"Who is this, then?" he asked, indicating a six-inch carving of truly astonishing ugliness; it had a fanged, twisted, sneering face, with exaggerated masculine characteristics, and was done in a rough, primitive style.
"Aghad, of course"
"And this?" He indicated a skull-faced, helmeted statuette that held a miniature sword almost the length of its body.
"Bheleu, god of destruction. One of your kind, so it is said."
"What?" Garth looked more closely, and saw that the face was not a skull; the statuette had ragged, straight hair, two thumbs on either hand, and eyes rather than sockets. In short, it was a carving of an overman.
How very odd, Garth thought, that humans should worship a god in the form of an overman. After all, overmen had nothing to do with the gods, being atheists; and weren't gods supposed to have existed throughout time, while overmen had only come into being a thousand years earlier? He looked over the whole display. He recognized the slender, graceful Tema, though these little idols did not have cloaks that spread out above them; a god with two eyeless faces he readily guessed to be Andhur Regvos. There were more of those two, in various sizes and with some variation of detail, than any others; there were a dozen or so of the fanged horror depicting Aghad, and perhaps half that number of the overmanlike Bheleu. There were two other recurring forms, both female; one held dagger and whip and wore a cruel smile, while the other was robed and cowled. He took a closer look at one of these; under the cowl the artisan had carved the face of a mummy, wrinkled skin stretched over bone. It had a nose, however, so it was not intended to be an overwoman; Garth guessed it must be P'hul.
That was only six, however.
"I only see six of the gods here."
"Naturally." The merchant looked surprised. Garth realized his mistake; the seventh god was Death, arid even were there a market, it would probably not be considered safe to try representing him.
He tried to cover his foolishness. "Of course. Who is this?" He indicated the woman with whip and dagger.
"Sai."
Garth looked blank.
"The goddess of pain and suffering."
"Oh, yes." He contemplated the display again. "And each has a temple here in Dыsarra?"
"The name says as much."
"Where are the temples? I might want to visit them."
The merchant looked at him strangely. "Very few foreigners visit the temples."
"I was just curious."
"Oh. Well, the temple of Tema is back that way," he said, indicating the direction, "and most of the others are on the Street of the Temples, over that way." He pointed toward the northeastern part of the city.
"My thanks." Garth took a final look at the array of idols, then turned away, heading northeast.
The Street of the Temples was not hard to find; it was a broad, straight avenue, paved with stone and obviously intended for ceremonial processions. Most of its length was lined not with temples, but with houses and palaces; it was obviously one of the more desirable neighborhoods. There were a few shops, all closed for the night; this part of the city belonged to the day-people, not the night-worshippers.
One end of the street was the gate to a palace, the largest and most elegant Garth had yet seen; that, presumably, belonged to the city's overlord. The other end, which was much further from where he had happened onto the avenue, appeared to be nothing but the blank stone face of the volcano on whose slopes the city was built; the street was cut into the stone for a few yards, keeping it at a negotiable slope, and then abruptly stopped.
Along the considerable distance between palace and mountainside, Garth saw four temples; they were readily distinguished from the adjoining residences because each was built entirely of black stone and surmounted by a dome of some sort, while the palaces and other buildings were flat-roofed and built of various materials. The temples were arranged two to each side, spaced along the street, dividing it into five equal lengths.
Garth had arrived on the street directly across from the temple second from the overlord's palace; it made little difference to him which he visited next, so he chose the nearest and strode across the pavement.
The temple was mostly hidden by a high wall, built of the ubiquitous black stone; only the dome, a relatively modest one, could be seen. The wall had no windows, no eaves overhanging, nor any other architectural features suggesting it was part of the temple proper; Garth assumed it enclosed a yard, and that the temple lay within the yard.
The only visible entrance was a pair of gates, perhaps ten feet high and eight feet wide, made of some metal that gleamed an eerie silver in the moonlight; they were not simple flat surfaces, but shaped into ornate curves and ridges. With a start, Garth realized that the ridges formed recognizable runes, two to each gate, spelling out AGHAD.
As he approached the gates he noticed another surprising feature; the wall was built of carefully cut stones, all exactly the same size, and every stone block had carved upon it those same four runes: AGHAD. The name of the god was repeated a thousand times over on the wall of the temple.
Well, Garth thought, at least he need not wonder which temple it was. He reached out to try the gates, but before his hand touched the gleaming surface it parted and swung open before him, revealing the courtyard beyond.
He did not much care for such trickery; he looked carefully in all directions before cautiously stepping through, but could see no sign of how the gates had been opened. He tried to peer through the crack at the hinges, only to discover there was none; each valve hung from a single intricate hinge that extended for its full height.
The courtyard beyond seemed innocent enough; a broad expanse paved with loose gravel, with a fountain playing in its center. A long colonnade surrounded it on three sides; behind the far colonnade there stood the temple itself, an elegant building of black stone, with many windows and much ornamentation.
On every column, on all three sides, was a bracket holding a blazing torch, a welcome change from the darkness of the first two temples.
It should have been beautiful, with the soft hiss of the fountain, the dancing firelight, the columns and arcades. It wasn't. There was something dim and menacing about it, and its proportions seemed somehow wrong, as if the architect had calculated the perfect dimensions and then maliciously distorted them.
Garth stepped past the gates and noticed for the first time that there were curious faint brown stains on the silvery metal. He had no time to study them, however, for as soon as he was clear the gates swung shut behind him, as mysteriously as they had opened.
He was debating whether to try and reopen them or simply to proceed, when a long, lingering scream sounded from somewhere inside the temple; Garth tensed, his hand on his sword hilt. The scream cut off abruptly, to be replaced by soft, mocking laughter that echoed eerily along the colonnades.
His curiosity was piqued, and the matter of the self-closing gates was forgotten. He started forward.
"Greetings, overman." The voice was deep and somber. It came from somewhere behind him, he thought; he whirled, sword drawn, but saw nothing except the closed gates. He noticed that they were now barred. He had not heard the bar falling in place; he reprimanded himself for not being sufficiently alert. "Welcome to the temple of Aghad." The voice now sounded somewhere to his right; he turned more slowly, wishing that these Dыsarrans weren't all so fond of trickery. He still saw no one.
"We do not receive many visitors here." Again, the voice had shifted; he decided to ignore its movements, since they were obviously some sort of trick. "Aghad is not a popular god, I fear. The masses prefer harmless, impotent little Tema." The voice laughed, softly.
Garth announced petulantly; "I don't like speaking to someone I cannot see."
"It is not intended that you should like it."
"Why not?"
"Dear infant, you are ignorant, aren't you?"
"In some areas, yes. Religion and its mystical trappings are not popular in my homeland."
"Oh, dear, not popular! Aghad is not popular anywhere, fool. Aghad is fear, hatred, loathing, all the things men-and though you will not accept it, overmen-feel for the unknown, for the different, for what they cannot understand."
"I can understand why such a deity holds little appeal."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure! Why have you come here, then?"
"I wish to visit all the seven temples."
"You lie with half-truths."
"What would you have me say, then?"
"You come to steal, scum. The altar-stones of Tema and Regvos are hidden at your warbeast's feet, at the Inn of the Seven Stars."