Tales From Jokai Part 25

Two pre-eminently worthy candidates had been found. One had been discovered by the priest of the megatherium, the other by the priest of the ichthyosaurus, and the people have now to choose betwixt the twain.

Both men were carried up to the top of the platform wrapped round with thick veils. The inferior priests then withdrew; only the two high priests remained behind with their _proteges_.

The uproar of the people sinks into a low murmur. With rapt attention every one regards the two veiled figures who stand in the midst of the blue clouds of the four censers.

And now the priest of the ichthyosaurus advances and draws away the veil from the figure of the first man.

"Behold and admire!"

A terrible shape, seven feet high at the very least, the face rather that of a wild beast than of a man; the strong, stubbly beard, the connected eyebrows, the flat nose, the broad projecting lips and the huge shapeless muscles, which run along the broad shoulders and the thick arms, indicate enormous brute strength. The whole shape is terrifying. Nevertheless, gorgeous garments make this sinister apparition a splendid one. His mantle is lined with orient pearls and embroidered with gold; the thick bristly hair is held together by a golden helmet, the crest of which sparkles with diamonds and topazes.

His left hand holds a broad shield, hanging down from the rims whereof are the scalps of the enemies whom he has vanquished in battle, while his right hand rests upon a sword five feet long, the broad blade of which is covered with symbols of magic potency. This weapon weighs half a hundredweight.

No sooner was the man unveiled than a shout of joy burst from the people, a shout which died away in the b.e.s.t.i.a.l bellowing of the human caricatures below.

Then the priest of the megatherium approaches the second shape, and slowly removing the veil from it exclaims to the people: "Behold and adore!"

The shape of the second man is bright with neither gold nor precious stones. The stranger wears a simple white robe, which displays his stately figure as it really is, without attempting to improve it by exotic finery. The only decoration of his bare head are his luxuriant, down-flowing locks, and the sole armament of his loins consists of a short sword, which requires the foe who has anything to say for himself to come to very close quarters.

And now the priest spoke to the people.

"Lo! here is a strange man from a distant land beyond the sea, who has been drawn to our sh.o.r.es by Triton's mighty arm. In his eyes burns a fiercer fire, in his veins flows a warmer blood than ours. Before the expression of his visage the face of every man born on our sh.o.r.es quails and blanches. I say no more. You have eyes to see. Make your choice."

Then the other priest cried: "Who will have this hero?"

At this invitation only a poor couple or so of wreaths fluttered down from the crowd, wreaths which certain women of vicious taste had taken from their heads and cast at the feet of the half-savage Hercules below.

But when the priest of the megatherium cried: "Who will have this stranger for a G.o.d?" there was a veritable tempest of falling wreaths.

The women tore the flowers from their hair and bosoms and threw them with shouts of joy towards the stranger, so that the floor of the amphitheatre resembled a garden in a rain of flowers. "Him only!" they cried, "him only, and none other!"

The diamond-garnished, gold-embroidered hero of many fights rose in disdainful wrath with his priest, and throwing his glittering sword over his shoulder, descended the steps of the platform and sat down moodily on its lowest step.

The stranger remained alone upon the platform with his priest, who twined a fragrant wreath of roses among his locks and cried joyfully--

"Hail thou G.o.d Tetzkatlepoka! hail in the name of the fair dispensers of bliss, thou elect of the people! Take thine own, thou king of all beauty, thou prince of women! Take the flowers which bloom for thee, the lips which smile at thee! Hail, thou G.o.d Tetzkatlepoka!"

The people responded with a loud shout; but, in a dark corner of the amphitheatre, sat a trembling woman, with a sorrowful countenance, holding in her hands the Ark of the Covenant of the one true G.o.d, and groaning and sighing, she cried in the bitterness of her heart--

"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"

Bar Noemi did not hear the feeble sound. The music of the gla.s.s flutes, the soft harmony of the silver trumpets, mingled in his bosom with the choruses of the children into an enchanting, intoxicating harmony, which Byssenia's voice failed to penetrate. Seductive, sylph-like forms danced before him in fluttering garments. Their dishevelled tresses waved wildly in the air. Their flashing eyes shone brighter than the sun. Who would not have lost his reason at the sight of so much beauty, so much bliss?

And again the plaintive, sobbing sound was heard--

"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"

And the young man seemed to feel a light shudder run through all his limbs. What was that?

Hast thou eyes? Hast thou a heart? Where are thy senses that thou shouldst hesitate a moment? If a hundred years were thine allotted span wouldst thou not give them all away for such glances, and forfeit thy very soul's salvation in the next world for the possession of such an earthly paradise? Thousands and thousands of fairy forms dance round him in a bewitching, ensnaring circle, ever nearer, ever more lovely and more numerous; their breath fans his cheeks; their eyes burn into his very soul, their melodies take possession of his heart. It needs but one word from his lips, and he will sink into this sea of sweetness, die the most delicious of deaths, a death which is nought but a long, long kiss.

The music, the singing, grows more and more enchanting; the odours of the censers fill the air with a sweet intoxication; the snow-white arms already touch the shoulders of the deified man, when again, for the third time, and still more mournfully, still more appealingly resound the words--

"Oh, Bar Noemi! Bar Noemi!"

Suddenly he starts like one just awakened from sleep, a wondrously deep sleep which has benumbed all his limbs. He makes a s.n.a.t.c.h at his head, tears off the chaplet of roses, and, rending it in twain, throws it to the ground, exclaiming, with a threatening voice--

"I am no G.o.d! Jehovah is G.o.d alone!"

Instantly the music, the singing is dumb as when the strings of a lyre are cut asunder by the stroke of a sword. The enchantment is broken; the features of the seductive sylphs are distorted into the faces of Furies; the sweet harmony vanishes in a deafening uproar; curses, gibes, mocking laughter and the howling and bellowing of the men-beasts fill the vast arena.

But though the earth tremble beneath the hideous hubbub, Bar Noemi's heart trembles not. He has found the name which gave him strength in the midst of the raging elements, and drawing his sword, he stands in the midst of the furious mob, like a G.o.d, or rather like a true man amongst men who have lost every spark of manhood.

And as they rush upon him, he speaks fearlessly to the people, speaks in a voice which rises above their screams and curses--

"Ye inhabitants of the City of Triton! Ye coward worshippers of idols!

Ye living, painted coffins abandoned by your own souls even while still in the flesh, listen to my words! My name is Bar Noemi. My strength is the one true G.o.d, whose countenance no human eye has ever gazed upon.

I'll show my courage by my good sword, which no one has ever yet despised. And I tell you, ye who make a mock of G.o.d and His n.o.ble image, man, that I despise you all, and that there is not a youth nor an old man within your walls before whom I tremble!"

Shame and wrath made white the features of all who heard him. Everywhere else, red is the colour of shame and wrath, but here, in Triton's City, it was white. For Bar Noemi had spoken the truth, in the whole of that great city, in the city of delight, not a man was to be found who dared to raise his hand against the stranger! And there he stood on the das, with a terrible countenance, and his naked sword in his hand, like an avenging angel who had come not to fight with men, but to chastise them.

The warrior with the long broadsword, the herculean frame, and the helmet set with diamonds, was sitting all this while on the lowermost step of the das, and did not once turn his head towards his rival.

The priests and elders, filled with despair, rushed towards him and urged him to arise and wipe away the insult thus offered to a whole people. But the man moved not. The paralyzing, voluptuous draught he had just partaken of still held captive both soul and body. The wise pleasure-mongers of Triton's city had introduced this overpowering potion into their mysteries to their own confusion, for it unnerves a man, enfeebles his heart, divests him of his manhood, and pours into his heart a sickly craving after pleasure so that Hercules himself becomes the willing slave of the bright petticoat and the whirring spindle.

At last they brought him another drink which they were wont to give to those who went forth to battle. It was a strong, stimulating cordial, prepared from the froth of wild beasts and the fruits of poisonous trees, filling the heart with an inextinguishable thirst for blood. The fiery drops of this battle potion stung the warrior's nerves. He arose and stared around him with frenzied, bloodshot, rolling eyes. His protruding lips were covered with a yellow foam and his dusky cheeks seemed to be wrapped in burning flames.

"Who calls?" he cried, in a voice of thunder, like the roar of a ravening beast; and, expanding his bulky chest, he swung his ponderous sword, like a reed, above his head whilst his eyes flashed green fire and his trampling feet crushed the heavy stones into the hard earth.

"Kill him! the accursed, hideous stranger, the despiser of the people!"

resounded from the galleries, and every hand pointed at Bar Noemi as he stood on the topmost step of the platform which only a few moments before they had covered with wreaths.

With a frenzied howl, the giant swung his sword aloft and shaking his shapeless head, rushed, like a bloodthirsty lion up the steps of the das.

"Help, Triton!" roared the mob. Only one soft, almost expiring voice behind one of the columns of the amphitheatre sighed: "Help, Jehovah!"

Bar Noemi fell back not a single step. Motionless as a molten statue, he awaited his antagonist on the top of the platform and avoiding his furious blow, raised his own arm to strike.

The two weapons clashed together in the air. The huge broadsword of the giant split in two at the hilt, and after describing a wide circle fell into the arena, while the sword in Bar Noemi's right hand did not even take a scratch.

The whole mult.i.tude was instantly dumb with astonishment. In that land iron was unknown, every weapon was made of copper only, and the thin, bluish-shimmering unknown metal had split in two the shining red sword at the very first blow.

"Woe to Triton, woe!"

The terrified giant tried to protect himself with the broad silver shield, from which the scalps of so many conquered enemies hung down.

The descending sword hissed, the uplifted shield groaned, and at the second stroke the people saw the silver buckler split into two pieces for all its potent magic symbols.

"Woe to Triton, woe!"

The stroke brought the giant to his knees. He could now only shield himself with his huge strong arm; but Bar Noemi, with his left hand, grasped his wrist so that the joints cracked, and dealt him, with his right, a last tremendous blow.