IT WAS late in the afternoon when the party emerged suddenly from the jungle at the edge of a great clearing. King voiced an involuntary exclamation of astonishment as he saw at a distance the walls and towers of a splendid city.
“Lodidhapura,” said Fou-tan; “accursed city!” There was fear in her voice, and she trembled as she pressed closer to the American.
While King had long since become convinced that Lodidhapura had an actual existence of greater reality than legend or fever-wrought hallucination, yet he had been in no way prepared for the reality. A collection of nippa-thatched huts had comprised the extent of his mental picture of Lodidhapura, and now, as the reality burst suddenly upon him, he was dumbfounded.
Temples and palaces of stone reared their solid masses against the sky. Mighty towers, elaborately carved, rose in stately grandeur high over all. There were nippa-thatched huts as well, but these clustered close against the city’s walls and were so overshadowed by the majestic mass of masonry beyond them that they affected the picture as slightly as might the bushes growing at its foot determine the grandeur of a mountain.
In the foreground were level fields in which laboured men and women, naked mostly, but for sampots—the nippa-thatched huts were their dwellings. They were the labourers, the descendants of slaves—Chams and Annamese—that the ancient, warlike Khmers had brought back from many a victory in the days when their power and their civilisation were the greatest upon earth.
From the edge of the jungle, at the point where the party had emerged, a broad avenue led toward one of the gates of the city, toward which Vama was conducting them. To his right, at a distance, King could see what appeared to be another avenue leading to another gate—an avenue which seemed to be more heavily travelled than that upon which they had entered. There were many people on foot, some approaching the city, others leaving it. At a distance they looked small, but he could distinguish them and also what appeared to be bullock carts moving slowly among the pedestrians.
Presently, at the far end of this distant avenue, he saw the great bulks of elephants; in a long column they entered the highway from the jungle and approached the city. They seemed to move in an endless procession, two abreast, hundreds of them, he thought. Never before had King seen so many elephants.
“Look!” he cried to Fou-tan. “There must be a circus coming to town.”
“The King’s elephants,” explained Fou-tan, unimpressed.
“Why does he have so many?” asked King.
“A king without elephants would be no king,” replied the girl. “They proclaim to all men the king’s wealth and power. When he makes war, his soldiers go into battle upon them and fight from their backs, for those are the war elephants of Lodivarman.”
“There must be hundreds of them,” commented the American.
“There are thousands,” said Fou-tan.
“And against whom does Lodivarman make war?”
“Against Pnom Dhek.”
“Only against Pnom Dhek?” inquired King.
“Yes, only against Pnom Dhek.”
“Why does he not make war elsewhere? Has he no other enemies?”
“Against whom else might he make war?” demanded Fou-tan. “There are only Pnom Dhek and Lodidhapura in all the world.”
“Well, that does rather restrict him now, doesn’t it?” admitted King.
For a moment they were silent. Then the girl spoke. “Gordon King,” she said in that soft, caressing voice that the man found so agreeable, that often he had sought for means to lure her into conversation. “Gordon King, soon we shall see one another no more.”
The American frowned. He did not like to think of that. He had tried to put it out of his mind and to imagine that by some chance they would be allowed to be together after they reached Lodidhapura, for he had found Fou-tan a cheery and pleasant companion even when her hour was darkest. Why, she was the only friend he had! Certainly they would not deny him the right to see her. From what he had gleaned during his conversation with Vama and the other warriors, King had become hopeful that Lodivarman would not treat him entirely as a prisoner or an enemy, but might give him the opportunity to serve the King as a soldier. Fou-tan had rather encouraged this hope too, for she knew that it was not at all improbable of realisation.
“Why do you say that?” demanded King. “Why shall we not see one another again?”
“Would you be sad, Gordon King, if you did not see Fou-tan any more?” she asked.
The man hesitated before he replied, as though weighing in his mind a problem that he had never before been called upon to consider; and as he hesitated a strange, hurt look came into the eyes of the girl.
“It is unthinkable, Fou-tan,” he said at last, and the great brown eyes of the little apsaras softened and tears rose in them. “We have been such good friends,” he added.
“Yes,” she said. “We have known each other but a very short time, and yet we seem such good friends that it is almost as though we had known each other always.”
“But why should we not see one another again?” he demanded once more.
“Lodivarman may punish me for running away, and there is only one punishment that would satisfy his pride in such an event and that is death; but if he forgives me, as he doubtless will, because of my youth and my great beauty and his desire for me, then I shall be taken into the King’s palace and no more then might you see me than if I were dead. So you see, either way, the result is the same.”
“I shall see you again, Fou-tan,” said the man.
She shook her head. “I like to hear you say it, even though I know that it cannot be.”
“You shall see, Fou-tan. If we both live I shall find a way to see you; and, too, I shall find a way to take you out of the palace of the King and back to Pnom Dhek.”
She looked up at him with earnest eyes, full of confidence and admiration. “When I hear you say it,” she said, “the impossible seems almost possible.”
“Cling to the hope, Fou-tan,” he told her; “and when we are separated, know always that my every thought will be centred upon the means to reach you and take you away.”
“That will help me to cling to life until the last horrible minute, beyond which there can be no hope and beyond which I will not go.”
“What do you mean, Fou-tan?” There had been that in her voice which frightened him.
“I can live in the palace of the King with hope until again the King sends for me, and then—”
“And then?”
“And then—death.”
“No, Fou-tan, you must not say that. You must not think it.”
“What else could there be—after?” she demanded. “He is a leper!” The utter horror in her voice and expression, as her lips formed the word, aroused to its fullest the protective instinct of the man. He wanted to throw an arm about her, to soothe and reassure her; but his wrists were bound together behind him, and he could only move on dumbly at her side toward the great, carved gate of Lodidhapura.
The sentry at the gate halted Vama and his party, though his greeting, following his formal challenge, indicated that he was well aware of the identity of all but King, a fact which impressed the American as indicative of the excellent military discipline that obtained in this remote domain of the leper king.
Summoned by the sentry, the captain of the gate came from his quarters within the massive towers that flanked the gateway to Lodidhapura. He was a young man, resplendent in trappings of gold and blue and yellow. His burnished cuirass and his helmet were of the precious metal, but his weapons were stern and lethal.
“Who comes?” he demanded.
“Vama of the King’s guard, with the apsaras from Pnom Dhek, who ran away into the jungle, and a warrior from a far country whom we took prisoner,” replied the leader of the detachment.
“You have done well, Vama,” said the officer, as his eyes quickly appraised the two captives. “Enter and go at once to the palace of the King, for such were his orders in the event that you returned successful from your quest.”
The streets of Lodidhapura, beyond the gate, were filled with citizens and slaves. Tiny shops with wide awnings lined the street through which Vama’s captives were conducted. Merchants in long robes and ornate headdresses presided over booths where were displayed a bewildering variety of merchandise, including pottery, silver and gold ornaments, rugs, stuffs, incense, weapons, and armour.
Men and women of high rank, beneath gorgeous parasols borne by almost naked slaves, bartered at the booths for the wares displayed; high-hatted priests moved slowly through the throng, while burly soldiers elbowed their way roughly along the avenue. Many turned to note the escort and its prisoners, and the sight of Fou-tan elicited a wealth of ejaculation and many queries; but to all such Vama, fully aware of his importance, turned a deaf ear.
As they approached the centre of Lodidhapura, King was amazed by the evident wealth of the city, by the goods displayed in the innumerable shops, and by the grandeur of the architecture. The ornate carvings that covered the facades of the great buildings, the splendour of the buildings themselves, filled him with awe; and when at last the party halted before the palace of Lodivarman, the American was staggered by the magnificence which confronted him.
They had been conducted through a great park that lay below, and to the east of the stately temple of Siva, which dominated the entire city of Lodidhapura. Great trees and gorgeous shrubbery shadowed winding avenues that were flanked by statues and columns of magnificent, though sometimes barbaric, design; and then the palace of the King had burst suddenly upon his astonished gaze—a splendid building embellished from foundation to loftiest tower with tile of the most brilliant colouring and fanciful design.
Before the entrance to the palace of Lodivarman stood a guard of fifty warriors. No brass-bound soldiers these, resplendent in shining cuirasses of burnished gold, whose haughty demeanor bespoke their exalted position and the high responsibility that devolved upon them.
Gordon King had difficulty in convincing himself of the reality of the scene. Again and again his sane Yankee head assured him that no such things might exist in the jungles of Cambodia and that he still was the victim of the hallucinations of high fever; but when the officer at the gate had interrogated Vama and presently commands were received to conduct the entire party to the presence of Lodivarman, and still the hallucination persisted in all its conclusiveness, he resigned himself to the actualities that confronted him and would have accepted as real whatever grotesque or impossible occurrences or figures might have impinged themselves upon his perceptive faculties.
Escorted by a detachment of the golden warriors of Lodivarman, the entire city was conducted through long corridors toward the centre of the palace and at last, after a wait before massive doors, was ushered into a great hall, at the far end of which a number of people were seated upon a raised dais. Upon the floor of the chamber were many men in gorgeous raiment—priests, courtiers, and soldiers. One of the latter, resplendent in rich trappings, received them and conducted them toward the far end of the chamber, where they were halted before the dais.
King saw seated upon a great throne an emaciated man, upon every exposed portion of whose body were ugly and repulsive sores. To his right and below him were sombre men in rich garb, and to his left a score of sad-eyed girls and women. This, then, was Lodivarman, the Leper King of Lodidhapura! The American felt an inward revulsion at the mere sight of this repulsive creature and simultaneously understood the horror that Fou-tan had evinced at the thought of personal contact with the leper into whose clutches fate had delivered her.
Before Lodivarman knelt a slave, bearing a great salver of food, into which the King continually dipped with his long-nailed fingers. He ate almost constantly during the audience, and as King was brought nearer he saw that the delicacies intended to tempt the palate of a king were naught but lowly mushrooms.
“Who are these?” demanded Lodivarman, his dead eyes resting coldly on the prisoners.
“Vama, the commander of ten,” replied the officer addressed, “who has returned from his mission, to the honour of the King, with the apsaras for whom he was dispatched and a strange warrior whom he took prisoner.”
“Fou-tan of Pnom Dhek,” demanded Lodivarman, “why did you seek to escape the honour for which I had destined you?”
“Great King,” replied the girl, “my heart is still in the land of my sire. I would have returned to Pnom Dhek, for I longed for the father and the friends whom I love and who love me.”
“A pardonable desire,” commented Lodivarman, “and this time thy transgression shall be overlooked, but beware a repetition. You are destined to the high honour of the favour of Lodivarman. See that hereafter, until death, thou dost merit it.”
Fou-tan, trembling, curtsied low; and Lodivarman turned his cold, fishy eyes upon Gordon King. “And what manner of man bringeth you before the King now?” he asked.
“A strange warrior from some far country, Glorious King,” replied Vama.
“A runaway slave from Pnom Dhek more likely,” commented Lodivarman.
“Even as I thought, Resplendent Son of Heaven,” answered Vama; “but his deeds are such as to leave no belief that he be either a slave or the son of slaves.”
“What deeds?” demanded the King.
“He faced my detachment single-handed, and with a lone shaft he slew one of the best of the King’s bowmen.”
“Is that all?” asked Lodivarman. “A mere freak of Fate may account for that.”
“No, Brother of the Gods,” replied Vama. “There is more.”
“And what is it? Hasten, I cannot spend the whole evening in idle audience over a slave.”
“With a single spear-cast he slew My Lord the Tiger,” cried Vama.
“And you saw this?”
“Fou-tan saw it, and all of us saw the carcass of the tiger the following morning. O King, he drove his spear a full two feet into the breast of the tiger as the great beast charged. He is a marvellous warrior, and Vama is proud to have brought such a one to serve in the ranks of the army of Lodivarman.”
For a while Lodivarman was silent, his dead eyes upon King, while he helped himself from time to time to the tender-cooked mushrooms with which the slave tempted him.
“With a single cast he slew My Lord the Tiger?” demanded Lodivarman of Fou-tan.
“It is even so, Great King,” replied the girl.
“How came he to do it? Surely no sane man would tempt the great beast unless in dire predicament.”
“He did it to save me, upon whom the tiger was preparing to spring.”
“So I am doubly indebted to this stranger,” said Lodivarman. “And what gift would suit your appetite for reward?” demanded the King.
“I desire no reward,” replied the American, “only that you will permit Fou-tan to return to her beloved Pnom Dhek.”
“You do not ask much!” cried Lodivarman. “I like your ways. You shall not be destroyed, but instead you shall serve me in the palace guards; such a spear-man should prove worth his weight in gold. As for your request, remember that Fou-tan belongs to Lodivarman, the King, and so may no longer be the subject of any conversation, upon pain of death. Take him to the quarters of the guard!” he directed one of his officers, nodding at King, “and see that he is well cared for, trained and armed.”
“Yes, most magnificent of kings,” replied the man addressed.
“Take the girl to the quarters of the women and look to it that she does not again escape,” commanded Lodivarman, with a gesture that dismissed them all.
As he was escorted from the audience chamber through one exit, King saw Fou-tan led away toward another. Her eyes were turned back toward him, and in them was a haunting suggestion of grief and hopelessness that cut him to the heart.
“Good-by, Gordon King!” she called to him.
“Until we meet again, Fou-tan,” he replied.
“You will not meet again,” said the officer who was escorting him, as he hustled the American from the chamber.
The barracks to which King was assigned stood a considerable distance in the rear of the palace, not far from the stables in which were housed the King’s elephants, yet, like the latter, within the grounds of the royal enclosure. The long, low buildings that housed the soldiers of Lodivarman’s royal guard were plastered inside and out with mud and thatched with palm fronds. Along either wall upon the hard-packed dirt floors were pallets of straw, where the common soldiers were bedded down like horses. A space of some four feet in width by seven in length was allotted to each man, and into the wall above his pallet pegs had been driven upon which he might hang his weapons and his clothing, a cooking-pot, and a vessel for water. Along the centres of the buildings was a clear space about eight feet wide, forming an aisle in which soldiers might be formed for inspection. Just beneath the eaves was an open space running the full length of both walls, giving ample ventilation but very little light to the ulterior of the barracks. The doors were at either end of the buildings.
The building to which King was escorted was about two hundred feet long and housed a hundred men. It was but one of a number of similar structures, which he later learned were placed at strategic positions just inside the wall of the royal enclosure, where five thousand men-at-arms were constantly maintained.
At Varna’s request King was assigned to his unit of ten to replace the soldier that he had slain in the jungle, and thus the American took up his life in the unit of ten, with Kau and Tchek and Vama and the others with whom he was already acquainted as his companions.
From a naked jungle hunter to a soldier of a Khmer king, he had crossed in a single step long ages of evolution, and yet he was still a thousand years from the era into which he had been born.