With that Naipal had to be satisfied. He offered the Katari a purse of gold, and the man took it with neither change of expression nor word of gratitude. It would go to the coffers of the Katari, the wizard knew, and so was no cord to bind the fellow, but habit made him try.
When the assassin was gone, Naipal paused only to fetch the golden coffer containing the demon-wrought dagger, then made his way hurriedly to the gray-domed chamber far below the palace. The resurrected warrior stood his ceaseless vigil against a wall, unsleeping, untiring. Naipal did not look at him. The newness was gone, and what was a single warrior to the numbers he would raise from the dead?
Straight to the ivory chest he went, unhesitatingly throwing back the lid and brushing aside the silken coverings. In the mirror there was a single campfire, seen from a great height. For seven days the mirror had shown a fire by night and a small party of riders by day, first on the plains beyond the Himelias, now in the very mountains themselves. Almost out of them, in fact. They moved more slowly than was necessary. It had taken some time for him to realize that they actually followed the caravan bringing the chests to him. Salvation and potential disaster would arrive together.
Seven days of seeing the proof of Karim Singh’s failure had taken much of the sting away though. It no longer affected him as it had, watching possible doom approach. In truth, except for the pain behind his eyes that had come while talking to the Katari, Naipal felt almost numb. So much to do, he thought as he closed the box, and so little time remaining. The strain was palpable. But he would win, as he always did.
Moving quickly, he arranged the khorassani on their golden tripods. The incantations of power were spoken. Fires brighter than the sun leaped and flared and formed a cage. The summoning was cried and with a thunderous clap, Masrok floated before him in the bound void, weapons glowing in five of its eight obsidian fists.
“It is long, O man,” the demon cried angrily, “since you have summoned me. Have you not felt the stone pulse against your flesh?”
“I have been busy. Perhaps I did not notice.” Days since, Naipal had removed the black opal from about his neck to escape that furious throbbing. Masrok had to be allowed to ripen. “Besides, you yourself said that time did not matter to one such as you.”
Masrok’s huge form quivered as though on the point of leaping at the fiery barriers constraining it. “Be not a fool, O man! Within the limits of my prison have I been confined, and only its empty vastness on levels beyond your knowing has saved me. My other selves know that one of the Sivani is no more! How long can I flee them?”
“Perhaps there is no need to flee them. Perhaps your day of freedom is close, leaving those others bound for eternity. Bound away from you as well as from the world.”
“How, O man? When?”
Naipal smiled as he did when a man brought to hopeless despair by his maneuverings displayed the first cracks before shattering. “Give me the location of King Orissa’s tomb,” he said quietly. “Where lies the centuries-lost city of Maharastra?”
“No!” The word echoed ten thousand times as Masrok spun into an ebon blur, and the burning walls of its cage howled with the demon’s rage. “I will never betray! Never!”
The wizard sat, silent and waiting, until the fury had quieted. “Tell me, Masrok,” he commanded.
“Never, O man! Many times have I told you there are limits to your binding of me. Take the dagger that I gave you and strike at me. Slay me, O man, if that is your wish. But I will never betray that secret.”
“Never?” Naipal tilted his head quizzically, and the cruel smile returned to his lips. “Perhaps not.” He touched the golden coffer, but only for an instant. “I will not slay you, however. I will only send you back and leave you there for all of time.”
“What foolishness is this, O man?”
“I will not send you back to those levels vaster than my mind can know, but to that prison you share with your remaining other selves. Can even a demon know fear if its pursuers are also demons? I can only slay you, Masrok. Will they slay you when at last they overtake you? Or can demons devise tortures for demons? Will they kill you, or will you continue to live, to live until the end of time under tortures that will make you remember your prison as the most sublime of paradises? Well, Masrok?”
The huge demon stared at him malevolently, unblinking, unmoving. Yet Naipal knew. Were Masrok a man, that man would be licking his lips and sweating. He knew!
“My freedom, O man?” the demon said at last. “Free of serving you as well?”
“When the tomb is located,” Naipal replied, “and the army buried there is within my grasp, you will have your freedom. With, of course, a binding spell to make certain you can neither harm nor hinder me in the future.”
“Of course,” Masrok said slowly.
The part about the binding spell was perfect, Naipal thought. A concern for his own future safety was certain to convince the demon he meant to go through with the bargain.
“Very well, O man. The ruins of Maharastra lie ten leagues to the west of Gwandiakan, swallowed ages past by the Forests of Ghendai.”
Victory! Naipal wanted to jump to his feet and dance. Gwandiakan! It must be an omen, for the first city at which Karim Singh’s caravan would rest once across the Himelias was Gwandiakan. He must contact the wazam with the scrying glass. He would race to meet the chests there and go immediately to the tomb. But no wonder the ruins had never been found. No road had ever been hewn through the Forests of Ghendai, and few had ever tried to cut its tall trees for their wood. Huge swarms of tiny, stinging flies drove men mad and those who escaped the flies succumbed to a hundred different fevers that wracked the body with pain before they killed. Some men would rather die than enter those forests.
“Maps,” he said suddenly. “I will need maps so my men will not go astray. You will draw them for me.”
“As you command, O man.”
The demon’s weary defeat was triumphal music to Naipal’s ears.
CHAPTER XVIII
From the hills overlooking Gwandiakan, Conan stared at the city in amazement. Alabaster towers and golden domes and columned temples atop tiered, man-made hills of stone spread in vast profusion, surrounded by a towering stone wall leagues in circumference.
“ ’Tis bigger than Sultanapur,” Enam said in awe.