anyway. If he had tried to take it into the tunnel with him, it would almost
immediately have sucked all the life from the narrow column of air among the
hexagons. He drew his fighting knife and, holding both arms out in front of him,
wormed through the opening. His body blocked all but the least glimmer of the
light behind him, and the black basalt drank even that.
Progress was a matter of groping with boot toes and left palm, fighting the
friction of his shoulders and pelvis scraping the rock. Samlor took shallow
breaths, but even so before he had crawled his own length the air became stale.
It hugged him like a flabby blanket as he inched forwards in the darkness. The
music of the water organ was all about him.
The knife-point clinked on the far capstone. Samlor squirmed a little nearer,
prayed to Heqt, and thrust outwards with his left hand. The stone swung aside.
Breathable air flooded the Cirdonian with the rush of organ music.
Too relieved to be concerned at what besides air might wait beyond the opening,
Samlor struggled out. He caught himself on his knuckles and left palm, then
scrabbled to get his legs back under him. He had crawled through the straight
side of a semicircular room. Panels in the arched ceiling fifty feet above his
head lighted the room ochre. It was surely not dawn yet. Samlor realized he had
no idea of what might be the ultimate source of the clear, rich light.
The hydraulic organ must still be at a distance from this vaulted chamber, but
the music made the walls vibrate with its intensity. There was erotic love in