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it made a pathetic attempt at communication with the other beastsa series of blunted growls and distorted, almost childlike whimpers. With its ascension to each succeedingly higher step, it paused, pounding its chest triumphantly. Ultimately it reached the level of the sepulcher and began slowly to circle it. Each clumsy, half-stumbling step was accompanied by ritualistic gestures of battlethe thrust, the parry, the lunge, the retreat. Then, as if from nowhere, it produced a lance with a hook-shaped blade configurated on the end and thrust it menacingly at the eight shrouded figures kneeling around the base of the altar. |
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''What the hell's going on?" I snapped. |
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Bert Johnson eyed me with the contempt all true believers hold for all infidels. "Be quiet," he threatened. |
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The dull thump of the drum continued, now at decreasing intervals. |
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The creatures milled about, openly restless yet somehow restrained in their three-sided cells. |
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The one at the altar worked himself into a frenzy. His warlike gestures became more and more aggressive, the thrusts at the shrouded ones now perilously close. Still, there was no movement. |
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"Damn it, Bert, what's going on?" The sound of my voice was all but drowned out |
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