At any rate it was possible that Kara-Shehr had outlasted Nineveh by
some centuries--a strange, hermit city, no doubt, cut off from the rest
of the world. Surely, as Yar Ali had said, this was once fertile country, watered by
oases; and doubtless in the broken country they had passed over the
night before, there had been quarries that furnished the stone for the
building of the city. Then what caused its downfall? Did the encroachment of the sands and
the filling up of the springs cause the people to abandon it, or was
Kara-Shehr a city of silence before the sands crept over the walls? Did
the downfall come from within or without? Did civil war blot out the
inhabitants, or were they slaughtered by some powerful foe from the
desert? Clarney shook his head in baffled chagrin. The answers to those
questions were lost in the maze of forgotten ages. "_Allaho akbar!_" They had traversed the great shadowy hall and at
its further end they came upon a hideous black stone altar, behind
which loomed an ancient god, bestial and horrific. Steve shrugged his
shoulders as he recognized the monstrous aspect of the image--aye,
that was Baal, on which black altar in other ages many a screaming,
writhing, naked victim had offered up its naked soul. The idol embodied
in its utter, abysmal and sullen bestiality the whole soul of this
demoniac city. Surely, thought Steve, the builders of Nineveh and
Kara-Shehr were cast in another mold from the people of today. Their
art and culture were too ponderous, too grimly barren of the lighter
aspects of humanity, to be wholly human, as modern man understands
humanity. Their architecture was repellent; of high skill, yet so
massive, sullen and brutish in effect as to be almost beyond the
comprehension of moderns. The adventurers passed through a narrow door which opened in the end of
the hall close to the idol, and came into a series of wide, dim, dusty
chambers connected by column-flanked corridors. Along these they strode
in the gray ghostly light, and came at last to a wide stair, whose
massive stone steps led upward and vanished in the gloom. Here Yar Ali
halted. "We have dared much, _sahib_," he muttered. "Is it wise to dare more?" Steve, aquiver with eagerness, yet understood the Afghan's mind. "You
mean we shouldn't go up those stairs?" "They have an evil look. To what chambers of silence and horror may
they lead? When djinn haunt deserted buildings, they lurk in the upper
chambers. At any moment a demon may bite off our heads." "We're dead men anyhow," grunted Steve. "But I tell you--you go on back
through the hall and watch for the Arabs while I go upstairs." "Watch for a wind on the horizon," responded the Afghan gloomily,
shifting his rifle and loosening his long knife in its scabbard. "No
Bedouin comes here. Lead on, _sahib_. Thou'rt mad after the manner of
all Franks, but I would not leave thee to face the djinn alone." So the companions mounted the massive stairs, their feet sinking deep
into the accumulated dust of centuries at each step. Up and up they
went, to an incredible height, until the depths below merged into a
vague gloom. "We walk blind to our doom, _sahib_," muttered Yar Ali. "_Allah il
allah_--and Muhammad is his Prophet! Nevertheless, I feel the presence
of slumbering Evil and never again shall I hear the wind blowing up the
Khyber Pass." Steve made no reply. He did not like the breathless silence that
brooded over the ancient temple, nor the grisly gray light that
filtered from some hidden source. Now above them the gloom lightened somewhat and they emerged into a
vast circular chamber, grayly illumined by light that filtered in
through the high, pierced ceiling. But another radiance lent itself to
the illumination. A cry burst from Steve's lips, echoed by Yar Ali. *       *       *       *       *

Standing on the top step of the broad stone stair, they looked directly
across the broad chamber, with its dust-covered heavy tile floor and
bare black stone walls. From about the center of the chamber, massive
steps led up to a stone dais, and on this dais stood a marble throne. About this throne glowed and shimmered an uncanny light, and the
awe-struck adventurers gasped as they saw its source. On the throne
slumped a human skeleton, an almost shapeless mass of moldering bones. A fleshless hand sagged outstretched upon the broad marble throne-arm,
and in its grisly clasp there pulsed and throbbed like a living thing,
a great crimson stone. The Fire of Asshurbanipal! Even after they had found the lost city
Steve had not really allowed himself to believe that they would find
the gem, or that it even existed in reality. Yet he could not doubt the
evidence of his eyes, dazzled by that evil, incredible glow. With a
fierce shout he sprang across the chamber and up the steps. Yar Ali was
at his heels, but when Steve would have seized the gem, the Afghan laid
a hand on his arm. "Wait!" exclaimed the big Muhammadan. "Touch it not yet, _sahib_! A curse lies on ancient things--and surely this is a thing triply
accursed! Else why has it lain here untouched in a country of thieves
for so many centuries? It is not well to disturb the possessions of the
dead." "Bosh!" snorted the American. "Superstitions! The Bedouins were scared
by the tales that have come down to 'em from their ancestors. Being
desert-dwellers they mistrust cities anyway, and no doubt this one
had an evil reputation in its lifetime. And nobody except Bedouins
have seen this place before, except that Turk, who was probably half
demented with suffering. "These bones may be those of the king mentioned in the legend--the dry
desert air preserves such things indefinitely--but I doubt it. May be
Assyrian--most likely Arab--some beggar that got the gem and then died
on that throne for some reason or other." The Afghan scarcely heard him. He was gazing in fearful fascination at
the great stone, as a hypnotized bird stares into a serpent's eye. "Look at it, _sahib_!" he whispered. "What is it? No such gem as this
was ever cut by mortal hands! Look how it throbs and pulses like the
heart of a cobra!" Steve was looking, and he was aware of a strange undefined feeling of
uneasiness. Well versed in the knowledge of precious stones, he had
never seen a stone like this. At first glance he had supposed it to be
a monster ruby, as told in the legends. Now he was not sure, and he had
a nervous feeling that Yar Ali was right, that this was no natural,
normal gem. He could not classify the style in which it was cut, and
such was the power of its lurid radiance that he found it difficult to
gaze at it closely for any length of time. The whole setting was not
one calculated to soothe restless nerves. The deep dust on the floor
suggested an unwholesome antiquity; the gray light evoked a sense of
unreality, and the heavy black walls towered grimly, hinting at hidden
things. "Let's take the stone and go!" muttered Steve, an unaccustomed panicky
dread rising in his bosom. "Wait!"