John Blaine - Rick Brant 08 by The Caves Of Fear

Author:The Caves Of Fear [Fear, The Caves Of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-05T11:15:56+00:00

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CHAPTER XII

The Buddhist Monk

The party topped a high rise and stopped, spellbound at the scene that spread before them. They were on the rim of a great valley. Far on the other side of the valley stood the high peaks of the Himalayas, a mighty screen between them and India.

Below, a lush green path marked the course of a wide river. On either side of it, sloping up to the mountains, was the lighter green of grasslands.

Sing pointed. “There is Korse Lenken.”

Rick had to look hard before he saw it. Then he began to make it out. The monastery was built under a great cliff on one side of the valley. At first glance it seemed like part of the cliff itself. It was huge, with tier after tier of gray stone buildings rising in piled masses from the valley floor. Around it, like tiny mounds of earth, were the hair tents of the Tibetans.

“Magnificent,” Zircon rumbled. “Well worth coming to see, even if we find nothing at the end of the trail.”

“We’ll find Chahda,” Scotty said. “I’m sure we will. And the sooner the better.”

Rick felt the same way. Now that the end of the trail was in sight, excitement was rising within him. He was anxious to find his Hindu friend and to find at the same time answers to some of the mysteries they had encountered.

“Let’s hurry,” he said impatiently.

Sing shouted at the bearers and the party took a narrow trail that dipped into the valley. Scotty rode ahead with Sing, and his rifle was ready for instant use. Rick and Zircon brought up the rear, their own rifles held ready. They had taken no chances since the fight on the hilltop. Worthington Ko had been left afoot far behind them, but there was no assurance his friends hadn’t come to the rescue with horses. Rick kept glancing behind him, just in case of an attack from the rear.

They had reached the rim of the valley by midmorning. All through the day they made their way down the mountain, reaching the valley floor about three in the afternoon. Another two hours of steady travel took them past the yurts of Tibetan herders—conical tents made of horsehair felt. The stolid Tibetans watched them pass, no interest in their beady eyes.

Then, as darkness began to set in, they reached the monastery. Korse Lenken towered above them, already shaded in twilight. From somewhere within the great pile they heard the tinkle of bells, then the deep tones of a mighty gong. Lamas, priests in yellow robes, walked past with bowed heads. Some of them spun their prayer wheels and intoned the Buddhist ritual.

Om Mani Padme Hum. Hail, the jewel in the lotus!

The jewel, of course, was the Lord Buddha.

They watched the pageant for a few moments, enthralled. Then Zircon commanded Sing. “Find someone you can talk to. We’ll want to see the High Lama.”

Sing nodded. “I will go into the monastery. The bearers will find a place to camp.

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