Read The Time Trap for Free Online

right,” Mason asked.
    “I think so. But—Erech?”
    Mason called the Sumerian’s name. There was no response.
    Light blazed into the room.
    They were in a tiny cell, twelve feet square or less, walled and roofed with bare metal. Mason stood up, gripping his dagger.
    A voice said mockingly, “Though Bokya fail—I do not. I am wiser than my leopards.”
    The voice of Nirvor! The Silver Priestess!
    Mason looked around quickly. The unseen woman laughed softly.
    “You cannot escape, either of you. You will die. Nor will the Master know I slew you. For when the centaur feeds, he leaves not even bones.”
    Even at that moment Mason found time to wonder why Nirvor bore him such hatred. Then he remembered his words and his shocked revulsion at the alien horror he had sensed in the eyes of the Silver Priestess. Nirvor remembered—and, to her, the offence was beyond forgiveness.
    “I followed you,” the cool voice went on, “till you reached the trap above the centaur’s den. If the Master is too confident to guard himself against treachery, I shall guard him. For Greddar Klon has promised to bring back the glories of Corinoor under Selen, and you, who are his enemies, shall die—now!”
    The floor tilted sharply. Once more Mason and Alasa dropped through space, alighting sprawled on a carpet of crackling straw. They were in a dim-lit chamber, high-roofed and huge. It seemed empty, though a black huddle loomed in a far corner.
    Nirvor’s voice came again. “Soon the centaur will waken. When you see him, pay homage to the Master’s skill. For the centaur was once a man of Al Bekr, a fool and a murderer, who was bestialized in body and brain by Greddar Klon’s science. He is not fed often. Nor are maidens often thrown into his den. And he is still partly human…” Ironic laughter died away into silence. Mason glanced at Alasa’s white face.
    “Buck up,” he said, lapsing into English, and then in Semite, “Have courage. We’re not dead yet.”
    The girl’s lips were pale. “Yet I fear—this is magic!”
    “I’m quite a sorcerer myself” Mason jested with an assurance he did not feel. He had noticed that the dark bulk in the corner was stirring. It arose. Slowly it came forward into the light…
    Icy horror chilled the man. A centaur—living, breathing, alive—stood before him, a monster out of mythology sprung to sudden life. The Master’s surgery had created it, Mason told himself, yet he could not force down his repulsion. The creature was monstrous!
    It had the body of a beast, a dun horse, all caked and smeared with filth. From the shoulders grew the torso and arms of a man, hairy and knotted with great muscles. The head was human, and yet, in some indefinable manner—bestialized. There was no intelligence in the shallow eyes, but a pale shining of dull hatred and menace.
    The eyes flickered over him, swung to the girl. Light flared within them. The monster’s loose, slobbering mouth twitched. It mouthed unintelligible sounds. The thick arm swung up. It pranced forward.
    “Stay behind me,” Mason said curdy. The dagger’s hilt was cold in his hand. He lifted the weapon.
    The centaur hesitated, looking down on the man. It seemed to sink down, crouching. And then it leaped.
    It bounded forward, front hoofs flying, bellowing rage. As that gigantic mountain of flesh crashed down Mason thrust up desperately with the dagger. Whether his blow found a mark he did not know; a hoof smashed against his head, a glancing blow that sent him hurtling back, stunned. He fell in a limp heap on the straw.
    Blackness surged up. Frantically he fought it back. His head was a blinding, throbbing ache of red agony, and when he forced open his eyes, he could not focus them properly.
    Alasa’s scream brought Mason back to full consciousness.
    Unable to move, his muscles water-weak, he lay staring at the horror before him. The man-beast had gripped the girl in its hairy arms. The shallow eyes glared at her. One taloned