice in the dawn hymn--for Lur, as
were all his race, was mute.
Even the loot of Memphir would not sate the shaggy headed warriors who
had stormed her gates this day. The stairway to Asti's Temple was plain
enough to see and there would be those to essay the steep climb hoping
to find a treasure which did not exist. For Asti was an austere God,
delighting in plain walls and bare altars. His last priest had lain in
the grave niches these three years, there would be none to hold that
gate against intruders.
Varta passed between tall, uncarved pillars, Lur padding beside her, his
spine mane erect, the talons on his forefeet clicking on the stone in
steady rhythm. So they came into the innermost shrine of Asti and there
Varta made graceful obeisance to the great cowled and robed figure which
sat enthroned, its hidden eyes focused upon its own outstretched hand.
And above the flattened palm of that wide hand hung suspended in space
the round orange-red sun ball which was twin to the sun that lighted
Erb. Around the miniature sun swung in their orbits the four worlds of
the system, each obeying the laws of space, even as did the planets they
represented.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25