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blood。 The hunters kept their distance； no doubt waiting for the lion to bee so weakened by blood…loss that they could close in and claim the heroic moment for themselves。
But the most perverse of all the scenes were those in which erotic love and hunting were conjoined。
There was； for instance； a place where the dogs had driven a number of naked men and women up a gorge； where they had encountered a group of hunters armed with spears and nets。 The terrified couples clung to one another； but the netters and the spearers knew their business。 Men were separated from women and the men were run through with spears； the women all bundled up in the nets； heaped on carts； and carried away。 The sexual servitude that awaited them was of a very particular kind。 Reading the walls from left to right the viewer's eye found that in an adjacent valley the women were freed from the nets and strapped beneath the bodies of massive centaurs； their legs stretched around the flanks of the animals。 The women's response to this terrible violation was something the artists had taken some trouble to detail。 One was screaming in agony； her head thrown back； as blood ran from the place where she was being divided。 Others appeared to be in ecstasy at this forced marriage； pressing their faces joyously to the necks of their deflowerers。
But this part of the story did not finish there。 If the 'reader'； scanning these walls； had continued his enquiry； he would have found that some of the men had survived the massacre in the gorge； and returned； on a later sequence of tiles； to hunt the creatures that had their wives in sexual thrall。 These were some of the most brilliantly painted sequences on the walls： the surviving lovers returning on horseback； so as to match their speed to that of the centaurs。 Lassoes circling in the air over their heads； they closed on the centaurs； who were slowed down by the very women they carried around to pleasure them。 Several were brought down by ropes around the neck； others were speared in the throat or flank。 The women they carried were not always lucky in these encounters。 Though no doubt their rescuers intended to free them； it was often the case that they perished beneath the weight of their violators； as the dying centaurs rolled over； crushing them。 Perhaps there was some moral here…some lesson about the vulnerability of the innocent women when two tribes of males were set against one another； but the artists seemed to take too much grisly pleasure in their depictions for this to be the case。 Rather； it appeared to be done for the pleasure of the doing； of the imagining； and of the rendering。 There was no moral from one end of this world to the other。
It would be possible to go on listing at great length the horrors and the spectacles of the scenes laid out on the tile： the fields of dancing demons； the fairy races； the succubi squatting on roofs； the holy fools draped in coats of cow…dung； the satyrs； the spirits of graveside； roadside and hearth…side； the weasel…kings and the bloated toads； and so on； and so on； behind every tree and on every cloud； sliding down every waterfall and lingering beneath every rock： a world haunted by the shapes of lust and animal lust and all that humanity called to its bosom in the long nights of its despair。
Though Hollywood…even in its fledgling years…was presenting itself to the world as the very soul of the imagination； there was nothing going on before the cameras there （nor would there be； ever） that could pete with what the master tile…painters and their apprentices had created。
It was； as Sandru has said； the Devil's Country。
Zeffer went to Brascov to hire men； at prices five or six times what he would have paid locally； because he wanted hands that could do the job with some finesse； and minds that could count to a higher number than their fingers。 He devised the means by which the masterpiece could be removed himself。 The tiles were meticulously numbered on the reverse sides and a huge legend made of the room by three cartographers he had also hired in the city； so that there would be a meticulous record of the way the design had been laid out； and an obsessive accounting of how the tiles were numbered； stacked and packed away； including a detailed description of which tiles were cracked or damaged before they were packed； which had been mislaid by the original tilers （there were a hundred and sixteen such tiles； most turned ninety or a hundred and eighty degrees by an artisan too tired； too bewildered or perhaps too drunk to realize his error）； all so that when the tiles were unpacked at the house in Coldheart Canyon there would be no difficulty reordering them into the original design。
It was a long process； a total of eleven weeks were to pass before the crated tiles were finally transported from the Fortress。
All the work had drawn much attention of course； from the brothers themselves； who knew what was going on because Father Sandru had told them； and from the villagers； who had only the vaguest of ideas of what all this was about。 There were rumors flying around that the removal was being undertaken because the tiles had put the souls of the Fathers in spiritual jeopardy； but precise details of this jeopardy changed from account to account。
The vast sum of money that was now in the possession of the Order did very little to transform the lives of the priests； apart from inspiring some of the most embittered exchanges in the history of the brotherhood。 Several of the priests were of the opinion that the tiles should not have been sold （not because of their merit； but because it was not wise to loose such unholy images on the secular world）。 To this； Father Sandru…who was more often； and more publicly； drunk by the day…offered only a sneering dismissal。
What does it matter？； he said to the plainers： they are only tiles； for God's sake。
There were a good number of shaken heads by the way of response； and a very eloquent riposte from one of the older Fathers； who said that God had put the tiles into their protection； and it was cynical and careless of him to let them go。 What damage might they not do； out there in the world； he said； what hurt to innocent souls？
Sandru was unmoved by all this。 There were no innocent souls in Hollywood； he had learned； nor was there any sin or excess painted in the tiles that the people of that city were not intimately familiar with。 He spoke with an authority which he didn't in truth possess； but it sufficiently impressed the brothers…or at least a greater number of them…so that the nay…sayers were finally silenced。
There was much debate about what should happen to the money。 One faction； led by the older men； believed it had been acquired by dubious means； and the only uncorrupted way to dispose of it was to distribute it amongst the poor。 Surprisingly； very few voices supported this solution； some part of the money might be given to the needy in the village； the priests agreed； but there were other causes that should be attended to。 There was some lobbying for a plete removal of the Order to some other place than the Fortress； a more fortable place； where they could find thei