But
Rynason, moving wearily through the dust of the ages which had fallen
upon the city since the ancient king, found it not merely large, but
huge; not majestic, but futile. And the power and knowledge which it
once had held was but a dusty shadow now. Somewhere ahead, in the
Temple, the survivors of that ages-old culture were trying to bring the
city to life again. With or without the Outsiders, he felt, they must
fail. They really wanted to bring themselves back to life, to reawaken
their minds, their dreams, their own power. But they tried to do it with
memories, and that was not the way.
No one was guarding the Temple. Rynason went up the steps as quickly as
he could, vaulting from level to level, trying to stay in the shadows,
listening for movement. But sounds did not carry far in the air of
Hirlaj; the aliens would not hear him approaching, but he might not hear
any of them either until he stumbled upon them.
At the top of the stairs he darted into the shadows of the colonnade
which surrounded the interior.
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