Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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take a most stringent view of any breach of this instruction."

As Utte handed out the folders, von Schiller looked at each recipient in

turn. His expression made it clear what the penalty would be for any

contravention of his instructions.

Then von Schiller opened the dossier that lay on the tabletop in front

of him. He stood over it, leaning forward on his bunched fists.

"In your folders you will find copies of the Polaroid photographs that

were recovered from Quenton-Harper's camp. Please look at these now."

Each of them opened their own folder.

"Since our arrival Dr Nahoot has had an opportunity to study these, and

he is of the opinion that they are genuine, and that the stele in the

photographs is an authentic artefect of ancient Egyptian origin, almost

certainly dating from the Second Intermediate Period, circa 1790 BC. Is

there anything you wish to add to that, Doctor?"

"Thank you Herr von Schiller." Nahoot smiled  eaginously, but his dark

eyes weren nervous. There was something cold and dispassionate about the

old German that terrified him. He had displayed ro emotion whatsoever as

he ordered Nahoot to arrange the death of Duraid Al Simma and his wife.

Nahoot knew that he would be equally unmoved if he were– to order

Nahoot's own murder. He realized that he was riding the tiger's back. "I

would just like to qualify that statement. I said that the stele

pictured in these prints appeared to be genuine. Of course I would not

be able to give you a definite opinion until I was able to examine the

actual stone at first hand."

"I note your qualificatioq," von Schiller nodded, "and we are assembled

here to find the means to obtain the stele for your examination and

verdict." He picked up the glossy print that Utte had made from the

original that morning in the laboratory darkroom in the adjoining hut.

Photography was not the least of her many talents and skills and she had

done a very competent job. The copies of the Polaroids that Helm had

transmitted to him in Hamburg had been blurred and distorted, but still

they had been sufficient to bring him rushing across the continents in

all this haste. Now he held these clear likenesses in full colour, and

his excitement threatened to suffocate him.

While they were all silent, he caressed the print as lovingly as if it

had been the actual object that it portrayed.

If this were genuine, as he knew instinctively that it was, then it

alone would be well worth the considerable cost in time and money and

human life that he had already paid.

It was a marvelous treasure, to match even the original seventh scroll

which was already in his collection. The condition and state of

preservation of the stele after four thousand years seemed to be

extraordinary. He lusted for it as he had for few things in his long

life. It required an effort to set aside this pervasive longing, and to

apply his mind to the task ahead of him.

If, however, the stele is genuine, Doctor, can you tell us, or rather,

can you suggest to us where it may be situated, and where we should

direct our search?"

"I believe that we should not consider the stele in isolation, Herr von

Schiller. We should look at the other Polaroids that Colonel Nogo was

able to recover for us, and which Frdulein Kemper has so ingeniously

copied." Nahoot set aside the one print and selected another from the

pile in the folder in front of him. "This one, for example."

The others riffled through their own folders and selected the same print

as he was displaying.

"If you study the background of this copy, you will see that in the

shadows behind the stele there appears to be the wall of some type of

cave or cavern." He looked up at von Schiller, who nodded encouragement.

"There also appears to be some type of barred doorway."Nahoot set the

print aside and selected another. "Now, see here. This is a photograph

taken of another subject. It is, I believe, of a mural decoration

painted upon either a plastered wall or the bare rock of a cave,

possibly an excavated tomb, It seems to have been taken through the

grille of the gate which I pointed out to you in the first photograph of

the stele. This mural is almost certainly Egyptian in style and

influence. In fact it very strongly reminds me of those murals that

decorated the tomb of Queen Lostris in Upper Egypt in which the original

Taita scrolls were uncovered."

"Yes. Yes. Go only' von Schiller encouraged him.

"Very well, then. Using the barred gate as the connecting factor, there

is every reason to believe that both stele and murals are located in the

same cave or tomb

"If that is so, what indications do we have as to where Quenton-Harper

photographed these Polaroids7' Von still frowning angrily as he looked

at each of Schiller was jl them in turn. They all tried to avoid his

blue, penetrating scrutiny.

Colonel Nogo," von Schiller singled him out, "this is your country, You

know the terrain intimately. Let's hear our thoughts on the subject."

Colonel Nogo shook his head. "This man, this Egyptian-' he used the

epithet disparagingly, "is mistaken. This is not an Egyptian tomb in the

photographs."

"Why do you say that?" Nahoot challenged him angrily.

"What do you know about Egyptology? I have spent twenty five years-I

"Wait," von Schiller silenced him peremptorily. "Let him finish." He

looked at Nogo. "Go on, colonel."

"I agree that I don't know anything about Egyptian tombs, but these

photographs were taken in a Christian church."

"What makes you so sure? Nahoot demanded bitterly, his authority

challenged.

"Let me explain to you that I was ordained as a priest fifteen years

ago. Later, I became disillusioned with Christianity and all other

religions, and left the Church to may believe become a soldier. I tell

you this so that you that I know what I am talking about." He smiled

with ilious malice at Nahoot, before going on. "Look at superc and you

will be able to make out on this first print again, the wall in the

background, near the corner of the grille gate, the outline of a human

hand and the stylized picture mbols of the Coptic Church. You can see

–of a fish. Those are sy see them reproduced in any church or cathedral

in the land." Each of them peered at their own copy of the same of them

ventured an opinion until von print, but none Schiller had given his,

"You are right," von Schiller said softly. "There is, as you say, the

hand and the fish."

"But I assure you the hieroglyphics on the stele and the murals and the

wooden coffin are all Egyptian," Nahoot . "I would stake my life on it."

defended himself stoutly Nogo shook his head, and began to argue. "I

know what I am saying-'

Von Schiller held up his hand to silence them both while he considered

the problem. At last he came to some decision.

"Colonel Nogo, show me on the satellite photograph the site of

Quenton-Harper's camp where you obtained these Polaroids-'

Nogo stood up, and came around the table to stand beside von Schiller.

He leaned over the atellite photograph and prodded his forefinger at the

spot near where the Dandera river joined the Nile. The photograph had

once been in the possession of Quenton Harper, and had been captured in

the raid on his camp. There were numerous markings in coloured marker

pen on the copy, which Nogo presumed had been placed there by the

Englishman.

"It was here, sir. You can see that Quenton-Harper has marked the spot

with a green circle."

"Now show me where the nearest Coptic church is situated."

"Why, Herr von Schiller, it's right here. Again Quenton-Harper has

marked it with red ink. It is situated only a mile from the campsite.

The monastery of St. Frumentius."

"There is your answer, then." Von Schiller was still  frowning "Coptic

and Egyptian symbols together. The monastery."

They stared at him, none of them daring to question his conclusion.

"I want that monastery searched," he said softly. "I want every room and

every inch of every wall examined." He turned back to Nogo. "Can you get

your men in there?"

"Of course, Herr von Schiller. I already have one of my reliable men in

the monastery – one of the monks is in my pay. Added to that, there is

still martial law in force here in Gojam. I am the military commander. I

am fully mpowered to search for rebels and dissidents and bandits

wherever I suspect they may be sheltering."

"Will your men enter a church to perform their duty?" Helm wanted to

know. "Do you personally have any religious scruples? It may be

necessary to – how can I put it desecrate hallowed premises."

I have already'explained to you that I have renounced religion for other

more worldly beliefs. I would take pleasure in destroying such

superstitious and dangerous symbols as will certainly be found in the

monastery of St. Frumentius. As for my men, I will select only Moslems

or Animists who are hostile to the cross, and all it stands for.

I will lead them personally. I assure you that there will be no

difficulty in that respect."

"How will you explain this to your superiors in Addis Ababa? I do not

want to be associated in any way with your actions at the monastery,'

von Schiller said.

I have been ordered by the high command in Addis to take all possible

steps against the dissident rebels that are operating in the Abbay

gorge. I will be completely able to justify any search of the

monastery."

"I want that stele. I want it at any cost. Do you understand me,

colonel?"

i understand you perfectly, Herr von Schiller."

"As you already know, I am a generous man to those who serve me well.

Bring it to me in good condition and you will be well rewarded. You may

call on Mr Helm for any assistance that he can give you, including the

use of Pegasus equipment and personnel."

"If we are able to use your helicopter, it will save a great deal of

time. I can take my men there tomorrow, and if the stone is in the

monastery I will be able to deliver it to you by tomorrow evening."

"Excellent. You will take Dr Guddabi with you. He must search the area

for other valuables and translate any inscriptions or engravings that

you find in the monastery.

Please provide him with military uniform. He must appear to be one of

your troopers. I do not want to become involved in recriminations at a

later date."

"We will leave as soon as it is light enough to take off tomorrow

morning. I will commence the arrangements immediately." Turna Nogo

saluted von Schiller and strode eagerly from the hut.

hough Colonel Nogo had never entered either the qiddist or the maqdas,

he had often visited the monastery of St. Frumentius. He was therefore

fully aware of the magnitude of the task ahead of him, and the likely

reaction of the monks and the congregation to his forced entry to their

premises. In addition, he was familiar with numerous similar rock

cathedrals in other parts of the country. In fact he had been ordained

in the famous cathedral of Lalibelela, so he knew just how labyrinthine

one of these subterranean warrens could be.

He estimated that he would need at least twenty men to secure and search

the monastery, and to fend off the outraged retaliation of the abbot and

his monks. He selected his best men personally. None of them was

squeamish.

Two hours before dawn he paraded them within the security of the Pegasus

compound, under the glare of the floodlights, and briefed them

carefully. At the end of the briefing he made each man step from the

ranks in turn and recite his orders to ensure there was no

misunderstanding.

Then he inspected their arms and equipment meticulously.

Tuma Nogo was painfully conscious of his own culpability in allowing the

Englishman and the Egyptian woman to escape, and he could sense the

danger in Herr von Schiller's attitude towards him. He had few illusions

about the consequences if he were to fail again. In the short time since

he had made the acquaintance of Gotthold von Schiller, Nogo had come to

fear him as he had never feared God or the Devil in the days of his

priesthood. He realized that this raid was an opportunity to reinstate

himself with the formidable little German.

The jet Ranger was standing by, the pilot at the controls, the engines

running and the rotors turning lazily, but it could not carry such a

large number of fully equipped men. It would need four round trips to

ferry them all down to the asse4bly point in the gorge. Nogo flew with

the first flight, and took Nahoot Guddabi with him. The helicopter

dropped them three miles from the monastery, in a clearing on the banks

of the Dandera river, the same drop area as they had used for the raid

on Quenton-Harper's camp.

The drop area was just far enough from the monastery for the engine

noise of the jet Ranger not to alarm the monks. Even if they did hear

it, Nogo was banking on the probability that they were by this time

thoroughly conditioned to the frequent sorties of the machine, and would

not associate it with any threat to themselves.

The men waited in the darkness, warned to silence and not even allowed

by Nogo to smoke, while the jet Ranger ferried in the remaining

troopers. When the last flight came in Nogo ordered his detachment to

fall in, and led them in single file down the path beside the river.

They were all trained bush fighters in top physical condition, and they

moved swiftly and purposefully through the night.

Only Nahoot was a soft urbanite, and within half a mile he was wheezing

and whining for a chance to rest. Nogo smiled vindictively to himself as

he listened to Nahoot's pathetic whispered pleas for mercy as he was

prodded along by the men behind him.

Nogo had timed his arrival at the monastery to coincide with the hour of

matins and lauds, the break of day. He led his contingent down the cliff

staircase at a trot.

Their weapons were at high port, all the equipment was carefully muted

so as not to clatter or creak, and their rubber-soled paratrooper boots

made little noise on the stone paving as they hurried along the deserted

cloisters to the entrance of the underground cathedral.

From the interior echoed the monotonous chanting and drumming of the

ceremony, punctuated at intervals by the higher treble descant of the

abbot leading the service.

Colonel Nogo paused outside the doors, and his men drew LA up in double

ranks behind him. There was no need for orders for his briefing had

covered every aspect of the raid.

He looked the men over for a moment, then nodded at his lieutenant.

The outer chamber of the church was empty, as the monks were gathered in

the middle chamber, the qiddist.

Nogo crossed the outer nave swiftly, with his detachment moving up close

behind him. Then he ran up the steps to the wooden doors of the qiddist,

which stood open. As he entered, his men fanned out in two files behind

him and swiftly took up their positions along the side walls of the

qiddist, their assault rifles cocked and locked, and with bayonets

fixed, ing cover the kneeling congregation.

and swiftly that it was some it was done so silently minutes before the

monks gradually became aware of this alien presence in their holy place.

The chanting and drumming died away, and the dark faces turned

apprehensively towards the ranks of armed men. Only Jah Hora, the and

happen ancient abbot, was unaware of anything untow ing. Completely

absorbed in his devotions, he continued kneeling before re the doors of

the maqdas, the Holy of Holies, his quavering voice the lonely cry of a

lost soul.

In the silence Co nel Nogo marched down the centre of the nave kicking

the kneeling monks out of his way.

When he came up behind Jah Hora he seized him by his skinny black

shoulder and threw him roughly to the ground. The tinsel crown flew from

his silvered pate and rolled across the slabs with a brassy clatter.

Nogo, left him sprawling and turned to face the rows Of monks in their

white shammw, addressing them imperioUsly in Amharic.

"I am here to search this church and the or-her buildings of this

monastery, on suspicion that there are dissident other bandits harboured

here." He paused and rebels and surveyed the cowering holy men haughtily

and threateningly. "I must warn you that any attempt to prevent my men

performing their duties will be regarded as an act of banditry and

provocation. It will be met with force."

JaIi Hora crawled to his knees and then, using one of the embroidered

hangings for support, Slowly hoisted himself to his feet. Still clinging

to the tapestry of the Virgin and child, he gathered himself with an

effort.

"These are hallowed precincts," he cried, in a surprisingly clear and

strong voice. "We are dedicated to the service and worship of almighty

God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."

"silence? Nogo bellowed at him. He unbuckled the flap of the webbing

holster on his hip and placed his hand threateningly on the grip of the

Tokarev pistol it contained.

at. "We are holy men in a

)a1i Hora ignored the thre place of God. There are no shufta here. There

are no lawthe most high, I breakers amongst US. In the name of God leave

us to our prayers and our call upon you to be gone) to worship, and not

to desecrate Nogo drew the pistol and in the same movement swung the

black steel barrel into the abbot's face with a outh burst open vicious

back-handed blow. jah Hora's  like the rind of a ripe pomegranate; the

red juice burst from  front of his tattered his crushed lips and flooded

down the velvet vestments. A low moan of horror went up from the ranks

of squatting monks.

Still clinging to the tapestry, Jah Hora kept his feet, but he was

swaying and teetering wildly. He opened his shattered mouth to speak

again, but the only sound that came from it was a high-pitched cawing,

like that of a dying crow, and the blood splattered in bright droplets

from his lips.

Nogo laughed and kicked his legs from under him. Jah Hora. collapsed

like a heap of dirty laundry and lay on the paving, groaning in his own

blood and Spittle.

"Where is your God now, you old baboon? Bleat to him as loud as you

will, and he will never answer you,'

Nogo, chuckled.

With the pistol he gestured to his lieutenant across the church. He left

six of his men guarding the monks, four at the doorway and one at each

side wall. The others bunched up and followed him to the entrance to the

maqdas.

The doors were locked. Nogo rattled the ancient padlock impatiently.

"Open this immediately, you old crow!" he shouted at  ali Hora who still

lay in a bundle, moaning and sobbing.

"He is too far gone in senility," the lieutenant shook his head. "His

mind has gone, colonel. He does not understand the command."

"Break it open, then," Nogo ordered, "No, don't waste any more time.

Shoot the lock away. The wood is rotten."

Obediently the lieutenant stepped up to the door, and gestured his men

to stand well clear. He aimed his AK-47 into the wood of the door lintel

and fired a long, continuous burst.

Dust and chips of wood and stone flew in a cloud, and fresh yellow

splinters splattered the paving. The noise of gunfire and the whine of

ricochets was deafening in the echoing hall of the qiddist, and the

monks wailed and howled and covered their ears and their eyes where they

knelt. The lieutenant stepped back from the shattered door. The black

wrought-iron hasp and staple hung at an angle, the supporting woodwork

almost shot through.

"Break it down now!" Nogo ordered, and five of his men ran forward and

put their shoulders to the sagging door. At their combined thrust there

was a crackling, rending sound, and now the monks were screaming' Some

of them had covered their heads with the skirts of their shammas so as

not to have to witness this sacrilege;,others were tearing at their

faces with their fingernails, leaving long bloody gouges down their own

cheeks.

"Again!" roared Nogo, and his men rushed the door once more, using their

shoulders in unison. The lock was ripped away from its fastenings, and

they pushed the massive door fully open and peered into the dim recesses

of I the maqdas beyond. The chamber was lit only by a few smoky oil

lamps.

Now suddenly even these non-Christians were reluctant to cross that

threshold into the holy place. They all hung back, even Tuma Nogo,

despite his defiant Protestations of non-belief.

"Nahoot!" He looked back over his shoulder at the bedraggled and still

sweating Egyptian. "This is your job now. Herr von Schiller has ordered

you to find the things we want. Come here."

As Nahoot came forward, Nogo seized his arm and thrust him. through the

doorway. "Get in there, oh follower of the Prophet. The Trinity of

Christian gods cannot harm you.

He stepped into the maqdas immediately after Nahoot and shone his torch

around the low chamber. The beam of light danced over the shelves of

votive offerings, sparkling on the glass and precious stones, on the

brass and gold and silver. It stopped on the high cedarwood altar,

lighting the Epiphany crown and the chalices, reflected from the

communion plate and the tall silver Coptic cross.

"Beyond the altar," Nahoot cried out with excitement.

"The barred gateway! This is the place where the Polaroids were taken."

He broke away from the group in the doorway and ran wildly across the

chamber. Gripping the bars of the gate in his clenched fists, he peered

between them like a prisoner sentenced to life imprisonment.

"This is the tomb. Bring the light! His voice was a high-pitched and

frantic scream.

Nogo ran to join him, brushing past the damaskcovered tabot stone. He

shone the torch through the bars of the gate.

"By the sweet compassion of God, and the eternal breath of his Prophet,'

Nahoot's voice sank from a scream to a whisper, "these are the murals of

the ancient scribe.

This is the work of the slave Taita." As Royan had done, he recognized

the style and the execution immediately.

Taita's brush was so distinctive, and his talent had outlasted the ages.

"Open this gate!" Nahoot's tone rose again, becoming strident and

impatient

"Here, you men!" Nogo responded, and they crowded around the ancient

structure, trying at first to rip it from the cavern wall by main

strength. Almost at once it became apparent that this was a futile

effort, and Nogo stopped them.

"Search the monks' quarters!" he ordered his lieutenant. "Find me tools

to do the job."

The junior officer hurried from the chamber, taking most of the troopers

with him. Nogo turned from the gate and studied the rest of the interior

of the maqdas.

The stele!" he rasped. "Herr von Schiller wants the stone above

everything else." He played the torch beam, around the chamber. "From

what angle was the Polaroid taken-'

He broke Off abruptly, and held the light on the damask-covered tabot

stone,– on which the velvet-cloaked tabernacle stood.

"Yes," cried Nahoot at his shoulder. "That is it."

Tuma Nogo crossed to the pillar with half a dozen strides and seized the

gold-tasselled border of the tabernacle cloth. He pulled it away. The

tabernacle was a simple chest carved from olive wood, glowing with the

patina that priestly hands had imparted to the wood over the centuries.

"Primitive superstitions," Nogo muttered contemptuously and, picking it

up in both hands, hurled it against the cavern wall. The wood splintered

and the lid of the chest burst open. A stack of inscribed clay tablets

spilled out on to the cavern paving slabs, but neither Nogo nor Nahoot

took any notice of these sacred items.

"Uncover it," Nahoot encouraged him. "Uncover the stone."

Nogo tugged at the corner of the damask cloth, but it caught on the

angle of the pillar beneath it. Impatiently he heaved at it with all his

strength, and the old and rotten material tore with a soft ripping

sound.

Taita's stone testament, the carved stele, was revealed.

Even Nogo was impressed by the discovery. He backed away from it with

the torn covering cloth in his hand.

"It is the stone in the photograph," he whispered. "This is what Herr

von Schiller ordered us to find. We are rich men., His words of avarice

broke the spell. Nahoot ran forward, and threw himself on his knees in

front of the stele. He clasped it with both arms, like a lover too long

deprived. He sobbed softly, and with amazement Nogo saw tears streaming

unashamedly down his cheeks. Nogo himself had considered only the value

of the reward that it would bring. He had never thought that any man

could long so deeply for an inanimate object, especially something so

mundane as this pillar of ordinary stone.

They were still posed like this, Nahoot kneeling at the stele like a

worshipper and Nogo standing silently behind him, when the lieutenant

ran back into the cavern.

Somewhere he had found a rusty mattock with a raw timber handle.

His arrival roused both men from their trance, and Nogo ordered him,

"Break open the gate!'

Although the gate was antique and the wood brittle, it took the efforts

of several men working in relays to rip the stanchions out of. their

foundations in the rock of the cavern wall.

At last, however, the heavy gate sagged forward. As the workers jumped

aside it fell with a shattering crash to the slabs, raising a mist of

red dust that dimmed the light of the lamps and the electric torch.

Nahoot was the first one into the tomb. He ran through the veil of

swirling dust and once again threw himself to his knees beside the

ancient crumbling wooden coffin.

"Bring the light, he shouted impatiently. Nogo stepped up behind him and

shone the torchlight on the coffin.

The portraits of the man were three dimensional, not only on the sides,

but on the lid too. Clearly the artist was the same as the one who had

executed the murals. The upper portrait was in excellent condition. It

depicted a man in the prime of life with a strong, proud face, that of a

farmer or a soldier with a calm and unruffled gaze. He was a handsome

man, with thick blond tresses, skilfully painted as if by someone who

had known him'well and loved him.

The artist seemed to have captured his character, and then eulogized his

salient virtues.

Nahoot looked up from the portrait to the inscription on the wall of the

tomb above it. He read it aloud, and then, with tears still backing up

behind his eyelids, he looked down again at the coffin and read the

cartouche that was painted below the portrait of the blond general.

Tanus, Lord Harrab." His voice choked up with emotion, and he swallowed

noisily and cleared his throat.

This follows exactly the description in the seventh scroll.

We have the stele and the coffin. They are , great and priceless

treasures. Herr von Schiller will be delighted."

"I wish I could believe what you say," Nogo told him dubiously. "Herr

von Schiller is a dangerous man."

"You have done well so far," Nahoot assured him. "It remains only for

you to move the stele and the coffin out of this monastery to where the

helicopter can fly them to the Pegasus camp. If you can do that, you

will be a very rich man. Richer than you ever believed was possible."

This spur was enough for Nogo. He stood over his men as they laboured

around the base of the stele, digging in clouds of dust, levering the

paving slabs out of their mooring. Finally they freed the foundation of

the stele and between them lifted the stone out of the position in which

it had stood for nearly four thousand years.

Only once it was free did they realize the weight of the stone. Although

slender, it was a solid half-ton weight.

Nahoot went back into the qiddist and, ignoring the rows of squatting

monks, pulled down a dozen of the thick woollen tapestries from the

walls and had the troopers carry them back into the maqdas.

He wrapped both the stele and the coffin in the heavy folds of

coarse-spun wool. It was tough as canvas, and afforded the men who were

to carry it a secure handhold.

Ten of the burly troopers were able to lift and carry the stele, while

three men were able to handle the wooden coffin and its desiccated

contents. This left seven armed men free to provide an escort. Then the

heavily burdened procession moved out through the ruined doorway of the

Holy of Holies into the crowded central qiddist, As soon as the

assembled monks realized what they were carrying away with them, a

shocked babble Of voices, of lamentations and exhortations, rose from

the squatting ranks of holy men.

"Quied' Nogo roared. "Silence! Keep these fools quiet."

The guards waded forward into the mass of humanity, clearing a passage

for the treasures they were plundering, laying about them with boot and

rifle butt, shouting at the monks to give way and to let the staggering

porters through.

The hubbub rose louder, the monks encouraging each other with their

howls of protest, whipping themselves into a frenzy of religious

outrage. Some of them leaped to their feet, defying the commands

bellowed at them to remain seated. They crowded closer and closer to the

armed troopers, clutching at their uniforms, chanting and whirling about

them in a challenging display of mounting hostility.

In the midst of this uproar, suddenly the spectral figure of Jali Hora

reappeared. His beard and robes were stained with blood, his eyes were

crazy, bloodshot and staring.

>From his battered lips and ruined mouth issued a long, sustained

shriek. The ranks of dancing monks opened to let him through, and he

rushed like an animated scarecrow with his skirts flapping around his

thin legs straight at Colonel Nogo.

"Get back, you old maniac!" Nogo warned him, and lifted the muzzle of

his assault rifle to fend him away.

Jali Hora was far past any earthly restraint. He did not even check, but

ran straight on to the point of the bayonet that Nogo was aiming at his

belly.

The needle'pointed steel stabbed through his gaudy robes and ran into

the flesh beneath them as easily as a gaff into the body of a struggling

fish. The point of the bayonet emerged from the middle of his back,

pricking through the velvet cloak, all pinkly smeared with the old man's

blood.

Spitted upon the steel, Jali Hora wriggled and contorted, a dreadful

squeal bursting from his bloody lips.

Nogo tried to pull the bayonet free, but the wet clinging suction of the

abbot's guts held the steel fast, and when Nogo jerked harder, Jah Hora