THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt

THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic - Abraham  Merritt


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       Abraham Merritt

      THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic

      SF & Fantasy Novel

      Published by

      Books

      - Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -

       [email protected]

      2018 OK Publishing

      ISBN 978-80-272-4293-1

      Table of Contents

       PART I

       1. The Coming of the Ship

       2. The First Adventure

       3. The Ship Returns

       PART II

       4. The Sin of Zarpanit

       5. How The Gods Judged

       6. “Am I Not — Woman!”

       7. Slave Of The Ship

       8. The Tale Of Sigurd

       9. The Bargaining Of Sharane

       10. On The Ship A-Sailing

       11. Gigi Snaps The Chains

       12. Master Of The Ship:

       13. Master Of — Sharane!

       PART III

       14. The Black Priest Strikes

       15. Down The Rope Of Sound

       16. How The Ship Was Manned

       17. They Seek Sorcerers’ Isle

       PART IV

       18. In the Sorcerers’ City

       19. The Lord Of The Two Deaths

       20. Behind The Wall

       21. Before The Altar Of Bel

       22. How Narada Danced

       PART V

       23. Dancer and Priest

       24. The Gods — And Man’s Desire

       25. In The Bower Of Bel

       26. The Passing Of Zubran

       27. How They Fared Back To The Ship

       28. The Vision Of Kenton

       29. How The Strife Was Ended

       30. The Last Battle

       PART VI

       31. The Ship Goes

      PART I

       Table of Contents

      1 THE COMING OF THE SHIP

       Table of Contents

      A tendril of the strange fragrance spiralled up from the great stone block. Kenton felt it caress his face like a coaxing hand.

      He had been aware of that fragrance — an alien perfume, subtly troubling, evocative of fleeting unfamiliar images, of thought-wisps that were gone before the mind could grasp them — ever since he had unsheathed from its coverings the thing Forsyth, the old archaeologist, had sent him from the sand shrouds of ages-dead Babylon.

      Once again his eyes measured the block — four feet long, a little more than that in height, a trifle less in width. A faded yellow, its centuries hung about it like a half visible garment. On one face only was there inscription, a dozen parallel lines of archaic cuneiform; carved there, if Forsyth were right in his deductions, in the reign of Sargon of Akkad, sixty centuries ago. The surface of the stone was scarred and pitted and the wedge-shaped symbols mutilated, half obliterated.

      Kenton leaned closer over it, and closer around him wound the scented spirals clinging like scores of tendrils, clinging like little fingers, wistful, supplicating, pleading —

      Pleading for release! What nonsense was this he was dreaming? Kenton drew himself up. A hammer lay close at hand; he lifted it and struck the block, impatiently.

      The block answered the blow!

      It murmured; the murmuring grew louder; louder still, with faint bell tones like distant carillons of jade. The murmurings ceased, now they were only high, sweet chimings; clearer, ever more clear they rang, drawing closer, winging up through endless corridors of time.

      There was a sharp crackling. The block split. From the break pulsed a radiance as of rosy pearls and with it wave after


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