Hercules: The Legendary Journeys Two Book Collection (Juvenile) by David L. Seidman Page A

slowed, then finally stopped. Salmoneus stared at the floor. There was a hole in it the size of Hercules’ fist. The last streams of acid slipped down the hole, hissing.
    Through the hole, Hercules could see another pit, as deep as the one they were in. There was a creak from above. He looked up to see a fuzzy-edged square slide across the stars and fall into place with a thump. The pit was in total darkness once more. So much for that escape route.
    Someone moaned.
    â€œSalmoneus,” Hercules asked, “are you all right?”
    â€œThat wasn’t me. I’m too wiped out to moan.”
    â€œWasn’t me either,” Cactus offered.
    The groan sounded again. It was coming from the hole in the floor.
    â€œStand back,” Hercules said. He slid his fingertips along the floor, searching for the hole. Suddenly his fingers hit empty air and he nearly fell over as his arm dropped into the hole. “Here it comes, guys,” Hercules warned.
    With a two-handed yank, the world’s strongest man tore a thick chunk of floor out from under himself. The floor cracked and a jagged line ran to the wall where Cactus was slumped.
    He heard the giant suck in a gasp. “You really are him,” he said softly. He sounded as if he were praying. “You’re Hercules.”
    â€œYou better believe it!” Salmoneus said.
    Again, Hercules grabbed rock, ripping out chunk after chunk until the hole was wide enough for a man. A thin light came up from below. The groans sounded again. Whoever was down there was hurt.
    â€œI’m going to investigate,” Hercules said. “Stay here until it’s safe.”
    Hercules grabbed the edge. Hanging by his fingertips, he began to swing back and forth. With each swing, he pushed himself further, until his toes flew nearly to the ceiling.
    One more swing, then he let go and he dropped. He landed just clear of a wide pool of acid and scrambled out of the way. His knees scraped across the rough stone floor.
    For a moment, Hercules sat quietly on a rock. By Zeus, my skin hurts, he thought.
    He looked around. The dark walls were lined with flaming torches. From around a curve up ahead, Hercules could hear the groan again—followed by the unmistakable slap of hand against flesh. Then there was a whimpering noise.
    Hercules gritted his teeth, flexed his fists—and stopped. It could be another trap. With agonizing slowness, he inched forward and peered around the corner.
    Before him, the walls of the corridor stretched out long and straight, then curved inward until they almost touched. Light poured through the gap between the walls.
    Hercules sidled towards the light. When he reached the curved end, he peered through the gap.
    He saw a huge chamber, its walls and ceiling coated in the same slick metal that was in the pit. The chamber’s walls wove in and out, forming deep nooks and crannies. In the middle of the room, at least fifty feet in front of Hercules, sat a rectangular stack of hot rocks, colouring the walls with a spooky glow.
    Behind the rocks stood a Pastoralian soldier, bulkier but shorter than Hercules. He wore a chain-mail shirt, a club hung from each hip and a bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to his back.
    Although the soldier was facing towards Hercules, he didn’t seem to notice him. He was concentrating on an old man whom he was clutching by the scruff of the neck and holding towards the hot rocks.
    The old man was very thin and wore a dirty set of rags that had no doubt once been a fine robe. A drop of sweat rolled down the old man’s grimy forehead and nose and fell on to the rocks. It sizzled, bubbled and vanished, leaving only a wisp of steam.
    The old man looked familiar, but Hercules had no time to puzzle over his identity. He couldn’t let him be hurt by that bully. Trap or no trap, he was going in.
    The old man looked up. Seeing Hercules about to spring, he started to mouth the word