Temple

The massive black cats gathered around the clearing, forming a wide circle around him.

Race counted twelve of them in total.

He doused the idol again and it emitted its even harmonic tone with renewed vigour.

Then he took a step backwards, entering the temple.

Ten steps down and he was surrounded by blackness.

The rapas—big, black and menacing—followed him inside, blocking the shafts of blue moonlight that entered the tunnel from without.

Once all the cats were fully inside the temple, the ten Indian warriors outside began to heave on the boulder—as Race had instructed them to do.

The massive stone groaned loudly as it was pushed slowly back into place.

Race watched its movement from within the temple.

Gradually, all the moonlight from outside was replaced by the shadow of the massive rock and then, with a final ominous thud, the boulder would move no more.

It now filled the portal, sealing it shut, at the same time sealing William Race inside the temple with the pack of ferocious rapas.

Darkness.

Total darkness, save for the flickering orange glow of his torch.

The walls of the tunnel around Race glistened with moisture. From somewhere deep within the temple, he heard a steady, echoing drip-drip-drip.

It was absolutely terrifying, but strangely Race felt no fear.

After all he'd been through, he was beyond being afraid.

The twelve rapas—visions of evil in the strobe-like light of the torch—just stared at the humming idol in Race's hand, entranced.

With his torch held high above his head, he made his way down the spiralling tunnel at the base of the stairs. It bent down and to the right in a slow, descending curve. Small alcoves lined its walls.

Race passed the alcove that he'd seen the last time he had been inside the temple, saw the mangled skeleton with the cracked skull lying in it. The skeleton that he had assumed was Renco but which he now knew to be the wily old conquistador who had stolen Renco's emerald pendant.

He came to the bottom of the spiralling passageway and saw a long straight tunnel stretching ahead of him. It was the tunnel in which von Dirksen and his men had met their grisly end.

The rapas emerged from the ramp behind him—silent, looming, ominous—barely even making a sound as they slunk along on their soft padded paws.

At the end of the long straight tunnel, Race came across an enormous hole in the floor. It was roughly square in shape and at least fifteen feet wide, taking up the entire tunnel before him.

Out of it came one of the most repulsive odours he had smelled in a long, long time.

He winced at the smell as he evaluated the wide hole in the floor in front of him.

On the far side of it he saw nothing but wall—solid, stone wall—and inside the hole itself he saw nothing but inky blackness.

Just then, however, he saw a series of hand and footholds that had been cut into the hole's right-hand wall. They'd been carved in such a fashion—one on top of the other— that they created a ladder-like mechanism which a person could use to climb down into the hole.

After dousing the idol once again with his bladder full of water, Race put his flaming torch in his mouth and then, using the hand and footholds cut into the wall, slowly began to climb down into the dark stinking hole.

The rapas followed him, but they didn't bother using the footholds. They just used their scythe-like claws to climb down the walls of the hole after him.

About fifty feet later, Race's feet touched solid ground again.

The foul stench was stronger here, to the point of being overwhelming. It smelled like rotting meat.

Race grabbed the flaming torch from his mouth and turned away from the wall he had just scaled.

What he saw took his breath away.

He was standing inside an enormous hall of some kind, a gigantic stone-walled cavern that had been carved out of the belly of the rock tower.

It was absolutely spectacular.

An enormous, rock-walled cathedral.

Its high vaulted ceiling soared into the air at least fifty feet above the floor, disappearing into darkness. It was supported by a set of stone columns that had been fashioned out of the rock. A flat stone floor stretched away from Race. It also disappeared into shadow.

The walls of the cathedral, however, were its most stunning feature.

They were covered with primitive carvings—pictographs similar to those that adorned the portal up on the surface.

There were pictures of rapas, pictures of people, pictures of rapas killing people. Tearing their limbs off, ripping their heads off. In some of the carvings, the screaming humans being mauled by the cats clutched piles of loot in their hands, even as they were being killed.

Wanton greed, even at the moment of death.

Interspersed among the carvings on the walls were a series of stone alcoves that had all been carved in the shape of rapas' heads.

Thick cobwebs covered each alcove, so that it looked as if see-through grey curtains had been lowered over the carved rapas' jaws.

Race went over to one of the alcoves, sliced through the cobweb across the rapa's mouth.