Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 38

Once again, silence fell over the crowd. The Scythians appeared to have stopped breathing; they stared at Artem, seeing in him a terrifying creature endowed with great supernatural powers. He had not been destroyed by the gods in spite of all the soothsayer’s efforts. Quite the reverse: it was Artem who had secured their aid and brought down fire and thunder, felling Dorbatay who was now lying helpless and motionless on the ground!

The young man picked up the gold bowl and stone knife from the ground and examined them. He moved with complete confidence as though not afraid of anything now. Who could attempt an attack on him after his remarkable victory over the seemingly omnipotent Dorbatay?

“Nice workmanship,” Artem.said looking the bowl and the knife over. “If I had found them back there in the cave, I would have been very glad. But now I’ve got to deal with more urgent matters than studying rare museum pieces. Hey, you, over there! Release those two fellows right away!”

He walked over to the priests who were holding the two bound slaves. The priests did not wait for Artem to come close, but letting go of the slaves, they ran to hide behind the pyramidal pile of branches. The slaves did not even dare to as much as stir. Their fear-filled eyes were fixed on Artem. They seemed to be mutely asking him to spare them. Artem realized then that the slaves took him for just another bloodthirsty soothsayer, no different from Dorbatay, and naturally assumed that he, Artem, was going to kill them. Wasn’t he holding the sacrificial knife and the bowl in his hands?

“I’m a friend, don’t be afraid of me,” Artem said gently. “I’m going to use this knife for a purpose quite different from the one you have in mind. Now, here we go.”

He sliced swiftly with the knife through the ropes, with which the slaves’ hands were bound.

“How sharp it is!” Artem exclaimed in amazement. “It’s made of stone, but it’s razor sharp! Now, you can go back to your people. And if anybody tries to hurt you again, he’ll have to deal with me. Spread the word.”

He gently pushed them to show them they were free to go. They started running downhill, without looking back, waving their arms frenziedly. Artem watched them run, and then turned to Dorbatay who had propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes seemed to follow Artem’s every movement.

“Get up, old man. Enough lying about. You’re not hurt, are you? One little primer cap went off at his feet, and he thinks it was a shell. Get up, I tell you.”

Dorbatay rose as though he had understood the command. His face was covered with dust, the gray hair tousled, the cloak awry. The sharp, fierce and hostile eyes bored into Artem, the arch-enemy. But for all that, the old man did not seem to be in a hurry to launch another attack; he evidently realized there was nothing he could do at the moment. After a short silence, Dorbatay bent his head and murmured several words of sumbission in a constricted voice.

“Ah, well, that’s all right,” Artem said, laughing after hearing the translation. “It must be hard for you to admit that I’m more powerful than you are. We’ll have to agree on this point, though it was clear all along. But now everybody has seen that. This is the end of your supremacy, Dorbatay!”

He looked around. The crowd was listening to him, trying to guess the meaning of his words. The Scythians now regarded him as a real magician. What else could a man who breathed smoke, who called forth fire and thunder from the ground, who knocked down the hitherto omnipotent Dorbatay without even touching him, who was accompanied by the dread poskina be but a true wizard? Hundreds of eyes were riveted on Artem, their expression ranging from awe to fear. But at least two persons were giving him sidelong glances filled with resentment and hate.

One of them was the old soothsayer.: could he reconcile himself to defeat, to the loss of his previous undisputed influence over the Scythians? The other was Hartak who also had much to lose in the defeat of Dorbatay. The rich and high-born Scythian looked somewhat deflated.

Dmitro Borisovich grabbed the geologist’s hand and shook it exuberantly.

“I must say you hit on an excellent idea!”

“You shouldn’t give all credit to me,” protested the geologist. “Part of credit, and probably the better part, should go to Artem. Besides, he played the leading role in our little spectacle, didn’t he?”

“Oh, we’ll express our admiration of his performance to him personally a bit later. What do you say to that, Lida?”

The girl had been much impressed by what had taken place, no doubt of that. It was, of course, only but natural: she was the only one of the four explorers who had not taken part in discussing the plan, so everything that Artem did had come as a complete surprise to her. Now Lida could hardly control the nervous laughter that was the psychological reaction to all the anxieties of the morning. Now, when the grave danger that had been hanging over them since last night had lifted, Lida had an impulsive desire to kiss Ivan Semenovich and Dmitro Borisovich, but Artem was topmost on her list. Nonetheless, she gave the archeologist a resounding kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, Dmitro Borisovich, everything is great!”

Artem was still out of earshot, but when he came up to his friends, the faithful Diana at his side, the first question he asked was:

“It looks like I did everything according to plan, didn’t I, Ivan Semenovich? Did I do anything wrong?”

“No. Everything was fine* except some of your expressions like ‘old rogue.’”

“But he couldn’t understand me anyway, could he?” Artem said ingenuously. “Besides, I had to vent my anger on somebody… By the way, Dmitro Borisovich, what should I do with these things?” Artem asked, indicating the bowl and the knife he was still holding in his hands. “They must be of great value, especially from an archeological point of view. And for me they’re also a trophy.”

Dmitro Borisovich, his eyes shining with fresh archeological enthusiasm, was about to take the sacred Scythian things from Artem’s hands when he was mercilessly stopped by Ivan Semenovich.

“These things must be immediately returned to the acolytes,” he said in a commanding tone. “It would be a great offense if we appropriated them. You should have thought of that yourself, Dmitro Borisovich! I realize that you’re dying to examine them thoroughly. But you can’t have them, I’m sorry. You can look at them, but without taking them into your hands. It is Artem who has become a sort of substitute for Dorbatay in the eyes of the Scythians, and he will return their ritual objects to them.”

“That’s a pity,” Dmitro Borisovich grumbled out in reply; he was loath to part with the two archeological treasures but he did see that the geologist was absolutely right. “Yes, that’s what should be done. But my friends, just think how lucky I’ve been — to witness the sacrificial rite of the Scythians! Unfortunately, it was not carried out to the end as it should have been…”

“Unfortunately, you say? You’re sorry no one was sacrificed?”

“Of course not, not in that sense anyway… But we do know how the rite would have proceeded… With this stone knife, Dorbatay would cut the victims’ throats, the victims being held by the assistants, of course. The blood would spurt into the gold bowl…”

Lida was overcome by nausea. But the archeologist had already warmed up to his subject and had stopped paying attention to anything around him. He continued:

“Then, Dorbatay or one of the priests would cut the victim’s right hand off and throw it high into the air. Dorbatay himself would carry the gold bowl with the victim’s blood in it to the top of the pyramid and pour;Lt over the sacred scimitar. Incidentally, that is probably why the scimitar looks so black. Well, that’s how, to the best of my knowledge, the sacrificial rite of the Scythians was usually conducted…”

“One thing is clear anyway, Dmitro Borisovich. You bear me a grudge for stealing the show and not letting you see how it would have gone with your own eyes,” Artem said sarcastically.

“Or not even to see it but go through the whole experience yourself,” Ivan Semenovich added, drawing his hand across his throat.

“Oh, damn you!” said the archeologist in annoyance. “I was trying to tell you about a serious matter and you have nothing better to do than to poke fun at me… I wish I hadn’t told you anything.”

The conversation came abruptly to a halt when Skolot had ridden over to the explorers, his stern face wearing a smile. His voice sounded soft and friendly:

“Skolot congratulates the strangers on their victory over Dorbatay. Skolot wants them to know that he would not have allowed Dorbatay’s threats to be carried out in any case. But it is better, of course, that everything happened the way it did, without violence. Skolot’s warriors were ready to use force if necessary. Now no one will ever dare to do you any harm. Skolot invites the strangers to his home. You are welcome to be his guests of honor.”

, That was essentially what he said in the double interpretation of Varkan and Dmitro Borisovich. The archeologist was about to reply that they would be glad to accept the kind invitation of the chieftain, when Ivan Semenovich stepped forward and said:

“I want to tell Skolot the following. My friends and I are very much surprised that the heartfelt invitation has come only from Skolot himself. Why has Hartak not invited them in his turn? Is he not the son of Skolot? Does the glorious Hartak have some ill feeling toward us?”