"A thousand years? Two thousand? Your guess is as good as mine. Probably hasn't been used in centuries, but it's in splendid condition." Lamp lifted high, Ian began walking the length of the chamber. "This might have been a natural cave to begin with, but a huge amount of work went into expanding the space and smoothing the walls."
"Do you think we'll find a fabulous ruby in the navel of a solid gold statue?"
"I doubt it. The really wealthy temples are famous places of pilgrimage, while this shrine must have been used by a fairly small group of people. Used, then abandoned, but not before the worshippers concealed the entrance. At least that's my guess." Ian studied the painting of a man wrestling with a serpent. "Even if there were valuables here, I wouldn't touch them. Bad luck to steal from a temple, even an abandoned one."
"You're right, of course," she said repentantly. "But this is still a wonderful adventure. Do you recognize what deity the temple is dedicated to?"
Ian raised his lamp and gestured toward the statue, which depicted a majestic being who danced within a ring of fire.
"Siva in his aspect of Nataraja, the Lord of the Dance. He symbolizes the endless cycle of life—creation, preservation, destruction, then rebirth."
Laura stared at the image, fascinated. Limbs supple and face serene, the four-armed god stood perfectly balanced on one foot, his other leg eternally poised for the next step of the dance.
Even without Ian's explanation, she would have found the sight deeply affecting. The temple and statue were more than beautiful. They inspired the reverent awe that Laura associated with Christian churches.
As she walked toward the statue, she discovered a doorway tucked behind one of the pillars on her right. Curious, she stepped through and found herself in a much smaller chapel. Instead of more paintings, the walls were entirely covered with carving. Groups of human figures were interspersed with bands of abstract design to create a dazzling richness of form.
It took a moment for Laura to see beyond the general effect to the details, but when she did, shock ran through her like a lightning bolt. Her shotgun dropped from nerveless fingers, hitting the stone floor with a metallic clatter.
Barely managing to hang onto the lamp, she gasped, "Merciful heaven!"
The exquisitely carved figures were engaged in what were usually called lewd acts. In the wavering lamplight, they appeared to writhe as if they were alive, and their actions left nothing—absolutely nothing—to the imagination.
Hearing the fall of the shotgun, Ian called sharply, "Laura, is something wrong?"
She tried to answer but no sound came out of her choked throat. A moment later Ian whipped through the door of the chapel, revolver in hand. Then he stopped dead, his gaze going from Laura to the walls, then back again. "Damnation."
Laura swallowed hard. "D... do people really behave like that?" She gestured toward one group of figures.
"I've never heard of a real man who could stand on his head while making love to three women simultaneously," Ian replied. He uncocked his revolver and bolstered it, then came over and put his arm around Laura's shoulders. "Are you feeling faint? You look white as a sheet."
She hid her face against him, feeling hot and humiliated and a little dizzy. But the figures drew her mesmerized gaze again. "Are.. are male organs really that large?"
He followed her gaze. "Definitely exaggerated," he said dryly. "Come along. I'd better get you outside before you faint."
With Ian's firm hand on her arm, Laura made her way out to the small open area in front of the cave. The blaze of sunshine blinded her and she swayed unsteadily.
Ian caught her arms and lowered her into the shade of a boulder. "Put your head down," he said, kneeling beside her.
Laura bent forward and buried her face in her hands. The dizziness receded, but closing her eyes did not eliminate the vivid images from her mind.
One couple had particularly caught her attention. They stood upright, the man supporting the woman as she wrapped her legs around his. Their naked loins were pressed together and his hand rested on her round buttock. Utterly obscene, of course—yet their faces had shown such joy.
But there was no joy in Laura. The experience proved that she was as depraved as she had always suspected, for blood throbbed hotly in secret places of her body for which she had no name. Grimly she fought the shameful, pleasurable sensations, until she was able to raise her gaze and say with creditable calm, "I'm fine. Sorry to act like such a ninny."
"You're entitled to be shocked," he said. "One wouldn't find anything like that in an Anglican church in a village in upper Surrey."