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entrance, then circled back to the front of the room. There the diamond-shaped head of the snake was feeding on a dead ox. Its jaws were just short of the entrance. The hole in the stairway ceiling provided the giant snake access to the polished obsidian hallway and bedroom when its services as a sentry were required. The reptile swallowed, then its eyelids drooped reverently, but the eyes glowed sensuously as they observed their queen.
    Cobra rose, set the jar carefully on a stand beside the huge reptile’s head, then shed her garments, and poured a pitcher of water over her naked flesh. She shivered splendidly as a tongue big enough to pull off her arm shot out between two columns and licked her from knee to hip.
    Cobra laughed easily, toweled off with a cloth, then removed a black garment of glittering obsidian scales from a silver chest and stepped into it clasping the hood over her head. Only the creamy white of her face and hands was revealed; the rest was black elegance. Picking up the turquoise jar, Cobra lifted her head regally and descended the interior stairway which led to a tunnel.
    Alternating between gentle inclines and steep steps, the tunnel descended in a circular pattern toward the center of the mountain. Smoke was gathered against the ceiling. As she went deeper it thickened and the rock walls became warm, then hot.
    The tunnel led her to the cone of a living volcano. Flames shot up out of holes bubbling with molten lava to cast active black shadows and moving red light over thousands of flickering forked tongues which protruded from snake holes pockmarking the walls. The devout were at worship.
    Cobra genuflected, then moved towards a dark altar rising out of the largest fire-hole at the center of the cone.
    It was a living altar. The most sacred shrine of Cobra’s god, the Lord of Death and Master of Darkness who provided life with all its appetites. It was a death’s-head altar which served as the god’s mouth. Here he could speak directly to those devoted supplicants who were privileged to comprehend his language of flickering flames and growling thunder.
    A mammoth saurian skull formed the altar. It stood on an island of black rock protruding from a pit of bubbling and smoking lava. Its jaws were spread wide to reveal flames flickering within the skull, rising like fingers around a dark object so that it appeared to float in the brain cavity. A narrow stone bridge emerged like an ancient crusted tongue from the jaws, arched invitingly over the bubbling lava and came to rest on the edge of the pit.
    Cobra’s almond eyes darkened noticeably as she approached and gazed hypnotically at the dark shape within the flames.
    It was a horned helmet, hammered from a dense black ore, carved ornately. A spike stood erect at the crest. Dark horns protruded from either side in slow, cruel curves to point almost back at the masked face. The mask was unadorned except for eye, nose and mouth holes.
    It was stark in its beauty, made starker yet by the power emanating from within it.
    Reaching the bridge, Cobra prostrated herself, touching her forehead to the hot stone floor. Then she stood regally, triumphantly held up the small turquoise jar containing the fingernail clippings, pubic hairs and spittle of Gath of Baal, and offered it to the altar with both hands.
    A flapping of rising flames and a roar of thunder shook the room.
    Cobra knelt, dipping her head, the perfect image of sensual supplication.
    “Thank you, Master, I am privileged to please you.” She rose with anticipation glittering in her dark eyes. “I will now prepare the ingredients…”
    A slap of thunder brought her to a startled choking halt. She blanched. “Forgive me, my Lord, I did not mean…”
    The thunder came again, a hard repetitive clap.
    Anxiety filled her eyes and she protested, “No! I would never let any desire for him interfere with my judgment. I swear it.”
    Flames rose up out of the pits, reached for the ceiling in towering