been a religious man, always figured it’d be best if the gods settled things
among themselves … but there were some things that any man-Well, that was a
lie. Not any man, just Samlor hil Samt for sure and probably no other fool so
damned on the whole continent. Well, so be it then; he was a fool and a fanatic,
and before the night finished he’d have spilled the blood of a so-called demon
or died trying.
Because the illumination was from above, Samlor had noticed the bas reliefs only
as patterns of shadows along the walls. The detail struck him as he approached
the archway. He stopped and looked carefully.
The carvings formed a series of panels running in bands across the polished
stone. The faces in each tableau were modelled with a precise detail that made
it likely they were portraits, though none of the personages were recognizable
to Samlor. He peered up the curving walls and saw the bands continuing to the
roof vaults. How and when they had been carved was beyond estimation; the
caravan-master was not even sure he could identify the stone, creamy and mottled
but seemingly much harder than marble.
Time was of indeterminable importance. Knowing that he might have only minutes
to live, Samlor began following some of the series of reliefs. One group of
carvings made clear the unguessed unity between the ‘sorcerer’ Hast-ra-kodi and
the ‘goddess’ Dyareela. Samlor stared at the conclusion of the pattern,
swallowing hard but not speaking. He was unutterably glad he had not donned
either suit of mail when he might have done so.