# Drome/Chapter 38

Chapter 38
Something Besides Madness
There was a shock. The boat, I thought, was surely going over. Came a heavy plunge, and she righted, though sluggishly, for water had come pouring over the side in ​gallons. Narkus had vanished. The demon was struggling madly on the surface, one of its great wings almost shorn clean from the body. An instant, and the head of Narkus was seen emerging. Almost at that very second, Rhodes fired at the ape-bat; a convulsive shudder passed through the hideous body, which slowly sank and disappeared. Narkus showed the most admirable coolness. He did not dash at the side of the boat, as nine men out of ten would have done, but swam quietly to the stern, where he was drawn inboard without shipping a spoonful of water—unhurt but minus his sword.
Two hours afterward, we reached firm ground, which soon became high and rocky. The vegetation there was sparse and dwarfish, and the place had a look indescribably wild and forbidding. Then at last we came to the end of the cavern itself. Yes, there before us, beetling up for hundreds of feet, up to the very roof, rose the rocky wall—into a cleft in which the river slowly and silently went gliding, like some monstrous serpent.
We passed the night in that spot and in the morning entered the cleft, which, in my troubled imagination, seemed to open wider to receive us.
Oh, what a strange, dreadful place was that in which we now found ourselves! One thought of lost souls and nameless things. Ere long there was no perceptible current, and so out came the oars again. The place was a perfect labyrinth—a place of gloom and at times of absolute darkness. We were no less than three whole days in that awful maze of rock and water; but it was to emerge into a landscape beautiful beyond all description.
The region was a wilderness, but soon—the day after that in which we issued from the labyrinth, in fact—we sighted our first habitation of man in this world of Drome. The next day we reached a village, where we passed the night. We were much struck by the deep respect with which Drorathusa was received. As for our own reception—well, that gave us something to think about.
Not that there was any sign of menace. It was the looks, the very mien of those Hypogeans that puzzled and worried Rhodes and myself. That Drorathusa endeavored to allay the suspicion or dread (or whatever it was) in the minds of the people was as clear to us as if we had understood every word spoken. The manner, however, in which they received her address but enhanced our uneasiness. No voice was raised in dissent to what she said; but there was no blinking the fact that there was no acquiescence whatever in what she urged so earnestly.
"What on earth, Milton," I asked, "does it mean?"
"Ask me something I can tell you, Bill," was Rhodes' consoling answer. "You know, when we came in sight of that first Droman habitation, I thought, that now our troubles were over."
"So did I."
"But we were wrong, Bill; we were wrong. It is a queer business, and goodness only knows what it means."
"It means trouble," I told him.
And the very next day showed that I was right.
We embarked at an early hour the following morning and in another and larger boat. It had a high ornamented prow and was indeed a lovely little craft. This day's voyage brought us to the City of Lellolando. It has a population of about fifteen thousand, and there Rhodes and I had our first sight of the beautiful Droman architecture—as displayed, that is, in the public buildings, for the dwellings are in no wise remarkable. These public buildings are net many, of course, in a place so small, ​but their beauty filled us with amazement.
Incomparably the most wonderful is the temple, builded upon the summit of a great rounded rock in almost the very center of the city. It was as though we had been transported back to "the glory that was Greece." Yes, it is my belief, and the belief of Rhodes also, that this temple would not have suffered could it by some miracle have been placed beside the celebrated temple of Diana at Ephesus. Buildings more wonderful than this we were to see, the grandest of all the great temple in Nornawnla Prendella, the Golden City, which is the capital of Drome; but I do not think that anything we saw afterward struck us with greater wonder and amazement.
"Some Chersiphron," said Rhodes, "must have wandered from Drome and finally made his way up into ancient Greece and taught the secrets of his art there. It is indeed a marvel that the art of the ancient Hellenes and this of Drome are so very similar. And yet they must have been autochthonous.
"But," he added, "I wonder what they worship in that Splendid place. Some horrible pantheon, perhaps."
"Let us," said I, "give them the benefit of the doubt. For all we know to the contrary, these Dromans may be true monotheists."
And this, I rejoice to say, the Dromans are—though, I regret to subjoin, there are some very absurd things in their religion, things dark and even things terrible.
But I anticipate in this, for it was just after we landed that it happened.
We had started up one of the principal streets, on our way to the house of a high functionary—though, of course, Rhodes and I had no idea whither we were bound. On each side the street was a solid mass of humanity—many of the young people, by the way, having hair as white as snow, like that of our Delphis. Of a sudden a man, lean of visage and with eyes that glowed like red coals, broke through the guards (a half-dozen or so were marching along on either side of our little procession) and slashed savagely at the face of Rhodes with a great curved dagger. Rhodes sprang aside, almost thrusting me onto my knees, and the next instant he dealt the man a blow with his alpenstock. The blow, however, was a slanting one, ineffectual. With a scream, the fellow sprang again, his terrible knife upraised; but the guards threw themselves upon him, and he was dragged off, struggling and screaming like a maniac.
Of a truth, Rhodes had had a narrow escape. And what did it mean?
"It must have been the act of a madman," I said.
"It might have been," was Milton's answer. "But unless I am greatly mistaken, there was something besides madness back of it."