The Golden Apple of Shangri-La Read Online Free

his gang. Reed and Jamyang threw down the anchors and Rowena slid down the mooring rope to properly secure the ‘stat to the large stone well behind which Professor Halifax cowered.
    â€œReginald!” called Reed. “What on Earth brings you here with that fiend?”
    The professor fell to his knees before his saviours, gabbling about how he had encountered Von Karloff in Shanghai and the Prussian had taken him prisoner to utilize his archaeological know-how on the nefarious raid on Shangri-La.
    â€œYou could have refused,” said Rowena, looking around to where the women helped their fallen, ravished comrades.
    â€œHe would have killed me,” said Halifax wretchedly.
    There were perhaps a hundred women living in the community, all frozen in that wondrous flush where youth and maturity combine, all beauteous. They had neither the Oriental features of the Tibetans nor the angular features of the English, but were somewhere between, speaking of a dash of all the peoples of the world in their lissome bodies and even, pleasant faces. They seemed to be nominally led by a dark-haired woman dressed in a simple silk shift who greeted the newcomers warily.
    She introduced herself in perfect English as Kella, and when Rowena—for it was she Kella looked to as the authority of the small group, rather than John Reed, which Rowena could tell rankled him to no end—had convinced her that they were of honourable intentions and were, in fact, pursuing Von Karloff, she welcomed them with the offer of milk and honeydew.
    Jamyang graciously declined and murmured to Rowena, “Drink and eat not in Shangri-La, lest you would remain here for several lifetimes.”
    Instead, they considered Von Karloff’s position, half a mile away in the copse of trees.
    â€œFor what purpose does he commit these atrocities, at such effort?” Rowena wondered.
    â€œSimple,” said Kella, and led them into the large stone structure at the centre of the village. It was as a shrine or holy place, lit by burning braziers, and at the centre of it was a raised dais.
    â€œIt has sat here, safely, for many years, that to which we devote our extended lifetimes,” said Kella. “A gift from God, held in trust by the women of Shangri-La until such time as mankind is ready to receive it.”
    â€œWhat kind of gift?” Rowena said.
    â€œThe Golden Apple of Shangri-La,” said Halifax miserably. “And now it is gone with that vagabond. You are familiar with the tale of the Tower of Babel?”
    Rowena was, in passing, and Reed excitedly recounted in detail how the ancient Babylonians had wished to build a structure to scrape the underside of Heaven itself, not in glory to God but as a show of humanity’s strength and invention.
    â€œWhen God caused the Tower to fall he wished upon man the confusion of languages,” said Kella. “Where one tongue was spoken among the remnants who had survived the Great Flood, now a multitude of clamouring languages divided humanity. But the situation was not to be permanent.”
    â€œThis Apple…?” said Rowena.
    Kella nodded her beautiful head. “God gifted mankind the Golden Apple, which removes the barriers of language. It was kept here in Shangri-La, to which it also gives the bounty of lush protection from the Himalayan winter. When mankind is ready, the Golden Apple will once again unite the nations of the world in one tongue.”
    They exited the temple and surveyed the copse where Von Karloff’s men could be seen peering from the trees. By now they would have realized that even with their losses they still outnumbered the crew of the Skylady . Rowena shivered. Was the air several degrees cooler than when they had landed, though the sun still burned high in the sky?
    â€œShangri-La will die without the Golden Apple,” said Kella, as though reading Rowena’s mind. Even as she spoke the wind became colder and flurries of