As the Green Star Rises

Chapter 16. THE DECISION OF PARIMUS

The prince of Tharkoon willingly granted audience to the mariners once the recaptured Xothun had docked, and Prince Andar had presented his credentials to the harbor guards. Despite his tattered and scanty raiment and whip-scarred back, it was not difficult for Andar to prove his rank and station; for princes of the Komarian royal house are tattooed with an heraldic device at birth, this dynastic emblem being situated upon the breast.

Parimus of Tharkoon was an elderly man; tall and lean, kingly and commanding, attired in glittering and splendid robes of gilt brocade sewn with flashing gems. His lofty brow denoted superior intelligence, his silver herd the majesty of age; and his jade-green eyes were keen, alert, observant and sympathetic as he listened to Andar’s incredible tale in his great hall of audience.

“I was not unaware, Prince Andar, of the calamity which has befallen your unhappy island realm; neither am I indifferent to the potential menace the Blue Barbarians afford the safety of my own kingdom,” the Wizard said thoughtfully, upon the conclusion of the Komarian’s statements. “The death or disappearance of the Warlord of the savage Horde, early last year, gave me cause to hope that the Barbarians would collapse; torn apart by internal rivalries, unable to cope on their own, bereft of the superlative, cunning genius of their lost leader. And, in part, my hopes were fulfilled, for in the many seasons past the Barbarian conquerors have merely occupied the isle of Komar, too busily settling their internal dissensions to bother with any schemes for extending their savage empire in the direction of my realm of Tharkoon. Now, however, it would seem the situation has been resolved. Such plans are indeed afoot—if you accurately report the purpose of the Xothun’s mission here, as I believe you do.”

“Then you will lend your strength to us in setting my people free, and in crushing our mutual enemies?” demanded Andar, eagerly. The magician smiled and stilled his words with a gentle gesture.

“It is not that easy, my young friend! We Tharkoonians have never been a warlike race. I maintain only a small militia to keep order in my dominions. Thus, I have no standing army to lend in support of your cause…”

“Aye? An’ what o’ his magic powers, then?” grumbled Klygon to Lord Eryon, where they stood a few paces from the throne dais. “I could’a swore his wizardship there was able t’summon ghosts an’ genies from The World Above!”

“Hush, goblin,” growled Eryon, from one corner of his mouth. “When princes converse, ugly foreign imps keep silent.”

” ‘Ugly,’ is it, you thick-head,” muttered Klygon in a surly manner. “I’ll teach you manners when you do be discoursin’ with a visitin’ gentleman of Ardha!”

Little love was lost between the homely, comical, bandy-legged little hook-nosed Assassin, and the towering, hot-tempered Komarian blueblood. Their banter had enlivened many a dull evening aboard the Xothun on the voyage hither. The give-and-take between the disparate duo, I had best add here, was largely on the verbal level; actually, a warm bond of comradeship had sprung up between the two men, so very different in appearance, background, and social position.

“Will you two hold your tongues?” begged Andar, repressing a grin.

“Beggin’ your princely pardon, I’m sure,” retorted the little guttersnipe with a servile bow. “But yonder great hulking oaf lacks decent words when dealin’ with his betters—”

“Ho,” roared Eryon, huffing out his beard, eyes ablaze. “My better, are you, weasel? Scoundrel! Rapscallion! Deformed dwarfling! Were we back aboard the Xothun, ‘twould be out blade and scatter gore!”

“I beg you, gentlemen,” laughed Prince Parimus helplessly. “We have important matters of state to decide here! Kindly conduct your duels, whether verbal or physical, after a proper course of action has been determined … “

“I pray pardon for my ruffianly followers,” Andar grinned, with a shrug. “But, to be fair, Klygon of Ardha has raised a point of worthy interest in mentioning your wizardly powers, sire. Standing army or not, is’t possible your mastery of sorcerous arts is sufficient to outweigh ten thousand warriors in the field?”

By sheerest chance, the agile-witted Prince of Komar had touched upon a facet of his abilities of which the Wizard of Tharkoon was excessively vain. He coughed, complacently pooh-poohing such voluble praise; finally he admitted, with a pretense of modesty which fooled no one present, that he did possess a modicum of skills in the usage of the age-old technological arcana of the Kaloodha.

Through the next few days there were several such meetings convened in the great hall of audience, when the lords of the Tharkoonians and the barons of the Komarians debated tactics, schedules, and the deployment of forces.

The affable Prince-Wizard of the seacoast city was far too intelligent to ignore the danger hovering with dark wings over the security of his happy realm. And far too humane and compassionate to regard with indifference the brutal subjugation of the isle of Komar by her savage conquerors.

Prince Andar reiterated his scheme for entering the harbor of Komar aboard the Xothun, with him and his men dressed in Barbarian harness, their complexions concealed behind blue paint. The all-important element of surprise, he thought, would enable them to gain entry to the walled Citadel atop the acropolis hill at the heart of the city, upon pretext of bearing important tidings. Then, once behind the fortress gates, they would strive to cut their way through the Barbarian chiefs to recapture the Citadel. Due to the extensive fortifications of the acropolis hill, the Barbarian warriors in the Outer City would be helpless to come to the defense of their chieftains.

“And then, timing it to a nicety, were I to land with my force and engage the Outer City garrisons with my magic weapons,” mused Parimus thoughtfully, “it would be a matter of divide and conquer … hmm… your plan has considerable merit, my princely neighbor!”

“Such is certainly my own opinion,” admitted Andar the Komarian. “Great import, however, lies in timing the arrival of our twin expeditions, which must be precise. Your fleet should set sail so as to reach the harbor of Komar thirty to forty minutes after the Xothun docks; anything earlier or later might prove fatal to the success of our plans.”

The Prince-Wizard smiled unworriedly.

“I have no fleets, Prince Andar; neither need we concern ourselves with such trivial problems as tides, or contrary winds or storms.”

Andar’s frank, open face clearly registered his surprise and consternation.

“No fleet? But how, then, do you plan to launch your forces against the stronghold of the Barbarians?”

“By air, my young friend! I have succeeded in re-energizing one of the aerial vessels used by the forgotten Kaloodha. My sky yacht will serve to bear my warriors and myself to the island city in a mere twinkling. Have no worries on that account, let me reassure you!”

Their plans concluded, the Prince and his lords, together with Klygon, returned to the Xothun and cast off. In some little while the ship had vanished from view. It would take them only a day or two of steady sailing to gain entry to the harbor of Komar; Andar did not plan to loiter along the way; however he strove to time his arrival at early nightfall, for the darkness would make it even less likely that the Blue Barbarians would penetrate their disguises and discover the imposture. Parimus had supplied them with a sufficiency of a blue salve whose tone accurately matched the pigment of the Barbarians’ skins.

Leaving Klygon behind as his liaison with the Tharkoonians, when Prince Andar and his warrior nobles debarked in the Xothun, they took with them the beautiful young foreign woman who had so dramatically landed on the deck of the vessel immediately prior to their landing in the harbor of Tharkoon. Klygon at loose ends since the disappearance of young Karn, was happy to have something to do with himself; he delighted in the importance of his new role, strutting pompously about in borrowed robes.

While the Xothun sailed the waters of the inland sea of Komar, the Prince-Wizard of Tharkoon assembled a company of his bravest, most experienced bowmen and readied his sky yacht for immediate departure.

This vehicle closely resembled the Kaloodha skysled in which Karn, Janchan and Zarqa had made their escape from the Pylon of Sarchimus the Wise. It was fashioned from the same unknown silvery metal, with long sled-like runners which extended beneath the keel of the vessel and afforded it a means to settle on the ground. But it was many times the length of the little four-man sled; with an enclosed cabin and compartments below the deck, which could serve as comfortable accommodations for a considerable number of men. Circular portholes, fitted with panes of durable, transparent crystal, ran in a row along the sides; and the prow of the vehicle terminated in a pointed nose like that of a tapering projectile, rather than turning up in a curve as did the prow of the skysled.

Weapons, gear and provisions were stored in the capacious hold and Klygon, Parimus and his war-party came aboard; at the appointed time, the aerial vessel arose from the palace rooftop of the science wizard and took to the skies.

The yacht passed above a jungled isle shortly thereafter. Chancing to peer into the mirror-table which, by a cunning arrangement of lesser mirrors, afforded occupants of the cabin a clear, unimpeded view of whatever lay directly beneath the sky yacht, the Tharkoonian savant was surprised to see a human being upon the desolate beach.

“How peculiar!” he murmured to the stalwart young bowman named Zorak, who stood watch on the bridge of the flying ship. “I had considered the isle of Narjix completely uninhabited, save for savage beasts, till now.”

“Perhaps, lord, yonder person is a hapless castaway,” the bowman suggested.

Parimus shrugged. ” ‘Tis not unlikely; these waters are rendered hazardous at this season by sudden storms. Instruct the pilot, Zorak. Let us descend to the strand and discover whether we can render assistance to the unfortunate young person who may have been cast ashore by a shipwreck, or even washed overboard in a squall…”

Klygon’s ears pricked at these words. Scarcely daring to permit hope to enter his bosom, the bandy-legged little Assassin came over to where they stood and peered down into the luminous mirror. He strained his eyes to discern any recognizable features in the stranger whose miniature figure was reflected in the depths of the glass screen.

Was it merely his old eyes playing tricks upon him—or did he fancy the half-naked figure was that of someone he knew? His heart thudded against the cage of his ribs like a prisoned bird; he hovered over the mirror in an agony of suspense.

The sky yacht halted its progress, hovered weightlessly, then began to descend to the sandy beach where a small and lonely figure stood staring skywards.

Chapter 17. THE MIND-QUESTING

Ever nearer came the spider-monster, down the long, quivering strand of its gigantic web. With frantic haste Prince Janchan, Nimbalim of Yoth, and Zarqa the Kalood searched through their garments or belongings for a fire-making implement. Nimbalim shrugged philosophically with empty hands, for his robes concealed no such device. Zarqa, like all his sexless, tough-skinned race, had no use for clothing and wore none. And Janchan’s pocket-pouch was empty!

“The xoph approaches,” observed the thousand-year-old sage, tranquilly. His companions looked up to see, still at some distance, the horrible scuttling shape of the Brobdingnagian spider. The brute was essentially the same many-legged creature identical with Earth spiders; but, as is the way with all insects on the World of the Green Star, one grown to the proportions of an elephant. Clad in albino fur, with monstrous glittering compound eyes like clustered black crystals, it rapidly narrowed the gap between itself and its helpless prey. Feeding-mandibles clacked and rasped with horrid eagerness; black crystal eyes glared with mindless hunger; the obscene mouth-orifice drooled a stinging slime. The thick anchor-cable swayed like a ship’s hawser under its ponderous, scuttling weight.

The Prince of the Phaolon had carried off his weapons when they had departed from the Flying City of Calidar. He now drew forth his longsword and stiletto from their scabbards and took up a stance at the edge of the sled, facing the rapidly approaching monster.

“Young sir, what is it that you would do?” inquired the philosopher. Janchan shrugged and replied that he meant to fight the xoph as best he could. “You but prolong the inevitable,” said Nimbalim gently.

“Perhaps; but it shall never be said of Janchan of Phaolon that he died without fighting for his life,” responded the young warrior briefly.

Were it not for the after-effects of the bolt, which have temporarily numbed the muscles of my wings, I could perchance bear us to safety through flight, came the cool, serene thoughts of Zarqa. But I fear our adventures are at an end, my friends. It has been a privilege to share in your perils and exploits; I, who have outlived the last of my race, have known an end to the unendurable loneliness that was my lot, in your companionship. I do not fear death, but I regret only that we shall not live to discover the fate of our lost friends.

“And I, who have passed dreary centuries in the captivity of the black immortals, have at least had a taste of freedom,” said the old Yothian quietly. “It pleases my heart that, even if I must end my days here at this time, at least I shall die as a free man.”

They stood together, watching the approach of the albino spider-monster. The immense arachnid descended the long cable-strand more cautiously now; for its glittering compound eyes had observed the strangeness of the flying thing its adhesive web had captured. Never before had the giant xoph snared such curious prey; it approached on jointed legs hesitantly, sensitive antennae testing the air for the presence of danger.

Now do I regret that we departed from the burning temple of Ardha in such haste, came the cool thought of Zarqa. For in my haste to be gone, I abandoned the death-flash which the temple guards stripped from me. Had I the weapon with me now, ‘twould be simplicity itself to blast the spider-monster from its aerial perch…

Suddenly reminded of the store of weapons they had carried off when they had departed from the Pylon of Sarchimus, at the termination of the previous adventure, Janchan gasped and stiffened. Hope suffused his grim features.

“The vial of Liquid Flame!” he exclaimed.

‘Twas carried of by young Karn, with the Witchlight and the coil of Live Rope, said Zarqa listlessly, when he left the skysled to enter Ardha on his own, and was slain by the zzumalak—

“But there were two vials,” cried Janchan. “I brought one of them aboard the sled myself!”

They stared at each other in blank astonishment for a moment. Then, galvanized into action, Janchan sprang into the rear storage compartment of their craft, rummaging frantically through the food supplies.

As fate would have it, at the same moment the giant spider, deciding these puny manlings were too small and feeble to be any danger, flashed down the cable on flickering stalked limbs, and sprang upon its prey!

Snatching the precious vial from amongst the bundles in the tail compartment of the skysled, Janchan gave the cap a twist and hurled it directly into the path of the on-coming monster.

Straight and true the crystal bottle traced its flight, striking the very breast of the charging xoph—

And exploded!

Instantly, the monster spider was enveloped in a sheet of flame. Rivulets of burning fluid ran down its stalked lags; the liquid flame soaked into its befouled albino fur. Its vicious mandibles clicked and snapped, closing on empty air, as its tiny brain sought to slay the unseen enemy which had attacked it. It swayed drunkenly, on fire with agony, claws snatching at the elusive, invisible foe. Then, a blackened husk, withering in the fury of the searing flames, its agonized struggle stilled; it loosed its hold on the web-strands and fell into the lightless abyss below.

But now, the web itself was afire. The sticky, adhesive substance which coated the gummy strands was as flammable as oil-soaked wood or cloth. Streams of fire ran in every direction. Within another moment, flames shot up around the entrapped skysled and the heat became unendurable.

Janchan, by this time, had climbed back into the vehicle. Now, as the portion of the web which held them fast in its grip began to shrivel and flake away in burning cinders, the Winged Man thrust forward the control levers. The burning strands stretched—snapped—and parted! The skysled burst free and rapidly ascended to a level above the burning web. And the three adventurers breathed a vast sigh of relief at their narrow escape.

Exhausted from their ordeal, the travellers came to rest in the branches of an adjoining tree and refreshed themselves with food and drink. None of them had slept at all the night before; the strain and tension of their precarious escape from the Flying City of Calidar, and the adventures subsequent thereto, had taken considerable toll of their energies. So, for a time, they rested and slept a little, while Zarqa the Kalood stood guard over them. The Winged Man was so constituted that the necessity for slumber was foreign to his system; however, he did take this opportunity to partake of nutriment to restore his own vital energies. It had been a considerable time since he had last imbibed a quantity of the golden mead, which was the only source of sustenance his alien race required.

Rested and refreshed, the adventurers awoke towards mid-day and decided to continue their journey.

The item of first importance on their agenda was to locate the lost members of their party, and to reunite with them once again. This, however, presented them with seemingly insoluble problems. For one thing, they had not the slightest notion of where Ralidux might have flown with his two female captives, once he had accidentally been released from the mind control of Zarqa.

“Not back to the Flying City; that’s certain, at least!” said Janchan with finality.

“I would tend to agree with you, Prince Janchan,” nodded the ancient philosopher thoughtfully. “By his unwitting assistance of our escape from the slave pens of Calidar, Ralidux has forever alienated himself from the company of his kind. The Skymen would consider him a renegade, if not indeed an heretic; fit only for swift execution, or perchance a more lingering demise in the experimental laboratories. Clyon, his superior, would demand no less; so, I believe, would Prince Thallius.”

In a few well-chosen words the Yothian sage explained to his new friends the rival political factions into which the black supermen of the Flying City were rigidly divided; and the intense contention and suspicion which existed between the adherents of the parties.

Just as the guards were closing around us on their hunting-hawks, I directed the captive brain of Ralidux to guide his steed on a divergent path, whereby I had hoped to divide our pursuers; at most to delay their approach by posing to them the necessity of deciding which fleeing party to pursue, thus affording us precious time, mused Zarqa telepathically. The last glimpse I had of Ralidux’ hawk, it was curving away in that direction. He pointed off to their right.

Janchan nodded. “Yes, that’s right, friend Zarqa. The last time I saw them, they were heading off in that direction. But then the bolt bit the sled, put you out of action and we crashed into the leaves. I was too busy with the questions of our survival to think of them. Incidentally, Zarqa, have you fully recovered from the effects of the bolt by now? Can your wings fly?”

Yes, responded the solemn-eyed Kalood. It was a passing paralysis of the wing-muscles—a temporary numbness caused by the electric shock of the weapon employed by our pursuers. Rest, and the partaking of my nutrient mead, has restored me to my full powers again.

“I assume, then,” said Nimbalim “that we are agreed to begin the search for our missing companions in that direction in which they were last headed in flight?”

Janchan nodded grimly. Without further ado, they reentered their vehicle and took to the skies, weaving between the boles of the enormous, sky-tall trees.

“Of course, they might have landed anywhere,” Janchan said, despairingly. “On that branch, or the next; on the one above it, or the one below. We have little chance of finding them in all this wilderness…”

True, replied the Winged Man. However, there is nothing else we can do but to search; however hopeless may seem our chances of success…

“A pity you cannot reestablish contact with the mind of Ralidux, save in his presence,” murmured the philosopher, after some time.

I agree. It is difficult enough to control the mind of another, even when he is near; distance renders it impossible… however… now that you mention it—

“What? Have you thought of something?” asked Janchan.

The Kalood shrugged. No, not really; it is just that, having once mastered the mind of another, I am sensitive to the unique patterns of his thoughts. The emanations of each mind, friend Janchan, are distinctly individual.

“May I ask, what are the limits which distance puts on your abilities to distinguish one thought-wave from another?” queried Nimbalim of Yoth.

That is very difficult for me to say; especially in the case of you wingless ones, whose mental radiations are dimmer and less precise than are the emanations of my own kind. However, if you will take over the controls of our craft, Prince, I will bend my efforts to the detection of the thoughts of Ralidux…

With a feeling of excitement, Janchan came forward to take his place before the controls, so that Zarqa could concentrate. They flew on for most of that day and into the night. From time to time, Zarqa would indicate a slight adjustment in their direction; he fancied his sensory equipment caught the far, faint impulse of the mind for which he quested.

Dawn broke below them glimmered a vast inland sea, such as they had never seen or envisioned before. They stared down in amazement at the great stretch of waters, which was broken only by a scattered archipelago of jungle islands.

Suddenly, Zarqa stiffened in his trance. He clutched Janchan’s arm his claw-like bony fingers sinking into the flesh.

Down! he commanded sharply.

Janchan touched the lever and the skysled sank down towards the islands of the unknown sea.

Chapter 18. THE SHIP FROM THE SKY

I burst from the edge of the jungle as Shann’s cries receded into the distances above me and were lost in the winds of the heavens. Never before had I cursed my blinded eyes as at that hour. The girl whom I loved had been stolen from me and I could not even see what it was that had kidnapped her into the clouds.

For hours I paced the lonely emptiness of sand that stretched beside the sea, bemoaning my fate and railing against the grim, ironic jest the fates had played upon me. At length, however, I recovered my reason although the ache in my heart had not lessened. Returning to the hut I filled my hungry belly with food which, in my distraction of mind, I did not even taste. Then, having nothing else to do, I came back to the beach where Shann had been taken from me, and began wandering about aimlessly, trying to think of something to do next.

Odd, how had my luck had been, with those people whom I had come to love! Niamh the Fair was gone from me, and as for Zarqa and Prince Janchan, our paths had been sundered long ago. Even homely, grinning, faithful little Klygon, who had become my ally and my only friend in the House of Gurjan Tor, even he had been taken from me in the end. And now Shann, the girl I had come to love, however guiltily; she, too, was gone.

Was loneliness to be my lot forever? Musing, upon that question I paced the empty beach. And then I heard the flying thing above, the whirr of her engines, the rushing wind of her passage!

I froze, and stared up into the sky, heedless of my inability to see; striving by some unknown sense to discern what it was that sank towards me from the heavens. Was it the vessel that had carried off Shann of Kamadhong? It seemed incredible that the mystery craft should have returned thus, to the scene of the crime, but it must be so.

I waited, motionless and unresisting, as the craft settled into the sand near me. Its shadow fell across me, cutting off the sun, I heard the squeal of sand as its weight crunched slowly into the wet beach. A door opened, men jumped out and came across the sand towards me.

“You would seem to be in distress, young man,” a man said to me in a voice I did not recognize—an old man, from the tone and timbre of his voice. “Can we do aught to alleviate your distress?”

I opened my mouth to ask my interlocutor if it had been his ship which had carried off a young girl from this very beach only hours before, when suddenly I heard a voice calling me by my name.

“Karn! Karn, me lad! Saints and Avatars—is it you?”

It was a voice I recognized; and my heart leaped up within me when I heard that hoarse, croaking sound.

“Klygon!” I gasped.

And then I choked, too full of emotion for words, and could say no more. But words were not needed; for in the next instant the little man was upon me, hugging the breath out of me and clapping my bare shoulder with his horny, calloused palm.

My rescuer, to whom I had been introduced as Parimus, Prince-Wizard of Tharkoon, was solicitous as to the condition of my blinded eyes. Not many minutes after his sky yacht had lifted up from the beach of the jungle isle whose name I now learned was Narjix, he was bathing my poor eyes with ungents and healing salves, tsk-tsking under his breath as he changed the dressings.

“Deplorable! Simply deplorable, my boy! But fortunately, the sea-water in which you were so long immersed has cleansed the burns and its natural astringent has precluded any infection from setting in. It is a great mercy that yon rogue, Klygon, applied wet black river-mud to your burns so soon after they were inflicted upon you; for ‘tis that good stroke of luck alone has saved your sight—”

“D’you mean I have a chance to see again?” I demanded.

From the way his hand on my brow moved, I know that he shrugged.

” ‘Tis very likely, but too soon to tell. Sea-water, however, makes an excellent antiseptic, in lieu of any other. These salves will help heal the raw places, while an application of these rays may do much to rebuild the nerve-cells.” He switched on a healing lamp whose rays were directed into my eyes. I could not see the glow of the lamp, but the skin of my face itched and tingled from the action of the rays.

“Ten minutes, now; not a moment more!” he cautioned.

“I will remember, Lord,” said the young bowman, whose name was Zorak. The science wizard shuffled back to the bridge of his vessel; Klygon came to my side.

“Lad, lad,” he breathed, ” ‘tis marvelous—good to see you again! Why, we all fancied you dead—drowned, food for the fishes, at very least—after that great wicked wave swept you off the Xothun’s deck! Fancy a boy, blind as you were, findin’ your way to shore and livin’ like a castaway the while! Wonders will never cease, they say…”

“You have not yet told me what has become of our Komarian friends,” I reminded him.

“Aye, Demigods and Sages, that I ha’nt! Well, lad, we took the ship an’ sailed her into Tharkoon harbor; his wizardship, here, gave us a right royal welcome. The lad, Prince Andar I mean, an’ he, palavered back and forth… and th’upshot of it all was that his wizardry will lend his power to aid in the retakin’ of Komar; so Andar, the dear lad, and that gruff of grouch, Eryon, sailed back t’ Komar, dressed up like pirates—”

“How’s that?”

“I mean t’ say, in the borrowed finery tooken from the corpses o’ the Barbarians. See, Andar figures to enter Komar harbor by dark o’ night, dressed up like the Barbarians, with blue goo smeared on they faces an’ everywhere. He hopes to take the Citadel by surprise, the guards not knowin’ they be no Barbarians at all, but the true an’ rightful lords of Komar…”

I let him chatter on in his stumbling, colorful, slangy way; all the while, the healing rays tingled upon my burned eyes.

A bit later, Zorak switched off the lamp, replaced the fresh dressings on my eyes, and forcibly ushered the voluble little bandy-legged Assassin from my cabin, sternly saying that his master decreed I was to rest for a time.

Outside the cabin, Klygon paused, chewed his lip.

“What is it?” asked Zorak.

“Oh, I don’t know; something I fergot t’ mention,” growled the little Ardhanese.

“Something important?” the bowman prodded.

Klygon shrugged.

“Probably not… ‘twere about the woman what landed on Xathun-deck, when we lay half-a-day out o’ Tharkoon. You know, the lady as sailed off with Andar bound for the island-city. Thought I should mention it to the lad in there; how odd it be that she comes out o’ the sky, clingin’ to that monstrous great blue bird an’ all…”

“Does Karn know the woman?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe so, maybe not. Anyway, th’ lad’d recognize her by name. Well, no matter; guess it be of no great import after all … I’ll mention it to him when he wakes, if I remember t’do it … let’s go get some grub! All this talkin’ has made poor of Klygon hungry as a bull ythid in matin’-season.”

Zorak laughed, and they went off together. I did not learn of this exchange until much later, nor did I learn the identity of the girl who had so surprisingly landed on the decks of the pirate galley, until after the end of this adventure.

For, of course, Klygon forgot to tell me about it—until it was too late.

I slept, woke, washed and ate, and donned the warrior’s harness of gilded leather Zorak had set out for me. I found my way to the bridge where Klygon and Parimus were.

The flight to Komar was taken by a wandering, circuitous route. This was partly to avoid detection by any of the Barbarian galleys which ranged the inner sea; and partly in order to time our arrival at the island city according to the schedule which Prince Andar and the science wizard had worked out between them.

Twice more Parimus treated my eyes with his healing salve and subjected them to the curious rays of his lamp. The rays would stimulate the regrowth of damaged tissues and vastly accelerate the repair of the nerves.

No more was I the dirty, half-naked wild boy, clad in a tattered loin-cloth. If Shann were to see me now, she probably would not recognize me. Cleaned up, my wild mane of raw blond hair was trimmed back in a warrior’s braid; newly garbed, cloaked and buskined, with a longsword in its scabbard at my side, I felt like a civilized being again. I had not felt so in a long time, and found it to be a good feeling.

I thought of Shann night and day; wondering where she was and what had become of her. Had it truly been some manner of aircraft which had carried her off from our jungle isle, or perhaps some monstrous bird of prey like that which had hunted Klygon and I down to the black abyss at the Bottom of the World, after our escape from the Yellow City?

I tried, to recall her exact words, spoken on the beach as I blundered towards her through the jungle, just before the unknown thing had carried her away from me. But I could not remember precisely what she had said.

Was it a bird—or an airship?

That whirring sound I had heard—was it in truth the sound of engines, or had it been perhaps the beating of mighty wings?

Strain my memory as I might, I could not remember. Not that it made any difference, I guessed.

The girl I loved had been carried off into the unknown. That was all I knew; and that was enough.

Night fell across the Green Star planet. Suddenly, there came a shrill cry of alarm from the bridge. I sprang from my pallet, wrapped a bit of cloth about my loins, and snatched up my naked sword. I made my blind and blundering way into the control cabin, where the lookout was posted.

Klygon, Zorak and the old science wizard were already there, talking together excitedly. Confusion reigned inside the crowded, swaying cabin. Outside, storm winds blew, rain pelted down to smear the crystal panes; thunder growled and grumbled amidst the black, thick clouds.

The sky yacht had been attacked by another flying craft.

Or—had it?

“I tell you, my lord, I simply don’t know!” the lookout was protesting. ” ‘Tis hard enough to see out, what with the dark and the flicker of lightning, amidst all this rain—”

“But you must know what it was you saw!” said the Wizard, testily.

“A flying vehicle of some sort, smaller than your lordship’s yacht. It passed across our bows so closely I thought it was trying to ram us—”

“The storm may have blinded the foreign machine, even as we,” pointed out the Wizard.

“Perhaps, sire, but I—”

“There it is again—coming right for us!” shouted Zorak.

“Pilot! Take evasive action,” snapped Parimus. “Officer of the watch—man the energy cannon. We can take no chances.”

“Aye, my lord!”

“There it is again—swinging around towards us—”

“Shoot it down,” commanded Parimus, tensely.

There came to my ears the droning whine of the energy weapon. Then an ear-splitting crack as of a bolt of lightning!

In the next instant the mystery ship went spiralling down, crippled or demolished, into the dark waters below!

Chapter 19. WHEN COMRADES MEET

At the crisp mental command of Zarqa the Kalood, Prince Janchan of Phaolon bent to the controls of the skysled. The aerial vehicle skimmed away, into a steep downward curve.

Not too far in that direction—back, back! came the telepathic instruction of the Winged Man. The young Phaolonese grasped the control lever in his firm grip and inched it backwards into reverse. The downward curve became a narrowing spiral.

Beneath them, a dull glinting shield made pewter flame by the rays of morning, the inland sea spread its vast expanse of waters. Islands and archipelagoes broke the glittering stretch of unknown waves. Even as they stared down at the mysterious sea, the sled arrowed towards one jungled isle.

“Amazing!” cried Janchan, staring at the weird vista. The world, to him, was composed of dry land which supported a planet-wide forest of immense trees. In their branches, the denizens of Lao made their jewelbox cities. In his wildest dreams, the young Prince had never envisioned such an inexplicable enigma as this tremendous expanse of open waters.

The old philosopher Nimbalim was entranced. His serene eyes sparkled with intellectual excitement. The cosmological speculations of the natural philosophers of his ancient realm had, in fact, predicted the sea. Or, if not the actuality, at least the theoretical possibility of its existence. After untold centuries of mental stagnation, which he had suffered during slavery to the black supermen of Calidar, he found the excitement of the discovery intoxicating.

“Whatever could have caused such a marvel as this,” murmured Janchan. “Some miracle of the gods, perhaps?”

“The hand of nature herself,” replied Nimbalim of Yoth. “The clouds which envelop our world are composed chiefly of water vapor—minute droplets of the fluid, held in suspension by the winds, perhaps. When this envelope of clouds becomes too heavily charged with droplets, they combine—merge—into drops too heavy any longer to be held aloft. This causes the phenomenon commonly called rain. Unknown quantities of the fluid fall on the trees, much of which filters through the leaves and trickles down the trunks, to end at last at the Bottom of the World—that black, nightmarish abyss which lies at the roots of the arboreal giants, a region of we know so very little.”

The free exercise of intellectual speculation, the chance to teach, argue and explain, was a heady joy to the ancient philosopher, Janchan observed with compassion. The sparkle in those fine eyes, the animation in those wasted features, belied the countless centuries of Nimbalim’s synthetic immortality. He let the old man continue his discourse, all the while remaining alert to further mental directions from Zarqa.

“Much of this rainwater which collects at the bottom of the world returns to the cloud-layer again, through the process we call ‘evaporation.’ You will have seen water heated in a ceramic container until it steams away; well, that is only an artificial acceleration of the natural process of evaporation. Reduced again to vapor, the moisture ascends into the sky, to become part of the clouds again. No one has yet discerned precisely why this upwards motion should be natural for water vapor; but a theory proposed by my colleague, Ellambyon of Tuomaha, attempts to explain it on the basis of his observation that heated air—and thus steam, as well—tends to ascend, being lighter than cold air. At any rate, so dense are the leaves and branches which interpose their nemoral barriers to the ascension of this vapor, that some of it condenses into droplets again upon the leaves, thus more water remains in the abyss than ever returns to the clouds again.”

“I see; or I think I do,” said Janchan.

“Yes, of course! If this theory were true, over the passage of numberless ages, vast quantities of water would collect at the Bottom of the World. Since it is only natural for water to seek to collect at the lowest level, any large depression in the surface of the planet would tend to become the reservoir of these waters. In time, whatever trees also occupied this portion of the planet’s surface would decay and die in these waters; over ages, creating such an expanse as this we see below us… a pity I shall never be able to bring to my colleague Ellambyon the proof of his speculations…”

“But why should you not? It is our hope to be able to return you to Yoth at the conclusion of these adventures,” argued Janchan.

A touch of sadness entered into the calm features of the thousand-year-old man.

“For two reasons, friend Janchan, either of which is sufficient to prevent me. In the first place, I understand that my natal realm of Yoth was demolished by the depredations of the Blue Barbarians, at some period after my enslavement by the Skymen of Calidar. The second, alas, is that my colleague lived and died many centuries ago, lacking the synthetic immortality conferred upon me by the experiments of the Calidarians.”

Janchan bit his lip, vexed at his insensitivity in proposing the question. Then “I’m sorry; what was that, Zarqa?”

I said the signal has faded; I am no longer receiving the mental radiations from Ralidux. Level off and let us explore these islands immediately beneath us in a widening circle, until I am able to recover reception of the thought-waves of his brain.

All that day they searched, without, however, recovering the signal. That evening, they let the skysled come to earth on a jungled-clad isle; Janchan built a fire by striking stones together and they basked in its warmth while they partook of the evening meal. Then they slept while Zarqa, who required no slumber, stood guard over their recumbent forms. With dawn they arose, bathed in the cold fresh waters, broke their fast, and resumed the search again.

For some time thereafter, their adventures continued as a humdrum repetition of search, descent, dinner, slumber and waiting to renew the search. The inland sea was incredibly vast, and the jungle isles proved far more numerous than any of them could have guessed. They were naggingly aware of a sense of wasted time; however, they had no recourse but to continue their fruitless pursuit until they regained contact with the brain of Ralidux.

A storm blew up suddenly—one of the many swift, disastrous squalls which rendered aerial flight over the inland sea so unexpectedly hazardous. Black clouds closed about them almost before they noticed it; within moments they were flying practically blind through gusts of gale-force wind. Sheets of rain sluiced them, stinging their eyes, rendering their vision even more limited than before. They would have descended to alight on some rocky isle to wait out the storm had they been able, but no isle beneath them appeared in the tossing waves.

At length a flare of lightning did indeed reveal an island to their left; they made for it with all possible speed. But in the blackness and confusion of wind and rain, they suddenly found themselves hurtling on a collision course with an alien skyship of strange design.

Janchan yelled with surprise, hurling himself to the controls. The sled angled off at a sickeningly vertiginous tilt, narrowly missing a collision with the unknown craft. Now they had lost track of where, in this wilderness of flickering lightning and boiling storm-clouds, the island lay. A moment later they found themselves closing with the strange skyship once again—only this time it was alarmed and ready for them.

Before any of them could think or act, the enemy ship loosed a bolt of sparkling fire which grazed the tail of their craft. Even so glancing a shot, however, was sufficient to send them reeling through space, turning over and over like a falling leaf.

Wind-torn black waves swung up in their faces. Then the world slid sideways and black jungles appeared before them, slashed with a narrow strip of beach, towards which they were hurtling at a frightful rate of speed, totally out of control.

Pull up! Janchan—pull up, or we will crash! came imperatively from the Winged Man.

“I’m trying to,” said the other through gritted teeth. “We seem to have suffered some damage from that energy blast… ah, there we go!”

The nose of the skysled rose, breaking its doomed dive. For a moment the craft hovered almost motionlessly, nose pointed at the storm. Then leaves and branches whipped at them, as the reeling craft plunged through the upper terraces of the jungle, it came to a jolting, shuddering halt, half-buried in the wet sand of the beach.

Had it not been for the padded body-sized grooves of the sled’s deck, in which they lay, plus the taut webbing of straps that bound them in place, the passengers of Zarqa’s craft might have been slain, seriously injured, or thrown clear. As things worked out, while they were all bruised, dazed and shaken up, none of them sustained anything more serious than a bump or a cut.

Janchan tore loose from his webbing and staggered over the tilted deck to where the frail old philosopher lay, pale and shaken, blood welling from a scratch on his brow.

“Are you all right, magister?” he demanded urgently.

“I believe these old bones have never before taken such a shaking-up,” wheezed Nimbalim gamely, but breathlessly. “However, I estimate that I am still in one piece. What of our Kaloodha friend, is he—”

I am unharmed, came a pulse of calm thought from Zarqa.

“We seem to be on fire,” the philosopher pointed out, nodding toward the tail of the craft from which black smoke eddied.

A scorch, nothing more.

“Yes, I think that’s all,” Janchan nodded. The bolt from the attacker had scorched the transparent protective enamel, the skysled’s heavy coating. Already, the downpour had extinguished the slight blaze. Now, the rain itself was lessening as the storm-clouds passed quickly by overhead, driven by gale-force winds.

Out of the clearing skies, the strange craft came floating down towards them!

Janchan swore and put his hand to his sword. But the deck of the immense craft was lined with archers who handled their bows in a very businesslike manner. He grasped the hilt of his blade, then relaxed his fingers hopelessly. They were too few, and too lightly armed, to put up much resistance against so overwhelming a force.

The larger ship settled on the beach some fifty yards from where they stood. A port yawned open, in the glistening metal flanks of the attacker. Small figures appeared, and came down a ramp to the wet sand. In the forefront was an elderly man of scholarly mien and princely dress, accompanied by a tall, bronzed, stalwart archer; a young boy with a bandaged face, and a small bow-legged little rogue, impishly ugly.

None of the strangers did Janchan or Zarqa recognize, except for one. The sight of that one brought them to their feet in stark astonishment.

“Karn!” Janchan roared, grasping the arm of the Kalood who stood beside him. The changeless melancholy in the solemn face of the Winged Man altered, for once, into an expression of surprise and delight.

For it was indeed I; and the ship wherefrom I had emerged was, of course, the aerial yacht of Prince Parimus!

And so we met again, there on the beach of an unknown isle after so long a time sundered apart! Janchan clasped me to his bosom, stammering with joyous astonishment, and Zarqa the Kalood, whom I had rarely known to smile before, smiled until I thought his golden face would crack.

Karn, my young friend, my rescuer from the prison of Sarchimus! Well-met, indeed, dear youth! Now do I think that the gods of The World Above are more than idle myths; for they have brought us back together again after such a long, weary separation!

“Then these are friends of yours, my boy?” murmured Parimus in horror. “And to think that I directed my warriors to fire upon their craft—to bring it down! I could not know, nor could you, with your blinded eyes, have told me the craft was that of allies! Strangers, can you ever forgive me—?”

Introductions were exchanged all around. We had, each of us, a thousand urgent questions to ask of the other; but the one question that was foremost in my dazed, uncomprehending mind was that of the whereabouts of Niamh the Fair.

Did she live or die, the girl I once had loved—the girl whose love I had betrayed with another?

Chapter 20. SLITHERING HORROR

My lips parted. I was about to ask the fate of Niamh the Fair and of the Goddess Arjala, both of whom I had seen being carried away to safety out of the burning temple by Janchan and Zarqa the Kalood.

Parimus, however, interrupted.

“Time is of the essence, my friends,” the science wizard said. “Even as we speak, Prince Andar and his Komarian nobles are arriving at the harbor of his vanquished city in disguise, hoping to take the Blue Barbarians unawares and storm the royal citadel. Our own arrival is now slightly overdue; and unless we get underway immediately, we shall be too late to afford Andar the Komarian the all-important diversion we have planned between us.”

This was news to me, of course; and neither Zarqa nor Janchan were as yet acquainted with the gallant young Prince Andar whose kingdom had been overrun by the savage Barbarians, under their enigmatic and mysterious Warlord. In a few terse, well-chosen words, the Prince-Wizard of Tharkoon outlined the recent developments which had occurred since I had been washed over the side of the Xothun and lost in the measureless waters of the Komarian Sea, thus separated by the swift-flowing sequence of events from my allies and comrades.

“I am sure we all have many things to tell each other,” Prince Parimus smiled regretfully. “But the story of our various adventures shall have to await a safer, less urgent time for the telling. We must take to the air without delay; the isle of Komar lies not far from this uninhabited isle. But in these uncertain latitudes sudden storms arise in a twinkling, and the sooner we are aloft the quicker we shall arrive to assist Andar in his battle. Tell me, Kalood, does your craft still retain the power of flight or have we injured the mechanism by our unfortunate bolt of electric fire?”

Zarqa checked the mechanism and straightened from the craft with a rare smile on his habitually melancholy features.

The skysled remains flight-worthy, Prince Parimus, the Winged telepathed in reply. If your bowmen will lend a hand, we shall quickly be able to dig the prow out of the wet sand in which it crash-landed. If you would be so kind… ?

Parimus nodded, turning to the tall Tharkoonian bowman who stood ever at his side.

“With the greatest pleasure, noble Zarqa! I am delighted to learn that our ill-chanced ray caused no damage to your ancient craft. Zorak—command a detail of your archers to bend their backs to the task without further delay. There are digging-tools in the forward supply cubicle of the yacht—”

Zorak touched his brow obediently, but his bronzed features wore the shadow of a troubled frown.

“Well, what is it?” huffed the science wizard, irritably, seeing him hesitate.

“My Prince, since the Komarians expect us momentarily to provide the diversion their assault upon the citadel requires for victory, should we not leave these new-found friends of the boy Karn, with the tools? Let them dig their craft free themselves, while we burry to relieve Prince Andar? Surely, they can excavate their skysled and follow on our heels?”

Parimus shook his head, determinedly.

“Caution and prudence bid otherwise, brave Zorak! Young Karn and his friends have too often been separated by chance and adversity, ere now. I will not risk a similar mishap, which would prevent their remaining together. Come, come, man! ‘Twill take only a few moments; then we are off, flying together, with no possibility of further ill-luck separating old comrades.”

Zorak saluted and returned to the aerial yacht, summoning the bowmen to the deck. A runner entered the cabin to unlock the store of tools. Within a few moments, Tharkoonian archers came trooping onto the beach, their bows and quivers set aside, awkwardly shouldering picks and shovels. They formed a half-circle about the portion of the skysled which was tilted over, half-buried in wet sand. In less time than it takes to tell it, the tools were at work and wet sand was flying in all directions.

There was nothing in particular for Zarqa, Janchan or I to do while the archers dug the skysled out of the sand. We seized this opportunity to fill each other in on the adventures which had befallen us after we had become separated on the outskirts of the Yellow City of Ardha.

Then it was that I learned for the first time how Janchan had entered the city, disguised as a mercenary swordsman. He had luckily lent his blade to the rescue of an influential and grateful officer of the royal guard, who had been set upon by Assassins in the pleasure gardens. Of his meteoric rise in the ranks of the guardsmen loyal to Akhmim, the Tyrant of Ardha, I had previously known nothing; nor of how he had chanced to penetrate the temple on a mission to free Niamh the Fair. In a few swift words, the Phaolonese princeling told how he had set Zarqa free and dispatched him to the place where the skysled lay concealed. He descended to the prison-cell in which Niamh was sequestered; he had been surprised in the act of liberating the Princess by the intrusion of the Incarnate Goddess of the Temple. An accident had started the fire. Luckily, Zarqa had arrived with the sled in time to carry them all to safety from the burning building.

Zarqa then told how he had come to be imprisoned in the temple, having been captured by Arjala’s huntsmen. He further related the astonishing consequences of their hasty flight from Ardha; of how they had been taken prisoner by the black immortals of Calidar, the City in the Sky; and of the many mysteries and marvels of that amazing kingdom, which floated among the clouds, far above the treetops of the Green Star World.

I then related a brief account of the adventures that had followed my rash and impulsive attempt to enter Ardha on my own; of my desperate battle with the giant zzumalak, which had carried me from the tree branch to the rooftops of the palaces of Ardha; of my capture and imprisonment by the Assassins’ Guild, how they had trained me in their subtle arts and skills.

I also gave my friends some account of my mission into the temple, and how their own successful liberation of Niamh had frustrated that mission; how with the faithful Klygon at my side, I had fled Ardha; only to end up at the Bottom of the World, among the monstrous worms and savage albino cannibals who roam the black abyss of the continental floor. Of our befriending of the treacherous Delgan there was little to say; nor of the slaying of the monster god Nithhog and the accident which had blinded me. There were so many adventures—so many tales to be told! Only the briefest outline could be imparted at this time; for the unveiling of the full saga of our perils, we must await a future hour of leisure and safety.

Janchan was fascinated by my account of the black, gloomy abyss which lies at the base of the sky-tall trees; I, in turn, was intrigued by his description of the strange flying city of scarlet metal; and of the beautiful and sinister madmen who live eternally above the world.

“Our adventures have carried us to regions above the sky… and to the uttermost, darkling depths of the world,” he mused. “How strange it is, then, that we should meet again—on a nameless, uninhabited jungle isle amidst this enormous sea, whose reaches were unknown to us!”

Someone—I think that it was ugly little Klygon—began to make some comment on that. But he was interrupted by the most peculiar noise.

It was a tremendous, deep hissing sound, like a jet of steam escaping from a boiler. All about me men yelled and roared in sudden, inexplicable terror and consternation.

Inexplicable, that is, to me! For a blind youth cannot tell from sound alone what is happening.

All about me I heard the thud of running feet—startled cries—the inexplicable crackle of vegetation being crushed beneath the weight of some enormous bulk. I stared about me helplessly, suddenly finding myself alone; unable to account for the attack of panic which had struck my comrades into terrorized flight.

But it seemed the island was not uninhabited, after all!

My first inkling of what had befallen us came when a vast, cold coil settled about my waist—tightened with crushing force—and lifted me into the air!

I beat with puny, futile hands against the dry, slick, rugous thing which encircled my middle. My palms scraped against scaly hide, and the rank odor of reptilian musk was heavy in my nostrils.

From some distance, I heard my comrades calling my name in alarm and fright. As for me, I was too muddled and confused to be scarcely conscious of the sensation of fear. I did not know how suddenly the thick wall of the jungle had parted before the brutal, thrusting force of a monstrous, wedge-shaped head. The flaming eyes, grinning, fanged jaws and flickering, forked tongue had driven the archers into flight in all directions.

Now there was good, ample reason for them to regret having left their weapons upon the flight-deck of Prince Parimus’ sky yacht!

It was not until very much later, when all tales were told and all of our adventures were made known, that we realized that the seemingly-uninhabited island upon which the skysled had been forced down by the yacht of Prince Parimus, was none other than that same isle of ancient ruins upon which Ralidux the Mad had alighted, with his captives, Niamh the Fair and Arjala of Ardha—

The isle of the gigantic living serpent-god!

Cheated of his feast by the lucky escape of Ralidux, the vast, monstrous Ssalith had at length emerged from its hidden lair in the depths of the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the age-old Temple.

No one could say for how many days the terrible serpent-monster had slithered through the jungle aisles, in search of warm flesh and hot blood wherewith to appease its snaky hungers.

In time, however, the sensitive, flickering tongue of the Ssalith had scented man-flesh on the breeze… and the trail had led the slithering horror to the beach, where tiny manlings toiled to unearth a vehicle fallen from the skies.

The manlings had fled in terror from the gliding monster, as it burst suddenly upon them from the dense wall of jungle foliage—

All but one blind boy, who could not see the fanged monster as it poured its glistening, scaly coils out of the jungle depths.

Now the slithering thing had fastened upon me.