So near to the Archives was the building set, that Tak caught the two on their way down the opposite side of the hill.
He waved the Bright Spear, afraid to use it. “Stop!” he cried.
They turned to him.
“You did trigger an alarm!” accused the other. He hurried to clasp the belt about his waist.
“Go on, get away!” he said. “I will deal with this one!”
“I could not have tripped an alarm!” cried his companion.
“Get out of here!”
He faced Tak, waiting. His companion continued to retreat down the hill. Tak saw that it was a woman.
“Take it back,” said Tak, panting. “Whatever you have taken, take it back—and perhaps I can cover—”
“No,” said Sam. “It is too late. I am the equal of anyone here now, and this is my only chance to depart. I know you, Tak of the Archives, and I do not wish to destroy you. Therefore, go — quickly!”
“Yama will be here in a moment! And—”
“I do not fear Yama. Attack me or leave me now!”
“I cannot attack you.”
“Then good-bye,” and, so saying, Sam rose into the air like a balloon.
But as he drifted above the ground, the Lord Yama appeared upon the hillside with a weapon in his hands. It was a slender and gleaming tube that he held, with a small butt and a large trigger mechanism.
He raised it and pointed. “Your last chance!” he cried, but Sam continued to rise.
When he fired it, the dome was cracked, high overhead.
“He has taken on his Aspect and raised up an Attribute,” said Tak. “He binds the energies of your weapon.”
“Why did you not stop him?” asked Yama.
“I could not, Lord. I was taken by his Attribute.”
“It does not matter,” said Yama. “The third sentinel will overcome him.”
Binding gravitation to his will, he rose.
As he fled, he grew conscious of a pursuing shadow.
Somewhere just at the periphery of his vision, it lurked. No matter how he turned his head it escaped his sight. But it was always there, and growing.
Ahead, there was a lock. A gate to the outside hovered above and ahead. The Talisman could unbind that lock, could warm him against the cold, could transport him anywhere in the world. . . .
There came a sound of wings, beating.
“Flee!” the voice thundered in his head. “Increase your speed, Binder! Flee faster! Flee faster!”
It was one of the strangest sensations he had ever experienced.
He felt himself moving forward, racing onward.
But nothing changed. The gate was no nearer. For all his sense of tremendous speed, he was not moving.
“Faster, Binder! Faster!” cried the wild, booming voice. “Seek to emulate the wind and the lightning in your going!”
He strove to halt the sense of motion that he felt.
Then the winds buffeted him, the mighty winds that circle through Heaven.
He fought them down, but the voice sounded right next to him now, though he saw nothing but shadow.
“‘The senses are horses and objects the roads they travel,'” said the voice. “‘If the intellect is related to a mind that is distracted, it loses then its discrimination,’ ” and Sam recognized the mighty words of the Katha Upanishad roaring at his back. “‘In this case,’ ” the voice went on, “‘the senses then become uncontrolled, like wild and vicious horses beneath the rein of a weak charioteer.'”
And the sky exploded with lightnings about him and the darkness wrapped him around.
He sought to bind the energies that assailed him, but found nothing with which to grapple.
“It is not real!” he cried out.
“What is real and what is not?” replied the voice. “Your horses escape you now.”
There was a moment of terrible blackness, as if he moved through a vacuum of the senses. Then there was pain. Then nothing.
It is difficult to be the oldest youthgod in the business.
He entered the Hall of Karma, requested audience with a representative of the Wheel, was shown into the presence of the Lord, who had had to forego probing him two days before.
“Well?” he inquired.