The Time Trap Read Online Free Page B

pressed against the girl’s flesh, clinging apparently by suction. Flexible tubes led from them to a bulky machine on the dais.
    A movement nearby drew Mason’s attention. A man had risen to his feet, a brawny warrior with gray-streaked beard who was staring fascinated at the spectacle. Mason, following his gaze, felt cold horror touch him.
    The girl on the dais was—changing! The skin beneath the innumerable glass cups grew red and inflamed. She screamed in agony, writhing against the metallic arms of the robots. Her naked body was no longer white—it was covered with dozens of crimson disks—
    Mason understood. The air within the glass cups was being pumped out; powerful suction was wrenching at the girl’s flesh.
    There were little beads of perspiration on Erech’s face. The Sumerian’s jaw was grimly set, but he could not disguise the fear in his eyes. Under cover of the low murmur that filled the room Mason muttered, “It’s trickery, Erech.”
    The Sumerian turned doubtful eyes upon him, glanced back swiftly to the dais. From the corner of his mouth he whispered, “You are wrong, Ma-zhon. This is not the first time it has happened. I—I do not like being afraid, Ma-zhon!”
    The girl shrieked, her voice knife-edged with pain. The frightful suction tore at her flesh. Blood spurted into the glass cups. Nerves and veins and arteries were ripped into ghastly chaos. Her body became a shapeless mass of puffy, bleeding meat.
    Someone shouted. Mason turned his head in time to see a spear flash through the air, hurled by the gray-beard he had already noticed. Like a white flame the weapon flashed through the room, raced at the Master—and rebounded, fell clattering to the stones!
    A beam of yellow light darted out from the dais. There was a shrill scream as the ray impinged on tender skin. It swung toward the gray-beard. The man shouted, toppled back, his face a blackened cindery mass. “Beware!” the disk roared. “Beware the vengeance of the Master!”
    “I knew him,” the Sumerian muttered. “It was his daughter whom the Master slew just now—” He stopped as the murmuring of the throng suddenly died away.
    In the stillness the voice of the black disk sounded unnaturally loud. “Let Nine-Seven-Four come forward,” it said. Erech drew in his breath sharply.
    Then, without a glance at Mason, the Sumerian rose and strode toward the dais. Just before he reached it he came to a stop, facing the Master.
    “Where is the stranger who was in your quarters?” The voice came from Greddar Klon’s thin lips, not from the amplifying disk overhead.
    Erech said loudly. “I do not know. He escaped from my quarters.” Mason knew the words were intended for his own ears.
    So, apparently, did Greddar Klon. The Master’s voice rang out again flatly.
    “I speak to you, stranger. Come forward.”
    Mason did not move. A robot stepped forward. Its tentacle-arm coiled about Erech’s neck. The Sumerian’s hand leaped to the hilt of his scimitar, and then fell away. Amazingly the toneless voice spoke—in English, oddly accented but recognizable.
    “I—mean you no—harm. Come forward, if you—wish to return to your own—time-sector.”
    Startled, Mason involuntarily made a movement, hesitated, and then stood up quickly. After all, he had no choice. The tentacle about Erech’s neck silently warned him of the torture that would be inflicted on the Sumerian if the Master were not obeyed.
    Mason hurried forward, the target of furtive glances, passing Erech without a word. The swarthy warrior stared straight ahead, his face immobile. Greddar Klon nodded, and the robot uncoiled its tentacle from Erech’s neck, twined it instead about Mason’s upper arm. There was no menace in the gesture—rather, it seemed as though the creature had taken his arm to guide him. Mason felt a gentle tug, and the robot urged him toward the tunnel mouth behind the dais. The weird, spherical metal head, with its strange, faceted eye, stared