In tones of quivering, clanging severity the iron bells of the Temple of the Thorn-God rang the approach of execution. The Temple was built of red brick, commingled of blood and sand, and stood solid and malevolent in the deepening dusk. The bells rang in a peaked cupola on its roof built of resonant, gilded woods, and the three neophytes who toiled there, heaving slender strong yerking ropes, would leave the place stunned, with thin lines of blood shining on the skin beneath their ears, and sempiternally deaf. But: Death! the bells rang: Death! Death! Death!
Within the Temple, hooded and quiet in an Erebus of iron noise, waited the priests who would wield the knives, and the priests who would chaunt the death-dirge. The flat, rectangular altar on which the heresiarch was to lie had been polished and painted with black-iris’d eyes, wide and hateful and lidless. The bells pounded and shrieked and rolled and thundered and suddenly were silent.
The last light of day, pouring through the open doorway of the Temple, was cut and shadowed by the figures of three men: the High Priest, the Master of Hymns, and between them, the heresiarch. The first and latter were tall and hooded, the last stumbling and bowed and near naked, with merely a fold of white cloth around his loins. He was led forward. He babbled ceaselessly in a language invented by pain. All his hair was gone and his ears and eyes and nose had been burnt or sliced away in the tortures that had taken place. But the flesh of his body was unmarked.
The three came forward to stand before the altar. The Master of Hymns released the stern pinch of his fingers on the left shoulder of the heresiarch (who sagged, and would have fallen, but for the strong fingers of the High Priest at his right shoulder) and struck his hands lightly upwards, as though to say, Begin. A hymn of laudation was sung, the Epithanation, pale lips moving slowly and precisely in hooded shadow. As the last syllable of the hymn dissolved into silence, the sun had wholly gone, and through the wide doorway of the Temple there was visible on the western horizon the sharp white eye of the planet Mlaan, the Psychopomp, who conducts the souls of those who die in the hours of darkness from the warm surface of the earth to the chill whispering mists of Hell. By Mlaan’s light the heresiarch was lifted and laid, whimpering, on the surface of the altar. Five cords were strung over his body, taut and unbreakable, from five iron rings on one side of the altar to five iron rings on the other.
The Master of Hymns struck his palms skyward for a second time, but the signal went unnoticed in the gloom, and he was forced to clap lightly to initiate the singing of the death-dirge. On the commencement of the second verse, the silent priests who were to wield the knives filed forward to their places beside the altar, six on one side, six on the other. The third verse of the dirge began, and the knives came out, thin and faintly curved and sharp. Twelve cuts were made on the flesh of the heresiarch and twelve heads bent to suck on his blood. He moaned and writhed, and the High Priest, standing at his head, soothingly stroked the skin of his forehead and bent to whisper injunctions to calm in the bare, ragged holes of his ears. The dirge continued. Slowly the life of the heresiarch was drunken away.
When death came finally, yolk-tight, into the shell of his body, there was silence for a moment, and then from above came a faint thrilling of metal as his soul, winging upwards on the hatred of the painted eyes, passed through the roof of the Temple and stumbled among the iron bells in the cupola that lay directly above the altar. Hence it passed to the naked air of night, and fell under the eye of the planet Mlaan, and thereafter, shrieking in rage and fear and agony, was conducted from the earth to Hell.
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Ðe Heresiarch
In tonesym of quiveringës, clængingës severity ðæs ironen bells of ðonës Temple of ðonës Þorn-God rængon ðonë approach of executionës. Ðe Temple wæs built of reddës brick, commingled of bloodës ænd sændës, ænd stood solid ænd malevolent in ðym deepeningym dusk. Ðæs bells rængon in ænym peakedym cupola on itsym roof, built of resonantës, gildedës woods, ænd ðæs þree priests whoën toildon ðere, heavingen on slenderenym strongenym yerkingenym ropes, wouldon leave ðonë place stunneden, wið þinnenym lines of bloodës shining on ðym skin beneaþ ðeirenym ears, ænd sempiternally deafen. But: Deaþ! ðæs bells rængon: Deaþ! Deaþ! Deaþ!
Ðe læst light of dayës, pouring þrough ðym openym doorway of ðonës Temple, wæs cut ænd shædowed by ðæsym figures of þree men: ðe High Priest, ðe Mæster of Hymnsës, ænd between ðym, ðe heresiarch. Ðæs first ænd latter were tallen ænd hoodeden, ðe læst stumbling ænd bowed ænd near naked, wið merely ænym fold of whitës cloþ around hissym hips ænd loins. He wæs led forward. He bæbbled ceaselessly in ænym language invented by painym. All hisës hair wæs gone ænd hisen ears ænd eyes ænd nose hæddon been burnt or sliced away in ðæsym tortures ðæt hæd taken place. But ðe flesh of hisës body wæs unmarked.
Ðe þree camon forward to stænd before ðym altar. Ðe Mæster of Hymnsës released ðonë sternnë pinch of hisenës fingers on ðym leftym shoulder of ðonës heresiarch (who sægged, ænd would hæve fallen, but for ðæsym strongenym fingers of ðonës Highës Priest æt hisym rightym shoulder) ænd struck hisennë hænds lightly upwards, æs ðough to say, Begin. Æ hymn of laudationës wæs sung, ðe Epiþanation, þinnen palen lips moving slowly ænd precisely in hoodedym shædow. Æs ðe læst syllable sænk away into silencÿm, ðe sun hæd wholly gone, ænd þrough ðym widÿm doorway of ðonës Temple ðere wæs visible on ðym westernym horizon ðe sharp white eye of ðonës planet Mlaan, ðe Psychopomp, who conducts ðæsnë souls of ðosës who diäþ in ðæsym hours of darknessës from ðym warmym surface of ðonës earþ to ðym chillenym whisperingenym mists of Hellës. By Mlaanës light ðe heresiarch wæs lifted ænd laid, whimpering, on ðym surface of ðonës altar. Five ropes were strung over hissym body, tauten ænd unbreakablen, from five ironenym rings on one side of ðonës altar to five ironenym rings on ðym oðer.
Ðe Mæster of Hymnsës struck hisennë palms skyward for ænym secondym time, but ðe signal went unnoticed in ðym gloom, ænd he wæs forced to clæp lightly to initiate ðonë singing of ðonës deaþ-dirge. On ðym commencement of ðonës second verse, ðe silenten priests whoën were to wield ðæsnë knives filedön forward to ðeirenym places beside ðym altar, six on one side, six on ðym oðer. Ðe þird verse of ðonës dirge begæn, ænd ðæs knives came out, þinnen ænd faintly curveden ænd sharpen. Twelve cuts were made on ðym flesh of ðonës heresiarch ænd twelve heads benton to suck, silently, on hissym blood. He moaned ænd moved, ænd ðe High Priest, stænding æt hissym head, sooðingly stroked ðonë skin of hisës forehead ænd bent to whisper injunctionsnë to calmym in ðæssym baren, ræggeden holes of hissym ears. Ðe dirge continued. Slowly ðe life of ðonës heresiarch wæs drunken away.
When deaþ came finally, yolk-tight, into ðym shell of hisës body, ðere wæs silence for ænym moment, ænd ðen from above came a faint þrilling of metalës æs his soul, winging upwards on ðym hatred of ðæssym paintedenym eyes, pæssed þrough ðym roof of ðonës Temple ænd stumbled between ðæssym ironenym bells in ðym cupola ðæt lay directly above ðym altar. Hence it passed onto ðym nakedym air of nightës, ænd fell under ðym eye of ðonës planet Mlaan, ænd ðereafter, shrieking in ragÿm ænd fearym ænd agonyÿm, wæs conducted from ðym earþ to Hellym.
