CHAPTER VII

The Might of Atlantis

A thump from above brought Tony from his crouching position to stand rigidly erect, gaze riveted to the ceiling. He was in time to see a section of it swing down on hinges, letting the body of a man, with arms and legs flailing, drop into the prison. Tony sprang forward, breaking the man’s fall. It was Phil.

Phil’s blond hair was disheveled, a stubble of yellow beard on his face; but his stocky body was as steel-muscled as ever. He still gripped the carbon-gun he had been holding, and his eyes met Tony’s with relief.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” There was no need for more, so deep was the understanding between the brothers. Tony said swiftly, “Anybody after you?”

“Didn’t see anybody.”

“Took ’em by surprise, perhaps. But they’ll be along. We’ve got to work fast while we’ve a chance of getting out of here.” He glanced at the barred door. “We could blast out there with the carbon-gun, but I don’t know the road. Hop on my shoulders, kid. We’re going out through the ceiling.”

Phil handed his brother the gun and climbed deftly onto Tony’s shoulders as the latter knelt. Slowly he rose, steadying Phil with one hand.

“Got—got worried about you when you didn’t show up. I went after you.”

“See if you can open the panel ... Jimmy all right?”

“He’s okay. The kid’s pretty tough ... Got it!”

The hinged panel slid down as Phil’s stubby fingers closed over the edge of the opening. Tony heaved up strongly. For a second Phil hung there; then his body wriggled up, and his weight was gone from Tony’s shoulders.

Simultaneously a cry came from beyond the barred door.

A pale ray lanced out. Tony felt a twinge of agony in his side. Involuntarily he flung up the carbon-gun and fired. The metal door vanished in a blaze of white fires. Whoever had been beyond it had also disappeared without trace.

But there were others coming. Tony traded shots with them. He heard Phil’s voice and risked a glance up. Phil was lying flat, his arm extended down.

“Jump for it!”

“Can’t,” Tony said. “They’d wing me ...”

“You’ve got to. I can hear them coming up here, too.”

“Beat it. Get back to Desquer. Tell him the machine’s in the base of this pyramid. I’m going out this way; there’ll be a better chance of one of us getting through if we take different routes. Beat it!”

There was a pause, punctuated by the snarl of the carbon-gun. Then Phil said, “Okay. Luck!”

His feet scraped on the stone above. The panel slammed shut. Tony made a wry face, realizing that Phil was unarmed. But he had a better chance of escape than Tony himself, for a dozen or more of priests was blocking the passage that led—perhaps!—to freedom.

Tony fired again. The foremost of the priests went down, and the others hesitated. The gun crackled savagely. One priest broke and fled—and the others followed.

* * * * *

Tony hurried after them, every sense on the alert. The passage was apparently bare, and silent save for the dying thump of flying feet; but he guessed that there might be traps. Would this road lead to escape? And—had Phil escaped safely? There was no way of knowing—yet.

The passage stretched empty before Tony. He gripped the gun, feeling in its cold metal a reassurance against even the danger of Thotmes and his powers. There was no limit to the weapon’s potentialities. The stronger the charge, the more effective the results. With a powerful enough charge, Tony thought sardonically, he could bring down the whole pyramid. Unfortunately he had no ammunition, save for the clip in the gun’s butt.

At a side passage he hesitated, realizing that the new tunnel led up. The priests would not expect him to take this path—so he did so. And, as it turned out, he was wise.

He came out on a little balcony overlooking the sloping ramp of the pyramid. Beneath him the massive piles of masonry fled down like gigantic steps, and Tony hesitated as he glanced down. A noise from behind him, along the passage, helped him make his decision.

It was almost too late. A priest burst into view, mouth open in a soundless scream, raising a short metal rod in one hand. Tony flung up the carbon-gun and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

The ammunition was exhausted.

Tony’s reaction was involuntary and instinctive. He flung the gun straight at the priest’s face and ducked, diving in at his opponent. A beam of light lanced out over Tony’s head. Then he crashed into the priest’s knees and brought the man down heavily.

There was no time for ethics. Tony struck low and hard. He left the priest unconscious and vaulted the balcony’s rail. Down the slope of the pyramid he sprang, leaping along the huge steps made by the giant blocks, risking his neck at every jump. But—he made it.

Once at the base of the pyramid, he was comparatively safe. Out of the red glow the shadows were heavy, and Tony took advantage of them to slink away toward the wall of the cavern he could see far ahead of him. But before he did so he made a brief scouting trip, hoping to find Phil. It was useless. Either Phil had already made good his escape, or else he had fallen victim to the priests of Thotmes.

There was no sign of excitement. Tony wondered why. Perhaps the escape of prisoners was of little importance to the Atlanteans. They were too self-confident—with good reason, it might be. Science that could rip the Earth asunder was not easily to be conquered.

Near the door of the Temple of Osiris Tony quickened his pace. The sound of hoarse breathing and shuffling footsteps came to his ears. On the threshold he hesitated, staring, but saw nothing in the dimness of the interior. Wait! Far down beneath the dais were two motionless bodies. One was that of Captain Brady, of course. But the other—

Tony broke into a run. Yet he retained caution enough to move as silently as possible, though he could hardly repress a shouted question. Had the Atlanteans found the intruders in Alu? Was the body that of Desquer, or—Jimmy?

It was neither! Tony stumbled over a carbon-gun, snatched it up in one motion, and simultaneously saw that beside the figure of Brady lay Phil, unconscious and bloodstained, red fluid seeping from a gaping hole in his chest. But Tony could spare only one glance at his brother. Beside him, between the pillars that towered to the roof, two men were locked in conflict—Jimmy and Commander Desquer!

* * * * *

Jimmy was getting the worst of it. He was weaponless and trying to hold on to the hand in which Desquer held his gun. The commander was slowly breaking his opponent’s grip. No expression showed in the Legion officer’s face, but his eyes were black and deadly as wet velvet. Jimmy was gasping and bleeding from a cut over one eye, almost exhausted.

Tony said, his voice like a whiplash, “_Drop that gun, Desquer!_”

The commander’s reaction was unexpected. All in one swift motion he released Jimmy and flung himself back. Hidden in the shadow of the pillars, he fired at Tony.

The shot missed. Tony lifted his own weapon—the one Jimmy had apparently dropped—but Desquer was fleeing, dodging in and out like a phantom. Why the devil—! Then Tony knew why. Desquer was no coward. But, on the other hand, he was no fool. He had run out of ammunition. A cartridge belt on the floor, its buckle torn off, explained the reason. In the fight Desquer had lost the belt.

He vanished through the door of the temple and was gone. Tony stared at Jimmy. “What the hell?”

The boy was white and gasping. “Phil got back. He’d seen you in the pyramid—told us where the machine was. But he’d been wounded—”

“Yeah. Keep talking, kid.” Tony was kneeling beside the unconscious form of Phil, rendering such first aid as he could.

“Desquer sent me outside to keep guard. I heard Phil yell, and came running in. I was just in time to see Desquer—” The boy swallowed. “He killed Phil, Tony. Shot him through the chest. I tried to stop him—and then you came in.”

Phil’s eyelashes flickered. Tony gave Jimmy the gun. “Okay. Run along and keep guard again. Watch out for Desquer. If he shows up—”

“I’ll use the gun.” There was deadly grimness in the young voice. Jimmy’s hand closed over the weapon; he hurried off down the dark aisle.

Phil was looking up at his brother, a wry grin twisting his lips. “So you got out of the pyramid too, eh? Good.”

“What happened, boy?” Tony was futilely trying to stanch the flow of blood.

“Nothing much. Desquer didn’t bandage me up after I got here. He searched me, instead. Found nothing, of course. But—he asked me where the Earth Star was.”

There was a little silence. Tony whispered, “How—”

“I don’t know. Desquer found out something. He’s after the gem. Thought I had it, and when he couldn’t find it on me, he tried to make me talk. His methods weren’t very—nice. That’s when I yelled, I guess. I jumped at Desquer. Found out I wasn’t as badly wounded as I’d thought. He shot me through the chest.”

Phil coughed. “Might as well stop trying, Tony. I’m the first of us to go. I’ve a hunch there’ll be another. But one of us three ought to pull through.”

“I’ll get Desquer,” Tony said very softly. His thin, dark face was a grim mask of copper.

“Thanks. And keep an eye on the kid, will you? I—I—” A gush of blood came from Phil’s mouth. He coughed rackingly. Tony hurriedly ripped off his shirt to improvise an additional bandage.

But it was useless. Ten minutes later Tony stood silently beside the body of his brother, looking down at the stolid features, relaxed utterly now in death. The shadows of the temple of Osiris pressed in heavily. It was, in a way, fitting that death should have come for Phil in Alu, the asphodel land where Egyptians thought the souls went to roam endlessly.

Tony turned and walked slowly along the aisle. At the threshold of the temple he turned and looked back. Phil would rest there forever, perhaps—and it was such a sarcophagus as few men have ever possessed.

“Don’t move,” a low voice commanded. “Not an inch! _Careful!_”

[Illustration: “Don’t move! Not if you value your lives!”]

But Tony’s reaction was involuntary as he whirled. Almost beside him, but out of easy reach, was Commander Desquer. In his hand was a carbon-gun, and another was in his holster. The man’s glittering eyes watched Tony icily from under the shaggy penthouse brows.

“Careful!” Desquer repeated. “Your brother wasn’t.”

“Where is he?”

“There.... He isn’t hurt. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Just stunned. My gun wasn’t loaded, but his was. So—”

Desquer grinned and passed his palm over his shaved scalp. “Revive him. Quick!” he barked as Tony hesitated.

* * * * *

The latter silently went to where Jimmy lay huddled against the wall of the temple. He knelt beside the boy and began to slap his cheeks. He glanced up once to see the Commander watching him narrowly.

Desquer said, “Where’s the Earth Star? You got it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony grunted.

“No? Then let me explain. That televisor call that took me to the surface—it was from a man named Zadah, the secretary of a certain Rajah. He told me all about you. Offered me a fortune if I got the jewel back for him. Well—I intend to. I’m sick of the Legion, and this is my chance to buy my way out and live like a prince. So—where’s the stone?”

Tony told him, but his remark was unprintable. Desquer’s thick lips twisted in a sneer.

“Very well. But I’ll get it, remember that.”

“A lot of good it’ll do you now.”

“I’ll get out of here. But first we’re going to destroy that machine of Thotmes. Your brother’s waking up. Bring him along. We’re heading for the pyramid.”

Grimly Tony hoisted the half-unconscious Jimmy to his feet and supported him. “We’re unarmed. There are scores of priests—”

“You’re going to stay unarmed,” Desquer snapped. “I can handle a gun better than any three men. _Allons!_”

Tony grunted and started out, carrying most of Jimmy’s weight on his shoulders as the boy slowly recovered from the blow that had stunned him. His lips were a tight, pale line. Both he and Jimmy were completely in Desquer’s power, and the man was so completely an egotist that he had not hesitated to carry out his own plans even in the face of a doom that threatened the entire Earth. Ruthless Desquer was—but of his icy courage there could be no doubt. Nor of his greed! Tony sensed something of the driving power within the man, the desolate years of loneliness in Sub-Sahara, a prison worse for Desquer, perhaps, than for any other man there.

They moved toward the pyramid, keeping to the shadows. Tony and Jimmy preceded their captor, conscious always of the gun leveled unerringly at their backs. There was neither sign nor movement to indicate the presence of the Atlanteans.

“How do you expect to get to the machine?” Tony asked finally. “It’s guarded.”

“I can outshoot a dozen Copts,” Desquer said confidently. “We’re going straight in. We’ll find a guide—make him guide us. If anyone gets in our way, he’ll regret it. We’re going in, smash the machine, and come out again. And then—I’ll find out which of you has the Earth Star.”

Tony didn’t reply. He went on, his mind desperately searching for a plan. But it seemed hopeless. There was no way out.

Finally only a broad plaza separated them from the pyramid. At its edge the trio paused. Desquer said, “We’ll skirt around to that building—see it? It juts into the open space ... I don’t see any guards, but there may be some.”

The three were standing in the shadow at the corner of a tall stone obelisk. And without warning a score of figures dropped down upon them, in utter silence—and with murderous fury.

Desquer’s guns were in his hands. The snarling crackle of the carbon-pistols rapped out, awakening echoes in the dead city. Tony could not see the commander; he was borne down under a press of bodies, struggling furiously. Beside him he heard Jimmy cursing and striking out weakly. The Atlantean priests were not using their ray-projectors, perhaps because they depended on weight of numbers. That was their mistake!

* * * * *

It was Desquer’s fearless savagery turned the tide of battle. His guns bellowed without ceasing. Thrice he went down, rising at last a gargoylish, hideous figure, dripping with blood from a dozen wounds, his bare scalp shining blackly in the red light. One by one and two by two he killed, mercilessly, viciously, finally clubbing his pistol to dispose of the last of the priests, who was atop Tony.

“Can’t waste ammunition,” he growled. “Get up! Both of you! Hurry!”

Tony stood up, Jimmy beside him. A few of the priests _had_ escaped, he saw, and were even now fleeing toward the temple. Desquer raised his gun, hesitated, and lowered it.

“Come on!”

Tony stared. Scores—no, more than a hundred priests were pouring from the pyramid, forming a phalanx massing itself to guard the threshold. In the lead stood Thotmes, his spade beard making him easily recognizable. The fleeing priests joined their companions, and the little army stood in silence.

“Not using their ray-projectors,” Tony said. “Guess they’re good only at short range.”

Desquer snarled, “Come on!” His guns snouted forward, urging his captives on. Slowly they moved across the plaza.

The commander fired. A priest fell, screaming. The ranks closed in, hiding him from view.

Again and again Desquer fired. His gun clicked on an empty chamber; he emptied the other one. Then he reached for his belt—and Tony heard him curse.

“_Dieu!_ Those damned Copts! The priests—they got my ammunition belt in the fight!”

Tony stopped, turned. Desquer was standing straddle-legged, the carbon-pistols, futile without coal, pointing at the priests. His face was set into rock-hard lines.

Thotmes shouted something and lifted the missing ammunition belt in one hand. He raised it tauntingly.

“Got any coal?” Desquer rasped. The other two men shook their heads.

The priests began to move forward.

Tony said, “You can’t destroy the machine now, Desquer. You’ve doomed the world—and yourself.”

Desquer’s knuckles were white; he stood as though carven from granite. His jet eyes squinted at the oncoming mob.

Jimmy started to laugh. “How do you like it, Desquer?” he mocked. “You’re not the commander now. You’re just a guy with an empty gun. And—you’re going to die, Desquer. _You’re going to die!_”