Goddesses Never Die by George B Mair

Author:George B Mair [Mair, George B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-11-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight – ‘Your fate will be less easy’

There had been many highlights in Grant’s life, and a cameo of weird events flashed through his mind as he turned into the brilliance of a noon-day sun playing upon hundreds of men and women placed in disciplined order like actors in the finale of a multimillion screen spectacle: unconscious men on the floor of Moscow Kremlin’s torture tower; Maya dancing Swan Lake on Margaret’s Isle in Budapest; Krystelle luring scores of demented men to a horrible death in the grotto near St. Thomas; his climb up the side of a well in Switzerland and the duels which he had fought with top men from SATAN. Perhaps he remembered most of all his incredible affair with Jacqueline, the girl with two faces, and a party in the Élysée Palace when a President had almost been murdered. But nothing could compare with the barbaric magnificance of the scene which rocked his senses as he adjusted his dark glasses and saw his first real glimpse of what had been described as medieval Asia.

Crowds were fifteen or twenty deep round three sides of the square with most men dressed in the saffron-coloured robes of Buddhist monks, though a few had shaven heads and many wore beards which reminded him of Old Testament prophets. Women were clad in everything from Nepalese tribal rig with crimson or blue skirts to golden saris and even kimonos from Japan.

In the middle of each of three sides an almost motionless figure was seated on a dais similar to Persia’s Peacock Throne and Grant had seen comparable splendour only in a few Byzantine cathedrals of Russia. One man, in fact, reminded him of the Patriarch of all the Russians, wearing, as he did, bejewelled robes and a mitre which were museum-pieces in their own right. Black figures wearing the masks of African witch-doctors squatted almost shoulder to shoulder along one side of the vast oblong courtyard, while young girls with naked breasts and holding a snake in each hand sat along the other.

The Mother Goddess herself was now seated on a facsimile of Britain’s Stone of Destiny upon which Moses had once laid his head, while a circle of people around her represented most of the world’s great religions: a cardinal with skull cap, and a living Vishnu . . . the second aspect of that holy Hindu trinity known as the Preserver; a muezzin serious below the fez which proved his pilgrimage to Mecca; and a silent man whom Grant knew by sight to be one of the world’s most-respected Bahais.

But the Mother Goddess dominated everything and everyone, not only by the splendour of robes which were designed from carvings Grant had once admired on friezes of Egypt’s third dynasty but by the plain wooden cross which she held in her left hand and the host sodden with mud which she held in the other. Goodness and Evil were the symbols, and Grant suspected that the Goddess had reached a

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