THE JEWELED PAGODA
Doc Savage had recognized Monk even before he came out of the circular opening—recognized his fist, rather, for it was doubtful if a more furry and knobbed set of knuckles were in existence.
The huge, hairy fist was the most welcome sight Doc had seen in many days, since it signified that the pleasantly ugly chemist was alive and hinted that the other four of Doc’s men might also be intact.
“Monk!” Doc rapped.
“Doc!” Monk echoed, then grabbed Evall. “Man, I’m gonna clean this guy’s plough!”
“Later!” Doc told him. “Where are the other four?”
With manifest reluctance Monk released Evall, turned and indicated other cells, then lent a hand at opening them.
Big-fisted Renny was the next to appear; then skeleton-thin Johnny and Long Tom, somewhat more pale than usual, if that was possible. Ham scrambled out of the last cell.
Under Ham’s arm was a squirming bundle of gristle and coarse hair to which were attached long legs and wing-sized ears.
“Blast it!” Ham grated. “Who put them up to throwing this hog in with me?”
“Habeas Corpus!” Monk howled, appropriating his pet from Ham.
In the excitement and boisterous pleasure of reunion, danger had suddenly seemed far away, something of minor consequence. But now an ominous reverberation of drums swept the weird metropolis and yells went up, the sounds washing like a cold rain over the warmth of their joy.
Doc’s five men, it became instantly apparent, had no conception of their position. They stared around, greatly bewildered, and sighting one of the big, brown men in a head-studded costume, started violently and eyes all but popped from their sockets.
“Ham, d’you see what I do?” Monk gulped.
Ham nodded slowly. “At last I’ve found it!”
“You crazy?” Monk snorted. “Found what?”
“Something with the shape of a man that is uglier than you are,” Ham said unkindly, unable to pass the chance for a dig at Monk.
Monk took it with a wry grin, but made no retort, collaring Evall instead and demanding to know the nature of the monster with the multiplicity of heads.
Evall, being frightened to an ague of Monk’s iron-hard fists, jumbled his words in his haste to explain that the apparition was merely a big brown man in a head-speckled costume.
Doc Savage in the meantime was busy opening the remainder of the dungeons, getting for his pains several rogues—almond-faced Asiatics all—who had comprised the crews of Sen Gat’s planes.
Renny gave Doc assistance in freeing them.
“We passed out on a river sandbar,” Renny explained, “and woke up here!”
Doc nodded. “I found your tracks. It looked like the crocodiles had gotten you. But the members of The Thousand-headed Man cult, after overcoming you, must have carried you off. They were clever enough to leave no tracks. They probably used boats.”
The great hullabaloo of drumming had been rampant during the past few moments. Now it subsided slowly until the clamor died entirely in a few throbbing beats, and from the outskirts of the city came much shouting. This indicated that big, brown men, called in from the jungle by the drums, were arriving in numbers.
Monk, finishing with Evall, glanced about thoughtfully, then approached Doc and Renny. Monk’s shirt was tightly buttoned to the neck, this being unusual to a degree, since the apelike chemist had a habit of shedding his shirt when a fight impended and etiquette permitted.
“Say, there’s a flock of them head-covered guys,” Monk grunted. “They’ve got us surrendered. Hadn’t we better be doin’ things?”
Renny shoved out his huge fists. “Let’s rush ’em, Doc.”
“We couldn’t do worse,” Doc told him.
“How come?”
“The cobras,” said Doc.
“Cobras?” Renny’s stupefied expression, the kindred look on Monk’s features, gave proof that they knew nothing of the venom-throwing serpents.
“Have you two ever heard that old argument about whether a cobra can throw its venom or not?” Doc asked. “It’s about like the question of a porcupine throwing its quills, or not throwing them.”
“I’ve heard the argument,” Monk admitted. “The snakes don’t throw their venom. That argument may come from the fact that the reptiles strike so quick that the eye——”
“You’ll have to change your ideas,” Doc told him.
With rapid sentences, the bronze man told of the cobras with which they had to cope.
“Possibly the snakes were originally a venom-throwing species of which science knows nothing,” he finished. “Again, the quality of expelling their poison might have been developed by the ancestors of these worshippers of The Thousand-headed Man. Since this poison is not like cobra venom of the accepted type, the latter belief seems credible.”
Long Tom, the pale electrical wizard, came up. “Doc, it looks like they’ve got us hemmed in,” he said.
The bronze man nodded, then did some reconnoitering on his own, finding it as Long Tom had said. On three sides, the many-headed men swarmed with their rattan baskets, while on the fourth flank, in the direction of the jeweled pagoda, there were fewer foes. The enemy seemed to have realized this, since natives could be seen moving toward the pagoda to reënforce that side.
Doc studied the Pagoda of the Heads, observing the steep steps that led to the edifice and the comparative smallness of the doors. From his present vantage point he could see that the pavement at the top of the pagoda steps was composed of small, white stones, these apparently being set without mortar, so that they might be loosened readily. These could be used as missiles.
“We can make it to that pagoda,” he decided
“Reckon that’s our best move,” Renny agreed.
They launched the charge for the bejeweled structure at once, Doc leading, his hands full of stones. The others trailed him, Copeland, his wife and daughter keeping close together, the joy of their reunion not yet having been dispersed by their undoubted peril.
Evall, Sen Gat, and the others formed a compact group.
Huge brown men yelled angrily as the pagoda rush started. They scuttled forward, rage making them bolder. Loosening the lids on their rattan baskets, they hurled these containers ahead as far as they could, then withdrew.
The baskets opened and cobras fell out, greatly agitated by the rough treatment. The reptiles writhed toward Doc’s party.
Doc hurled stones, picking off the foremost of the serpents. Monk and the others, finding some of the cobbles could be loosened with fingers, joined the barrage.
They kept all but one of the reptiles at a safe distance, the exception being a snake which wriggled close enough to make one of Sen Gat’s fliers dizzy.
“I oughta leave ’im!” Monk growled, then seized the fellow and guided him along with them.
The pagoda steps were steep, some of the weakened prisoners had trouble with them.
Once inside the structure, they found the architecture differed greatly from the pagodas which they had found in the jungle. There was much woodwork here, tough and tawny jati wood for the most part. The woodwork was elaborately carved, covered with plates of rare, beaten metals and encrusted with exquisite brilliants.
No large rooms were inside the pagoda, the edifice being rather a labyrinth of cubicles, passages and tiny chambers. These were irregularly shaped, and Doc abruptly realized they were intended to represent the cavities inside the human head.
“Scatter and hunt weapons!” he directed.
Obeying the bronze man’s order, the gaunt Johnny scrambled up into a slit of a passage which was possibly some prehistoric architect’s idea of a sinus channel. The geologist reached the level of the head-shaped pagoda’s eyes, peered out, and saw that the paved area on all sides of their retreat now swarmed with basket-carrying foes.
“Thousands of them!” Johnny breathed, and shivered.
He was suddenly appalled by their predicament, it having come to him that their chances of escaping were small. They had no really effective weapons. True, there were the stones which they could throw, but with the coming of darkness, now imminent, they could never hope to keep all of the cobras at the distance of fifty feet or so which safety demanded.
Monk clambered up and joined Johnny.
“Monk, you’re a chemist,” the geologist said uneasily. “What’re our chances of rigging up gas masks effective against this venomous vapor?”
“Slim,” said Monk. “I just asked Doc about it. He thinks the blasted stuff takes effect when it touches the skin, as well as when it’s breathed. We’d have to cover ourselves all over to be safe.”
Johnny considered this. The fact that he was not speaking with his usual big words indicated how worried he was.
“Maybe those brown devils wear the head-covered costumes partially as a protection against the venom,” he stated thoughtfully.
“Likely,” Monk admitted.
From below came crashing of wood, rending of timbers, and a clatter as the wood was piled together.
“Doc is ripping out some of the woodwork to build a barricade,” Monk explained. “It may not help much, but it’s giving the others something to do that’ll keep their minds off the jam we’re in.”
The two men peered out through the eye-opening, and were in time to witness an interesting event, one which had a bearing on past events.
“Look!” Monk exploded.
A brown man in a head-studded costume was dashing forward. Instead of a basket, he carried an ordinary bow and arrows, together with a bit of burning wood. He fitted an arrow to his bow, touched his brand to the tip, and the arrow began to blaze brilliantly.
He discharged the missive at the pagoda, endeavoring to set fire to the barricade Doc and the others were rigging.
“Arrow smeared with pitch or somethin’!” Monk gulped.
“I’ll be superamalgamated!” breathed Johnny.
Monk eyed him in the murk. “What’s eatin’ you?”
“Remember that mysterious flame that dropped out of the sky and set our plane afire?”
“Do I!” Monk snorted. “Say, that was the strangest—— Hm-m-m! Blazes! Why, I’ll be a—it was a burning arrow!”
“Exactly!” Johnny declared. “We turned just in time to see the arrow in the air, or rather the flame alone, for it hid the rest of the arrow. That was what made it so weird.”
“But the plane was metal!”
“One of the brown devils must have sneaked out and opened the gas tanks without our noticing. That would explain it.”
Monk and Johnny worked on up into the cranial cavities of the Pagoda of the Heads, hoping to locate weapons. They squinted, for it was quite gloomy.
A larger room deployed before them. They stood on the threshold, peering about.
“Hey!” Monk squawled. “Lookit!”
Scattered about the chamber were weapons—not native arms, but modern hunting rifles and efficient pistols. No two of these were alike, this indicating the guns had been the property of ill-fated explorers who had ventured too near this fabulous city. The tiny supermachine pistols formerly carried by Doc’s group were among the assortment.
Strewn on the floor also were articles of clothing, bits of equipment.
“Glory be!” grinned Monk. “This is where they stored the stuff they took from their prisoners. What a break!”
“Supereminent!” Johnny’s tongue found big words with the rise in his spirits. “This alters circumstances.”
He started forward to gather up weapons. Monk moved suddenly, his hairy hands flashed out, wrenched Johnny back and down.
Simultaneously, the sound of a shot whooped in the room. Rock particles spurted off a wall. A bullet, missing Johnny only by grace of Monk’s yanking nun away, had loosened the stone.
“Back!” Monk rasped.
Another shot roared! That bullet also missed. In the murk of the storeroom, they sighted a shadowy figure leaping swiftly to get in position for more accurate shooting.
“Sen Gat!” groaned Johnny.
“Yeah!” Monk continued hauling the geologist away. “The slant-eyed lug found them guns ahead of us! Heard us comin’ an’ ducked back.”
“How are we going——” Johnny swallowed his words and dived wildly for the nearest stairway, as Sen Gat popped out of the storeroom and endeavored to shoot them down.
Sen Gat had secured one of the supermachine pistols; its bull-fiddle moan throbbed with ear-rupturing violence, the bullets—they were the mercy slugs—spattering like raindrops.
Monk and Johnny scuttled further down. An instant later, Doc Savage was beside them.
“What happened?” demanded the giant bronze man.
“Sen Gat—guns!” Monk ground his teeth. “The weapons were stored up there, and our pal found ’em first.”
“Sen Gat’s gang!” Doc rapped. “We’ve got to keep them from joining their chief!”
With all the flashing speed of which his huge, trained muscles were capable, Doc whipped back into the lower regions. In the stress of their predicament, he had let Sen Gat’s men range for themselves, since they all had a common interest in escaping from the big brown men.
Doc was too late. Sen Gat must have gotten word to his followers before Monk and Johnny came upon him in the storeroom, for the slant-eyed men, even apish Evall, had mounted to the upper regions by a rear passage.
Delighted shouting indicated Sen Gat had his sinister crew united; a burst of firing showed that he had them armed. They were shooting—not at Doc’s party, but from the upper windows at the brown followers of The Thousand-headed Man.
Many of these fell, the others retreating, so that soon the plaza around the pagoda was vacated, except for sprawled forms of the slain, and a few cobras.
“Savage!” Sen Gat called triumphantly. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” Doc answered.
“Sila-lah dudok!” Sen Gat laughed loudly. “Sit down, please! We are going to be very generous and not harm you! You will wait quietly!”
“The mug!” Monk gritted. “He’s gonna leave us here!”
Sen Gat evidently heard that, for his harsh mirth cackled again and he said, “If one of you shows his head, he will be shot!”
“He means it,” Doc advised. “Stay under cover.”
Big-fisted Renny rumbled, “But he’ll get away!”
Doc nodded. “We’re better off without him.”
“But we’d be still better off if we had the guns,” groaned Long Tom.
There was, however, nothing they could do about that, for Sen Gat posted men at the stairways. Doc, showing his head for a split-second, drew a storm of bullets which, thanks to his sudden withdrawal, did nothing but warn them that an attack would be hopeless.
Noises soon began coming from above—-clatterings and shouts, besprinkled with gloating gasps of elated exclamations. Bits of wreckage spilled from the top of the pagoda, rock fragments and pieces of wood for the most part; but once a large ruby fell and rolled down the steps, clinking, glinting in the last rays of the sun.
Several of Sen Gat’s men swore regretfully at this occurrence.
“They’re looting,” Doc decided.
“Uh-huh,” Monk grumbled. “Harvesting the gold and jewels off the top of the pagoda.”
“Wonder where that stuff came from—the jewels, I mean,” pondered big-fisted Renny.
Johnny fingered, with skeleton-thin digits, at the lapel of his coat where his monocle-magnifier usually hung. This article had been appropriated by The Thousand-headed Man worshippers.
“I made note of the gem mountings,” he stated. “From the weathered condition of those, and the cut of the jewels themselves, it is my opinion that the stones have been there for centuries.”
“You mean they were put there by the people who built this city?” Renny asked.
“That is my opinion.”
Doc Savage took no part in the discussion, for he was watching through the narrow doorways, there being several of these around the circumference of the pagoda. What interested the bronze man was the actions of the ugly natives with the rattan snake baskets.
There were now hordes of fanatics in evidence, barely distinguishable in the dusk, but none of them ventured within range of the guns held by Sen Gat and his party. Mad shouting showed that the desecration of the pagoda was being witnessed—though not with pleasure.
Abruptly, Sen Gat’s men could be heard descending the stairs toward a rear door.
Doc and his group promptly seized stones and hurled them—but without avail, for Sen Gat’s guns kept them from showing themselves.
They were forced to stand and watch Sen Gat and his party race across the plaza, weapons in hand, each man bearing a great bundle of loot. They headed for the river.
Monk scowled uneasily as the last figure vanished in the dusk.
“Now we are in a pickle,” he mumbled.