They moved toward the opening, feeling like ants in a cathedral, stunned by the vastness of the chamber. Another opened beyond, smaller, set with an opening through which smooth ramps led up and down. Their roofs were of some lustrous substance which threw a nacreous glow. The air was thick, slightly acrid. Dumarest could see no trace of dust.
"An entrance hall," mused Marek. "Ramps which must lead to other chambers. Assuming this place held life similar to ours there will be living accommodation and recreational areas."
"Up or down?"
"Up, Earl. Below must lie machines and storerooms, cess pits, perhaps, a means of sewage disposal. Already the pattern begins to take form. Give me time and I will draw a map of the city."
"We want the treasure," said Usan Labria. "Just the treasure."
"Then we must head toward the central spire." Marek stepped toward one of the openings. "This one, Earl."
A guess, but it was as good as any, and Dumarest led the way toward it. The ramp rose steeply after a hundred feet then leveled as it broke into another chamber also set with openings. A series of them so that, within minutes, they passed through a maze of connecting rooms all appearing exactly alike.
Pacula said uncertainly, "We could become lost. How can we be sure of finding the way back?"
"We're not lost." Marek was confident. "Always we take the central opening and climb upward."
"This reminds me of something." Usan looked around, frowning. "A bee hive? No. An ant hill? An ant hill! Earl! This place is like an ant hill."
Short passages and endless chambers all alike, none with distinctive characteristics. A prison was like that, a place built for a strictly utilitarian function without concession to artistry. The mere fact of living in such a place would mold the residents into a faceless whole, all individuality repressed by the endless monotony of the surroundings. Men, held in such an environment, would become abnormal.
Had the city been built by men?
There was no way of telling. A single chair would have given a clue as to shape and form, a table, a scrap of decoration, but the chambers were devoid of all furnishings, the openings providing the only break in the seamless construction, the sole decoration that of the sinuous lines.
They ran thin and black against the pale gray of the floor, following no apparent order, twisting to bunch into knots, opening to splayed fans.
Directional signs? A means to tell the inhabitants exactly where they were in the city?
"It's possible, Earl," admitted Marek when Dumarest spoke of it. "We have street signs and numbers, insects have scent-trails; whoever built this place could have had their own system. But to break the cipher would take too long. And it isn't necessary. All we have to do is to reach the spire."
And the treasure if treasure was to be found. But five hours later they were still no closer to where it might be.
* * *
"We're lost!" Sufan Noyoka glared his impatience. "So much for your skill, Marek. Give me time, you said, and you would produce a map of the city. Well?"
"A delay." Marek spread his hands, smiling, but his tone was sharp. "Do you expect a miracle? Those who built this place were clever. The chambers, the passages, all follow a mathematical precision designed to confuse. There are subtle turns and windings."
Dumarest said, "How far are we from the gate?"
"Who can tell? Without any point of orientation-"
"You don't know." Dumarest turned to Embira. "Can you krang the ship?"
"It lies in that direction." Her lifted hand pointed to an opening to the right of the one they had used.
"And the other?" Dumarest caught her shoulders and gently turned her to face in the opposite direction. "Can you see-krang anything?"
"Yess." She shivered, suddenly afraid. "Earl, I don't like it. It's strange, and somehow, menacing. Like some of the auras in the Cloud."
"A force field, Embira? An entity?"
"I'm not sure. Earl! Hold me!"
"Stop tormenting her!" said Pacula. "You know she is upset. We should have left her behind in the ship."
"We had no choice," said Dumarest. "Without her we would never have passed through the wall. And, without her to help us, we may never be able to leave the city."
"Earl?"
"Think about it," he snapped. "We are lost. The chambers form a maze and Marek admits he can't find his way back despite what he said at first. Only Embira can guide us."
"To the ship?"
"That and more." Gently he said to the girl, "Now try, Embira. Tell us in which way to go. Point with your hand and aim at the aura you see ahead."
"Earl! It hurts! I-"
"Try, girl! Try!"
Stare into the glow of a searchlight, the glare of a sun- how could he tell what it was like? But he had to use familiar analogies in order to even begin to understand her attribute.
"Earl! Don't! You can't hurt her like this!"
"Shut up, Pacula!" snapped Usan, and caught at her arm as she lunged forward. "Don't interfere! Let Earl handle things."
He said soothingly, "Just point, Embira. Just show us the way. Can you stop looking-kranging, if you want?"
To drop a mental shutter as a man would close an eye against too bright a light. An ability she must have if not to be driven insane by the pressure of surrounding auras.
"Yes, Earl. I have to concentrate. I-sometimes-there!" Her hand lifted, aimed at a point ahead and down. "There!"
"Is it close?"
"Closer than it was, Earl."
So Marek had not been a total failure. Dumarest stepped to the opening closet to where the girl had pointed. Beyond lay another chamber, more openings, one with a ramp leading downward. Again a featureless room, more openings, another extension of the maze.
He pressed on until he felt confused. "Embira?"
"There." More calmly now she lifted her hand. "That way, Earl."
They had diverged from the path. Dumarest found it again, striking out and down, finally coming to a halt before a blank wall. Openings ran to either side, one ramp leading up, the other down. A hundred feet down the slope Embira paused.
"We're going the wrong way, Earl. The aura lies behind us."