This pyramid, polished and elaborately engraved, towered some ninety
feet above the floor. It was pierced by numbers of openings, like the
entrances to galleries; and up the smooth face nearest the entrance to
the hall, a stairway about ten feet wide mounted toward the apex.
Completely finished all save the upper part, which still remained
truncated, the golden pyramid gleamed dully in the vague light, a
thing of awe and wonder, grimly beautiful, fearsome to gaze up at. For
some unknown reason, as the Legionaries grouped themselves about their
Master, an uncanny influence seemed to emanate from this singular
object. All remained silent, as the Olema, an enigmatic smile on his
thin, bearded lips, raised a hand toward the pyramid.
"This thing, O Frank, thou shouldst see," he remarked dryly. "Above
all, the inner chambers. Wilt thou go with me?"
"I will go," the Master answered. "Lead the way!"
The Olema beckoned one of the Maghrabis, who delivered a torch of some
clear-burning, resinous, and perfumed material into his hand.
"Come," bade the old man, and gestured toward the steps of gold.
Together, in silence, they mounted toward the dim, high-arched
roof.
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