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Atres Artes, v. 1, issue 3, 1946
Page 20
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FANTASY FICTION KHARESH, THE VISIONARY by Francis T. Laney Then they saw Kharesh strip the wrappings from the object on the sledge. All the little men bowed down reverently, but Kharesh stood errect, gazing at a peculiarly tinted, greenish-grey statue of unheardof shape. Scarce daring to breathe, the awed servitors groveled in the shadows of the courtyard; for though none could say who or what the evil carving might depict, all could feel its soul-wrenching power and monstrous chill that emanated from the [inanimate?] stone. The watchers gasped as Kharesh stepped to the statue and made as if to pull at the carven tentacles. After several fumbling motions, a sharp click was heard, and a panel opened in the center of the statue's bloated paunch. Kharesh reached deep into the body of the statue and drew forth a yellowed roll of parchement-like substance. None could say what the ancient scroll concerned, for the little swarthy men leaped upon their dromedaries and headed them back, on the run from whence they had come and Kharesh turned on his heel and stalked into the palace, bearing the scroll with him. But all through that next night, they could hear the strained voice of Karesh chanting wild ritual, and the trembling slaves did not like the accompanying chrashes of thunder which rocked the palace to its very foundations and the mephitic odors whos charnal intensity kept the populance of Manr strangling and gagging through that night. Nor did they like the wild tones and unknown languages their master used, for it sounded too much as though voices were talking at [once?], whereas they knew that Karesh was alone. In the morning, Kharesh did not appear, and after several hours some of the bolder servents ventured to tap on his door. Though the silence that greated them wilted their spirits, they finally summoned courage to open the portal. There lay Karesh, the visionary, sleeping sprawled on the floor. Nor were their attempts to arouse the sleeping man succesfuly, and for seven long days and nights Kharesh lay in a stupor. When he finally awoke and made to resume his wonted habits, one by one his slaves fled from his palace, in terror, and in time, no man would venture to approach very close to him, for he seemed to have altered in many subtle ways [since?] his night of unnallowed activity. Gradually men learned to leave Kharesh alone, and for many years he dwelt in the slowly crumbling ruins of his palace, unattended [save?] by what specters and liches his necromancy could evoke. Travellers who were forced to seek shelter from a storm with Kharesh said that he never spoke to them of his long come, but often hinted monstrous things about the spaces between the stars, and the strange forms of life dwelling out in the forbidden void. And strong men's faces blanched with terror when they found that the eyes of Kharesh always glowed, like an animals, in the dark. THE END MISTAKES - we all make them In Atres Artes #2, the book reviewed by Francis T. Laney, The Hidden Tribe, was mistakelny called The Hidden Tres. Apologies to F. T. Laney and congradulations to our eagled eye readers who spotted the error. --Page 20__
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FANTASY FICTION KHARESH, THE VISIONARY by Francis T. Laney Then they saw Kharesh strip the wrappings from the object on the sledge. All the little men bowed down reverently, but Kharesh stood errect, gazing at a peculiarly tinted, greenish-grey statue of unheardof shape. Scarce daring to breathe, the awed servitors groveled in the shadows of the courtyard; for though none could say who or what the evil carving might depict, all could feel its soul-wrenching power and monstrous chill that emanated from the [inanimate?] stone. The watchers gasped as Kharesh stepped to the statue and made as if to pull at the carven tentacles. After several fumbling motions, a sharp click was heard, and a panel opened in the center of the statue's bloated paunch. Kharesh reached deep into the body of the statue and drew forth a yellowed roll of parchement-like substance. None could say what the ancient scroll concerned, for the little swarthy men leaped upon their dromedaries and headed them back, on the run from whence they had come and Kharesh turned on his heel and stalked into the palace, bearing the scroll with him. But all through that next night, they could hear the strained voice of Karesh chanting wild ritual, and the trembling slaves did not like the accompanying chrashes of thunder which rocked the palace to its very foundations and the mephitic odors whos charnal intensity kept the populance of Manr strangling and gagging through that night. Nor did they like the wild tones and unknown languages their master used, for it sounded too much as though voices were talking at [once?], whereas they knew that Karesh was alone. In the morning, Kharesh did not appear, and after several hours some of the bolder servents ventured to tap on his door. Though the silence that greated them wilted their spirits, they finally summoned courage to open the portal. There lay Karesh, the visionary, sleeping sprawled on the floor. Nor were their attempts to arouse the sleeping man succesfuly, and for seven long days and nights Kharesh lay in a stupor. When he finally awoke and made to resume his wonted habits, one by one his slaves fled from his palace, in terror, and in time, no man would venture to approach very close to him, for he seemed to have altered in many subtle ways [since?] his night of unnallowed activity. Gradually men learned to leave Kharesh alone, and for many years he dwelt in the slowly crumbling ruins of his palace, unattended [save?] by what specters and liches his necromancy could evoke. Travellers who were forced to seek shelter from a storm with Kharesh said that he never spoke to them of his long come, but often hinted monstrous things about the spaces between the stars, and the strange forms of life dwelling out in the forbidden void. And strong men's faces blanched with terror when they found that the eyes of Kharesh always glowed, like an animals, in the dark. THE END MISTAKES - we all make them In Atres Artes #2, the book reviewed by Francis T. Laney, The Hidden Tribe, was mistakelny called The Hidden Tres. Apologies to F. T. Laney and congradulations to our eagled eye readers who spotted the error. --Page 20__
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