the modern accent that Price followed without difficulty. “I am very grateful for your rescue.”
It was on his lips to tell her that the rescue was still far from complete. But it would be unkind, he thought, to worry her needlessly with the true gravity of the situation. He smiled, then asked:
“Your people are near?”
She pointed northward. “That way lies El Yerim. It is three days by camel.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he urged. “I’ll see that you get safely back.”
Her violet eyes widened with fear. “But I can not go back,” she cried. “They would give me up to the golden folk.”
“You are in trouble, besides this?” She nodded.
Price invited: “Tell me about it.”
“You are strangers. You know not the golden folk?”
“No. We come from a far land.”
“Well,” she explained, “the golden folk are beings of gold that dwell in a mountain near El Yerim. Malikar, who is a man of gold—or a god. Vekyra, who is his—well, wife. The golden tiger, upon which they ride to hunt. And the yellow snake, which is the ancient god, and the greatest of the four.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Every harvest season, Malikar comes down to El Yerim upon the tiger, to select the grain and the dates, the young camels, and the slaves, that shall be sent as offering to the snake-god.
“Five days ago he came. All the people of El Yerim were gathered by Yarmud, the king. And Malikar rode among them on the tiger, choosing those he would take for slaves. He saw me, and commanded that I be sent with the camels and the grain, on the next day.
“That night my house was guarded. Though the priests say it is an honor to be offered to the snake, few take it so.” The girl smiled wearily. “I tricked the guards, and slipped out into the night. In the fields I found the camel that was my father’s, and rode away into the desert.
“Four days I have ridden. And I was able to bring little water or food.”
Price squatted on his heels, lighting a cigarette—which operation she watched with evident astonishment—as he digested her words. Her story excited his curiosity immensely; but he felt that it would be unkind to question her at much length, dead-tired as she obviously was. But one thing he must ask:
“This tiger, and the golden people—are they really gold? Living metal?”
“I know not. It is strange that metal should have life. But they are the color of gold. They are stronger than men. They do not die—they have lived since Anz was great.”
“Anz?” Price caught eagerly at the name of the lost city of the legends. Was Anz, after all, no myth, but sober fact?
“Anz,” the girl explained, “was the great city where once my people lived; they still call themselves the Beni Anz. Long ago the rains came every year, and all this land was green. But a thousand years ago the desert conquered Anz, and the sands rolled over it, and my people came to the oasis at El Yerim.”
And the girl added, “I was searching for Anz.”
“Why, if it is deserted?”
She hesitated, reluctantly. Her weary eyes studied him.
“No matter—” Price began, and her words rushed swiftly:
“You may think me foolish—but there is a prophecy. The last great king of Anz was Iru. A brave warrior he was, and a just man. Tall, like you.” The violet eyes dwelt upon Price. “And his eyes were blue, like yours, and his hair red. The legend speaks of those matters, for most of my people are dark,” she explained.
“And the prophecy?” Price asked.
“Perhaps it is an idle tale.” Again she paused, then continued with a rush: “But according to the legend, Iru is not dead. He still sleeps in the halls of his palace, in the lost city. He waits for some one to come and wake him. Then he will come out again with his great ax, and slay the golden folk, and free the Beni Anz.”
“Do you believe the legend?” asked Price, smiling.
“No,” she denied. “Yet I do not know. It might be true. By the legend, you
It was on his lips to tell her that the rescue was still far from complete. But it would be unkind, he thought, to worry her needlessly with the true gravity of the situation. He smiled, then asked:
“Your people are near?”
She pointed northward. “That way lies El Yerim. It is three days by camel.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he urged. “I’ll see that you get safely back.”
Her violet eyes widened with fear. “But I can not go back,” she cried. “They would give me up to the golden folk.”
“You are in trouble, besides this?” She nodded.
Price invited: “Tell me about it.”
“You are strangers. You know not the golden folk?”
“No. We come from a far land.”
“Well,” she explained, “the golden folk are beings of gold that dwell in a mountain near El Yerim. Malikar, who is a man of gold—or a god. Vekyra, who is his—well, wife. The golden tiger, upon which they ride to hunt. And the yellow snake, which is the ancient god, and the greatest of the four.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Every harvest season, Malikar comes down to El Yerim upon the tiger, to select the grain and the dates, the young camels, and the slaves, that shall be sent as offering to the snake-god.
“Five days ago he came. All the people of El Yerim were gathered by Yarmud, the king. And Malikar rode among them on the tiger, choosing those he would take for slaves. He saw me, and commanded that I be sent with the camels and the grain, on the next day.
“That night my house was guarded. Though the priests say it is an honor to be offered to the snake, few take it so.” The girl smiled wearily. “I tricked the guards, and slipped out into the night. In the fields I found the camel that was my father’s, and rode away into the desert.
“Four days I have ridden. And I was able to bring little water or food.”
Price squatted on his heels, lighting a cigarette—which operation she watched with evident astonishment—as he digested her words. Her story excited his curiosity immensely; but he felt that it would be unkind to question her at much length, dead-tired as she obviously was. But one thing he must ask:
“This tiger, and the golden people—are they really gold? Living metal?”
“I know not. It is strange that metal should have life. But they are the color of gold. They are stronger than men. They do not die—they have lived since Anz was great.”
“Anz?” Price caught eagerly at the name of the lost city of the legends. Was Anz, after all, no myth, but sober fact?
“Anz,” the girl explained, “was the great city where once my people lived; they still call themselves the Beni Anz. Long ago the rains came every year, and all this land was green. But a thousand years ago the desert conquered Anz, and the sands rolled over it, and my people came to the oasis at El Yerim.”
And the girl added, “I was searching for Anz.”
“Why, if it is deserted?”
She hesitated, reluctantly. Her weary eyes studied him.
“No matter—” Price began, and her words rushed swiftly:
“You may think me foolish—but there is a prophecy. The last great king of Anz was Iru. A brave warrior he was, and a just man. Tall, like you.” The violet eyes dwelt upon Price. “And his eyes were blue, like yours, and his hair red. The legend speaks of those matters, for most of my people are dark,” she explained.
“And the prophecy?” Price asked.
“Perhaps it is an idle tale.” Again she paused, then continued with a rush: “But according to the legend, Iru is not dead. He still sleeps in the halls of his palace, in the lost city. He waits for some one to come and wake him. Then he will come out again with his great ax, and slay the golden folk, and free the Beni Anz.”
“Do you believe the legend?” asked Price, smiling.
“No,” she denied. “Yet I do not know. It might be true. By the legend, you
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