With incense rising to his nostrils and the noisy clangour of bells in his ears, Alan was led, powerless, although resisting, to the open doorway. The steps inside were heated until they blistered his feet, and the pain caused him to mount higher where he hoped to get relief. When he reached the topmost step, and stood in comfort, realizing that it was cool, the door below swung to. He was alone, and saw that he was standing in the head of the idol, looking through its gaping jaws into the heart of the fire. Then suddenly he felt a jolt beneath him, and realized that his ankles were encased in iron bands. Again the idol’s body shook, and he was thrown on his belly. Slowly the slide was coming into position; another convulsive move of the idol, and he was half way down it, and smiled as he saw in imagination a tank of water below him in place of the fire, and himself in a bathing suit, ready to descend the water chute!
Slowly, slowly he began to slip, and wondered why he did not go faster. He tried to kick his feet and so enable himself to get over with death—but the iron anklets were holding him fast, and he knew he would reach the flames only when his torturers desired it. The heat was now unbearable; the flames were leaping up toward him; he already felt upon his cheek their fiery breath. His arms were stretched out before him, and he was at too great an angle to draw them up. Then came a feeling of excruciating agony, an agony almost unbearable. His fingers had reached the fire! powerless to take them out, he writhed round and round in a vain endeavour to obtain relief. No sound came from between his clenched teeth to express the pain he was enduring.
Suddenly above the uproar he heard a woman’s voice, commanding and imperious. There was a sudden silence, and then, with a terrible jolting of the idol, Alan once again found the slide rising and he was safe inside the belly of the image. Tears trickled down his face, tears of pain. Of course the mechanism had gone wrong. All that excruciating torture would have to be borne again. He held his mutilated hands out in front of him. Numbness had set in and intense cold.
The door in the idol opened and a beautiful girl mounted the steps and came toward him. She was small, like her companions around her, and of the same colour, and the horn in her forehead, painted gold and hung with gems, seemed in some weird way to enhance her beauty. Almost of English mould, her features were small and pretty, and her wonderful hair hung like a mantle of gold far past her knees. Upon her head she wore a crown of gold, and Alan thought she must be queen of the underworld people, for evidently her power was paramount. She placed her cool, firm hands on Alan’s shoulder, and led him down the now cool stairs; and once more he found himself in the temple. He was dazed, and could hardly realize that this woman had saved him. From a basket an attendant carried she took ointments and healing lotions, and bathed and bound up his poor, maimed hands. The effect was almost magical. The burning ceased, and a feeling of relief came over him. She then offered him her arm, and led him to the outer gates of the temple. There a small chariot was awaiting her, pulled by a hideous beast that was the beast of burden in the underworld. Small, with an ungainly body and short legs—its head small in proportion, it had immense tusks and a beard covered the lower portions of its face. Indeed, the “Schloun” was a mixture of rhinoceros and goat, and had the bulldog’s squareness of build. It was a hideous animal, and Alan shuddered as he took his place in the chariot. The equipage was extremely comfortable, the floor, upon which they sat was laden with rugs and cushions, and side by side, the man and his protector rode through the strange streets of this underground world.