Hooking the rim of the vat nearest me with the point of my spear,
I sent it tumbling down the length of the column into the
whirlpool, many feet below. Then another, and another, and
another, until the ledge was empty.
Some of the burning oil, flying from the overturned vats,
alighted on the stairway, casting weird patches of light up and
down the whole length of the column. Some of it landed on my
body, my face, my hands. It was a very hell of heat; my lungs,
all the inside of me, was on fire.
My brain sang and whirled. My eyes felt as though they were
being burned from their sockets with red-hot irons. I bounded
upward.
A few more steps--I could not see, I could hardly feel--and my
head bumped against the stone at the top of the column. I put out
my hand, groping around half crazily, and by some wild chance it
came in contact with the slide that moved the stone stab. I
pushed, hardly knowing what I did, and the stone flew to one
side. I stuck my head through the opening and saw Desiree.
Her back was toward me. As I emerged from the opening the Incas
seated round the vast amphitheater and the king, seated on the
golden throne in the alcove, rose involuntarily from their seats
in astonished wonder.
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