"Look," whispered Drake, and whirled me around.
Less than five miles away was Ruszark, the City of
Cherkis. And it was like some ancient city come into life
out of long dead centuries. A page restored from once
conquering Persia's crumbled book. A city of the Chosroes
transported by Jinns into our own time.
Built around and upon a low mount, it stood within a
valley but little larger than the Pit. The plain was level, as
though once it had been the floor of some primeval lake;
the hill of the City was its only elevation.
Beyond, I caught the glinting of a narrow stream,
meandering. The valley was ringed with precipitous cliffs
falling sheer to its floor.
Slowly we advanced.
The city was almost square, guarded by double walls of
hewn stone. The first raised itself a hundred feet on high,
turreted and parapeted and pierced with gates. Perhaps a
quarter of a mile behind it the second fortification thrust
up.
The city itself I estimated covered about ten square
miles. It ran upward in broad terraces. It was very fair,
decked with blossoming gardens and green groves. Among
the clustering granite houses, red and yellow roofed, thrust
skyward tall spires and towers. Upon the mount's top was
a broad, flat plaza on which were great buildings, marble
white and golden roofed; temples I thought, or
palaces, or both.
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