[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
the power did not now expend itself outward in invisible waves like a
carrier-beam which conveyed energy to the Isier and whatever mysterious
receiving-sets and transformers their godlike bodies hid. Power here and now
was being confined and driven back upon itself as a cyclotron drives an ion
stream, faster and faster around wider and wider spirals. What
oscillator-force drove ft Sawyer could not guess, but the axis it spun on was
the same axis the cyclotron uses, pure magnetic force pouring between continua
from
Earth's Pole itself.
And it was unmistakably clear what purpose this wild spiral served. In a
cyclotron the accelerated stream of ions pours at last through an opening that
focuses it down to a narrow pencil of tremendously high-energy particles. In
the planetary cyclotron of the Hall of Worlds, there was no opening in the
artificial chamber the whirling electrons wove. But the pencil of killing
energy escaped, none the less. That opening must exist perhaps in a
dimensional warp the eye could not follow, but where the beam came out no one
could mistake. The deflecting plates that captured it began to light up
gloriously.
For now the eyes of the two masks the Isier Goddesses held were filling with
solid beams of green fire. Twin rays of it flashed like two drawn blades from
each glaring mask-Gorgon glares that crossed in the dazzling air above the
well. Their color was the pale green glow of the cathode fluorescent tube, but
bright with a terrible brilliance the human gaze could not touch.
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Well%20of%20the%20Worlds%20
UC.txt (65 of 76) [2/4/03 10:18:30 PM]
Page 70
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Well%20of%20the%20Worlds%20
UC.txt
And it was doubly terrible to see those pale, serene smiles still fixed upon
the masks as the eyes shot out that killing violence. The cyclotron of the
worlds whirled more and more furiously as victims dropped down the Well of
bubbling flame.
Ring by ring, as the sacrifices dropped, Sawyer was drawn nearer and nearer to
the Well. But he forgot his own danger. He forgot the orbit he whirled on, up
and over and down again around the nucleus that slowly sucked him in.
All he could see or think of in this moment was the conflict between Goddess
and Goddess-elect, fought across the pool where fire instead of water bubbled,
and pale beams lashed and clashed like swords more terrible than any blade
ever forged.
They were well matched. Endlessly the sweeping slashes caught in midair and
hung harmless for a moment before they fell apart and swept treacherously over
or under one another at the vulnerable bodies behind the masks.
For to these blades alone the Isier were vulnerable. He saw that now. He s&w
Nethe suddenly shoot her mask up high above her head at arms' full length,
tilt the beams downward and shear across the
Goddess's left shoulder with a terrible slash of the green beams from the
masks.
The cut bit deep. A dazzling glare sprang out at the impact the same glare
infinitely intensified which had sprung out between Nethe's head and the rock
the Sselli hurled at her on the floating island. That protective flare of
energy still functioned, then. But it was of no avail, even when stepped up to
such blinding power as this, against the slash of the green beams from the
masks.
The Goddess reeled. Her mask-guard dropped for a second, the Gorgon flash from
its eyes cutting emptiness. Her black robe parted along an emerald-glowing
slash and through it a stream of golden blood poured sluggishly. . ..
Golden blood, Sawyer thought. Golden blood! A single, shattering roar went up
from the ring of watching angels as that luminous flood gushed over the
midnight robe. Nethe screamed, a wild, high, ringing cry of triumph-There was
a jolt that made Sawyer's head swim as he dropped again down the stairsteps of
the orbits, this time into the ring only second from the innermost ring of
all. He paid no attention. He was only irritated because the jolt made him
lose his focus for an instant upon the battle.
For Nethe had overreached herself. She had counted too heavily on dealing a
killing stroke, and her mask was too high overhead to parry the Goddess's
snake-like twist of recovery. The golden blood still poured, and one
black-robed arm hung useless, but with the other hand the Goddess flashed her
mask sidewise in a treacherous spiraling sweep. It was an intricate motion,
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]