And far away, across those sands, to his
straining sight the "hill" slowly took shape, like a mirage growing
from the drifting sands. He saw great uneven walls, massive battlements; all about crawled the
sands like a living, sensate thing, drifted high about the walls,
softening the rugged outlines. No wonder that at first glance the whole
had appeared like a hill. "Kara-Shehr!" Clarney exclaimed fiercely. "Beled-el-Djinn! The city of
the dead! It wasn't a pipe-dream after all! We've found it--by Heaven,
we've found it! Come on! Let's go!" *       *       *       *       *

Yar Ali shook his head uncertainly and muttered something about evil
djinn under his breath, but he followed. The sight of the ruins had
swept from Steve his thirst and hunger, and the fatigue that a few
hours' sleep had not fully overcome. He trudged on swiftly, oblivious
to the rising heat, his eyes gleaming with the lust of the explorer. It was not altogether greed for the fabled gem that had prompted Steve
Clarney to risk his life in that grim wilderness; deep in his soul
lurked the age-old heritage of the white man, the urge to seek out
the hidden places of the world, and that urge had been stirred to the
depths by the ancient tales. Now as they crossed the level wastes that separated the broken land
from the city, they saw the shattered walls take clearer form and
shape, as if they grew out of the morning sky. The city seemed built
of huge blocks of black stone, but how high the walls had been there
was no telling because of the sand that drifted high about their base;
in many places they had fallen away and the sand hid the fragments
entirely. The sun reached her zenith and thirst intruded itself in spite of zeal
and enthusiasm, but Steve fiercely mastered his suffering. His lips
were parched and swollen, but he would not take that last drink until
he had reached the ruined city. Yar Ali wet his lips from his own
canteen and tried to share the remainder with his friend. Steve shook
his head and plodded on. In the ferocious heat of the desert afternoon they reached the ruin,
and passing through a wide breach in the crumbling wall, gazed on the
dead city. Sand choked the ancient streets and lent fantastic form
to huge, fallen and half-hidden columns. So crumbled into decay and
so covered with sand was the whole that the explorers could make out
little of the original plan of the city; now it was but a waste of
drifted sand and crumbling stone over which brooded, like an invisible
cloud, an aura of unspeakable antiquity. But directly in front of them ran a broad avenue, the outline of which
not even the ravaging sands and winds of time had been able to efface. On either side of the wide way were ranged huge columns, not unusually
tall, even allowing for the sand that hid their bases, but incredibly
massive. On the top of each column stood a figure carved from solid
stone--great, somber images, half human, half bestial, partaking of the
brooding brutishness of the whole city. Steve cried out in amazement. "The winged bulls of Nineveh! The bulls with men's heads! By the
saints, Ali, the old tales are true! The Assyrians did build this city! The whole tale's true! They must have come here when the Babylonians
destroyed Assyria--why, this scene's a dead ringer for pictures I've
seen--reconstructed scenes of old Nineveh! And look!" He pointed down the broad street to the great building which reared at
the other end, a colossal, brooding edifice whose columns and walls
of solid black stone blocks defied the winds and sands of time. The
drifting, obliterating sea washed about its foundations, overflowing
into its doorways, but it would require a thousand years to inundate
the whole structure. "An abode of devils!" muttered Yar Ali, uneasily. "The temple of Baal!" exclaimed Steve. "Come on! I was afraid we'd
find all the palaces and temples hidden by the sand and have to dig
for the gem." "Little good it will do us," muttered Yar Ali. "Here we die." "I reckon so." Steve unscrewed the cap of his canteen. "Let's take
our last drink. Anyway, we're safe from the Arabs. They'd never dare
come here, with their superstitions. We'll drink and then we'll die, I
reckon, but first we'll find the jewel. When I pass out, I want to have
it in my hand. Maybe a few centuries later some lucky son-of-a-gun will
find our skeletons--and the gem. Here's to him, whoever he is!" With which grim jest Clarney drained his canteen and Yar Ali followed
suit. They had played their last ace; the rest lay on the lap of Allah. *       *       *       *       *

They strode up the broad way, and Yar Ali, utterly fearless in the face
of human foes, glanced nervously to right and left, half expecting to
see a horned and fantastic face leering at him from behind a column. Steve himself felt the somber antiquity of the place, and almost found
himself fearing a rush of bronze war chariots down the forgotten
streets, or to hear the sudden menacing flare of bronze trumpets. The
silence in dead cities was so much more intense, he reflected, than
that on the open desert. They came to the portals of the great temple. Rows of immense columns
flanked the wide doorway, which was ankle-deep in sand, and from which
sagged massive bronze frameworks that had once braced mighty doors,
whose polished woodwork had rotted away centuries ago. They passed into
a mighty hall of misty twilight, whose shadowy stone roof was upheld
by columns like the trunks of forest trees. The whole effect of the
architecture was one of awesome magnitude and sullen, breath-taking
splendor, like a temple built by somber giants for the abode of dark
gods. Yar Ali walked fearfully, as if he expected to awake sleeping gods, and
Steve, without the Afridi's superstitions, yet felt the gloomy majesty
of the place lay somber hands on his soul. No trace of a footprint showed in the deep dust on the floor; half a
century had passed since the affrighted and devil-ridden Turk had fled
these silent halls. As for the Bedouins, it was easy to see why those
superstitious sons of the desert shunned this haunted city--and haunted
it was, not by actual ghosts, perhaps, but by the shadows of lost
splendors. As they trod the sands of the hall, which seemed endless, Steve
pondered many questions: How did these fugitives from the wrath of
frenzied rebels build this city? How did they pass through the country
of their foes?--for Babylonia lay between Assyria and the Arabian
desert. Yet there had been no other place for them to go; westward lay
Syria and the sea, and north and east swarmed the "dangerous Medes",
those fierce Aryans whose aid had stiffened the arm of Babylon to smite
her foe to the dust. Possibly, thought Steve, Kara-Shehr--whatever its name had been in
those dim days--had been built as an outpost border city before the
fall of the Assyrian empire, whither survivals of that over-throw fled.