Black Legion of Callisto

CHAPTER THIRTEEN AT SWORD’S POINT

The Pits lay beneath the lowest levels of the palace, and although I had never had cause to visit them during my tenure in the service of Prince Vaspian, I was well enough aware of their location to find them without difficulty.

Getting in to see Koja and the gallant old Swordmaster would be another problem. But it seemed likely that my rank as a member of the retinue of the Prince would be sufficient to get me past the guards.

If it did not work, well, frankly, I did not know what I should do. If the secret network of passages within the palace walls continued into the depths of the dungeons, I was not aware of the fact. And I had no time to go exploring. Time, as I have already observed, was running out; and to employ yet another cliche, matters were coming swiftly to a head.

I had a hunch that the masquerade was about over. My imposture had escaped detection up to now, and my false history had survived scrutiny. But things were moving too fast for me now, and, as my reader will observe, I was beginning to take risky chances. I had no valid reasons to be in the Pits at all, and if queried by Vaspian or Arkola, I would not be able to satisfactorily explain my curiosity regarding these prisoners. But my friends were in danger, and that justified my taking even the most enormous chances―I was willing to risk even the disclosure of my true identity―willing even to jeopardize my entire mission.

I could do no less for those who had done so much for me.

And thus I descended into the Pits.

Luckily for me, they were not heavily guarded. Since the entire palace was in the hands of the Chac Yuul, how could an enemy of the Chac Yuul penetrate to this place? Such, at least, was the thinking that had decreed the Pits need not be heavily guarded. Were it not so, I could not have gotten as far as I did before a guard confronted me.

Down a long stone corridor I went, striding rapidly, my cloak tossed back from my right shoulder so that it would not impede the use of my right arm, my fingers brushing the pommel of my rapier.

Grim walls of rough stone lay about me; the air was chill and dank, and it reeked of the fetor of men held in long imprisonment with but the rudest of sanitary facilities.

What light there was, and there was but little, came from oil-soaked torches of black jaruka wood clamped with brackets of rust-eaten iron against the moldering stone masonry. These crude attempts at illumination cast a wavering orange glare and painted huge black shadows upon the walls. To me it seemed momentarily unreal. All of this scene through which I moved was like a movie set; I felt that I myself was unreal, a mere actor playing a role in some historical epic; even my garments, cloak and buskins and the slim rapier that slapped against my bare thigh with every step, added to this feeling of unreality.

Suddenly I turned a corner and found myself facing a large and nearly empty room paved with stone which was bestrewn with moldy straw.

In one corner of this large open area stood a rough wooden table, its top surface marked with rings of dried wine and ale, hacked with knives, as if generations of bored and idle guards had carved their initials upon it. A bucket of water and a dipper stood beneath the table, and upon it stood a candelabra of brass with three guttering candles. A wooden stool was drawn up to this table, and sprawled dozing thereon a burly guard could be seen. Only one guard! That was a stroke of fortune.

Opening off this large room were several cells. I could not, at first glance, tell what persons were immured within, for the shadows were deep and thick. But even if my friends were not imprisoned in one of these cells, it seemed likely that the dozing guard could tell me where they were being held.

The guard―his head was turned away from me, resting on his folded arms, so that I could not see his face―was a komad, as I could tell from the emblems clipped to the shoulders of his leather tunic. In other words, he was of the same rank as myself. This meant I could not use my position as a superior officer to bid him answer my queries; but my favored place in the retinue of the Crown Prince of the Black Legion would doubtless suffice to wring cooperation from him, as few officers of the Chac Yuul would be so foolish as to willingly go against the wishes of the man who would, with luck, someday stand in the highest place of the Legion.

“Sleeping on duty, komad?” I asked sharply, as I entered the room. It seemed at the time a good idea to put the fellow in the wrong at the beginning; that it was not at all a wise notion became evident almost immediately.

He started away from his nap and raised his face to look at me, with apprehension and anger mingling in his expression. He was a coarse, crude-looking oaf, with fleshy, unshaven jowls and mean little piggish eyes―eyes which narrowed the moment they rested upon my features.

His snarled curse broke off as delighted recognition dawned upon him. A gloating smile crossed his coarse visage, and my heart sank into my boots, for I had recognized him almost in the same instant, and I knew I should get no cooperation from this particular officer.

For it was Bluto, the swaggering bully I had beaten and humiliated at the city gate when first I entered the walls of Shondakor!

Silently, I cursed my vile luck. Of all the officers in the Black Legion who might have been assigned to this particular post at this particular hour, it had to be the one man in all the Legion least likely to cooperate with my wishes.

“And if I am, what is it to you, little man,” he grunted, rising to his feet and laying one huge hairy hand on the pommel of his cutlass. “What be your business here, and where be your authorization?”

I have stated earlier in this narrative that this hulking brute was one of the biggest men I have ever faced, and it was truly so. He was a colossus, towering above me almost as much as Koja did. He was not in the best of fighting trim, for a swag-belly hung over his girdle and there’ was soft flab in his jowls and upper arms, and he looked somewhat the worse for drink. But the rest of him was solid beef and he had the advantage on me as far as weight and reach went. He would make a dangerous opponent.

I touched the medallion of precious metal on my baldric, the insignia which denoted me as a member of the court of Prince Vaspian.

“Here is all the authority I need to examine a prisoner, komad,” I said levelly. “I want a look at the two strangers who were brought down here within the hour. You know the ones, the capok and the white-haired outlander in black. Loguar, a komad of the fourth, brought them in.”

He grinned nastily, eying me from his height. “What do you want with them?”

I shrugged. “It is not what I want, Bluto, but what the Prince my patron wants. They are to do battle in the Nuptial Games following the royal wedding, and he wishes me to see that they are in good shape for fighting and have fed. If they are injured or have been mistreated, I am to inform him of the fact. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me where they are being held, I will be about my business―”

He lifted one great hand, stilling me.

“Bluto has his business, too,” he growled. “Also his orders! No one gets in to see any prisoner without a note from the Lord of the Pits. “

“But the Prince has expressly ordered―‘

“No one gets past Bluto,” he said heavily. And he drew his cutlass with a rasp of steel on worn leather, and held it ready in his hand, watching me from cold little eyes buried in rolls of unhealthy fat. A predatory expression crossed his face; be licked his thick lips with the tip of his tongue.

I stood there, struggling to think. Had the guard been any other except this bully, who bated me for making him look ridiculous in front of his men, I could perhaps have bluffed my way past him through the sheer weight of Prince Vaspian’s name. But Bluto was happy to be able to refuse me what I wanted.

I could not, of course, go to the Lord of the Pits, as the officer in charge of the dungeon guards was called. He would be a senior officer and he would not be swayed by important names; he would want to see my authorization from the Prince in writing. And, even if I could bribe or bully the commandant into giving me a pass, there simply was no time. Minute by minute sped swiftly by, and every passing second brought the woman I loved closer and closer to a forced marriage with a smirking villain she loathed.

If I fought with Bluto, my false identity was exposed. For the duel might arouse guards housed nearby, and I ran the risk of being taken into custody as it was forbidden that Chac Yuul warriors fight among themselves. And how could I explain a corpse, if my skill with the blade were sufficient to strike Bluto down?

In this matter, as frequently in my past career, Fate took the decision out of my hand entirely.

For Bluto lifted his blade and set its point against my heart. A leer of sadistic mirth distorted his coarse features and his voice was thick and hoarse with gloating menace.

“Bluto could kill you now,” he growled, “and say you tried to force your way in. No one would ever know―”

I struck his blade aside with my arm.

“I am an officer of the Chac Yuul,” I protested. “It would be an act of treason!”

He spat. “Treason, eh? You dirty little horeb, you call Bluto a traitor? You made Bluto look like a fool. You dared not face Bluto with steel. You fought with your hands, like a wench!”

I watched the red glare of fury in his cold little pit-eyes, and my heart sank. There was no hope for it. I must fight the man. I must duel here in the Pits, while every racing moment brought my beloved nearer to a horrible doom.

He was panting heavily now, working himself up to a berserk rage, as he had done that time I beat him at the gates. I tried to reason with him but there was no arguing with the man.

He roared out a string of filthy epithets and swung his great cutlass at my head.

I sprang backwards nimbly, avoiding the whistling blade.

He advanced, towering over, me, growling curses.

There was no other way. I slid my blade free of the scabbard, and in the next instant we were at sword’s point there in the black dungeons of Shondakor.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN TO THE DEATH!

Barely did I manage to lift my sword to parry his blow. The impact jarred along the blade and numbed my arm. Bluto was immensely strong, and he had worked himself up into a bloodthirsty rage.

I backed away and let him come after me, snarling and spitting ugly curses, his face working. He swung at me, great lusty swipes, his heavy cutlass whistling through the air, and each blow I turned aside, but with great care, for his blade was much weightier than mine, and if I parried in such a way that the full force of his blow met my rapier squarely, he might snap my blade in two.

He fought like a madman, swearing wildly and hacking away with enormous energy. He had little or no science, but his giant strength and endurance, his superior weight and reach, were powerful advantages and for a time I was hard put to keep his edge from slashing my flesh.

As we fought, he taunted me.

“You―too proud to fight with Bluto at gate―too proud to face Bluto with sword, like a gentleman―use your hands on Bluto, will you, you filthy horeb! Now you fight Bluto, steel against steel―how do you like it?” he growled, his red eyes blazing with berserk fury, and whitish foam gathering at the corners of his mouth.

I saved my breath for the duel and did not deign to answer his foul-mouthed raving. I resolved to kill him as quickly as I could, but, as I soon discovered, it is not all that easy to duel with a man who fights like a maniac, swinging great blows with untiring strength. So I continued backing away from his roundhouse swing, while looking for an opening.

If I had been fighting an ordinary swordsman, armed with a weapon similar to my own, I could have killed him within minutes, if such had been my wish. For I could have caught his blade and turned it aside with a deft twist of the wrist, allowing my blade to glide through his guard and my point to sink in his breast. But Bluto was an entirely different sort of opponent, swinging wildly as if armed with a club, and I continued to retreat warily before his advance, for if any one of those blows had connected I would be weaponless.

He began cursing at me to stand still and fight him like a man, rather than to retreat like a coward. But I paid no attention to his raving, watching his blade-work for an opening.

Suddenly, one came― a wide swing that left his burly chest unguarded for a moment. This was the opportunity I had been hoping for and I lunged, my point sinking into the fleshy part of his shoulder just above the heart.

To my astonishment, it failed to stop him, or even to slow him down!

He squealed like a stuck pig, but it was more from blind rage than pain. And instantly he redoubled his assault, whacking away with lusty blows which knocked my blade from side to side like the slender steel needle it was.

Obviously, his berserk fury was such that he was virtually insensible to pain. It would take nothing less than a direct thrust through the heart to fell the roaring maniac.

Around and around the room we went, as I backed away from his advance. The stone room rang like an iron foundry with the clang of steel on steel. I felt my way with caution, fearful of tripping over an unseen obstacle, for I could not see what was behind me and I dared not turn my attention from Bluto for a second to snatch a glance over my shoulder.

I managed to pink him on the throat and on the upper arm, but these were mere slicing cuts, minor wounds, which gushed with blood and must have stung him but were not sufficient to disable him or even to slow him down.

By now he was streaming with blood and sweat, and foam slavered from his grinning jaws, but he still came on, showing no signs of exhaustion.

And then very suddenly, the duel was over.

One wild, awkward blow had caught me unawares and my slim blade snapped off short, just beyond the hilt. A thrill of alarm ran through me as I realized I was now unarmed.

Murder flamed in his piggish little eyes and a triumphant note entered his hoarse, bestial howl as he raised his nicked cutlass for the kill.

Instead of jumping to one side, as he might have expected, I took a great risk―and sprang forward, to close with him!

Sometimes, in moments of great peril, when all seems utterly lost, it has been my experience that to do the completely unexpected can often snatch victory from between the slavering jaws of defeat. And never was this more ably proven than when I sprang into the embrace of the maddened colossus.

He was dumbfounded, caught with both arms and the heavy blade raised above his head, and as my body jammed against him he staggered off balance and fell stumbling to the rush-strewn stone pave.

And I was upon him like a striking jungle cat.

The broken sword hilt in my hand was all but useless. The blade had snapped off near the hilt, but where the steel blade had fractured was a sharp, jagged point.

This point I sank into the thick flesh of Bluto’s neck ―and ripped, tearing his throat out!

As I staggered, panting, to my feet, he died on the stone pave in a gush of reeking gore. To the last, an expression of blank astonishment filled his eyes with dazed incomprehension. I do not believe he understood that he was slain until his eyes glazed in death and his heaving breast gave one last shudder and was stilled forever.

I had not wanted to slay the poor fool, but he would have it so. A fight to the death, sword against sword, but it had been his death, after all.

I left him lying there in a pool of blood.

Taking up his sword in the place of my own, and borrowing the candelabra from the table, I set forth to search the Pits of Shondakor to find my friends.

It probably took no more than a few minutes, but in my state of anxiety it seemed like the better part of an hour. Even now, Darloona might be standing before the hideous idol of the Black Legion while Ool sealed her life forever to that of the oily weakling I once had served!

Most of the cells were empty, mere dim, noisome cubicles which bore a rude wooden bench and a heap of moldy straw. But some were tenanted―by the dead.

I paced swiftly down the first corridor, pausing before each cell and lifting my candelabra to illuminate the dark recesses within, before striding on.

Repulsive, naked horebs―the verminous rodents of Thanator, which sometimes attain the size of small dogs―fled wriggling and squealing from the light. One glance at that which served them for a banquet and I hastily averted my eyes, as nausea clutched at my throat.

But ere very much time had elapsed the flickering illumination of the candles showed a welcome sight―Lukor, looking pale and disheveled, chained to one wall of a filthy cubicle, and gaunt, solemn-faced old Koja blinking his great black eyes, chained to the other.

“Ho! Jandar, is it you?” the old Swordmaster chortled with delight. “My boy, never have these eyes looked upon a more welcome sight!”

I had prudently taken a ring of keys from Bluto’s girdle, and after a little fumbling I found the right one, unlocked the cell door and went in to relieve my comrades of their chains.

“I’m glad I could get here before you were interrogated,” I said as I helped them remove their shackles. “Are either of you hurt? The Legion sometimes plays mighty rough.”

Lukor sniffed, straightening his sober raiment and smoothing his small white beard into something resembling its customary neatness.

“Not at all, my boy, not at all! Oh, there was a trifle of a flurry before we were disarmed, but Koja there dispatched a few of the bandy-legged little wretches with his blade and I gave a couple of the others a brief lesson in swordplay; but neither of us sustained anything more serious than a few scratches,” he said complacently.

Koja blinked his huge eyes solemnly at me as I unfastened his chains.

“It is good to see you again, Jandar,” he said in his monotonous voice. I clapped him affectionately on the upper thorax and said I was happy to see him, too.

“But what in the world are you two fools thinking of, trying to get into Shondakor like this? Didn’t you know you’d be spotted and seized before you got halfway?” I demanded.

Lukor sobered. “We had to do it, lad. Word of the Princess Darloona’s impending nuptials to this Black Legion princeling leaked out and the Ku Thad got wind of it. Your friend, Marud, I fear, was responsible for that!”

My pulses quickened.

“Marud―the innkeeper? You mean he got through after all―with my message about the secret tunnel under the river and the city walls?”

Luker looked surprised.

“Of course,” he said. “How did you think Koja and I got inside Shondakor, if not by the hidden tunnel of which your letter apprised Lord Yarrak?”

I had not really thought things out. I guess I had assumed that K0Ja and Lukor had somehow sought to gain entry through the city gates and were taken prisoner. But now this surprising news changed everything. Marud must have been seized by the warriors of Ool the Uncanny on his way back into the city, instead of on his way out. I had not been sure which had been the case, but for some reason or other I had assumed he had been seized en route to the entrance of the tunnel.

I thought rapidly.

“Then this means the Ku Thad warriors are ready to attempt to retake the city by means of the underground passage?”

“That is true, and they are growing restive!” said Lukor, his merry eyes going grim. “Koja and I begged them to wait for some further news―from you before charging into the middle of things, but the thought that their beloved Princess was being forced to wed the Prince of the Chac Yuul has maddened them to the point of throwing off all restraints. They will wait no longer, so we came on ahead, desperately hoping to locate you and to gain some word of your own plans in time to coordinate them with the attack of the Ku Thad. Jandar―Jandar! Why in the name of the Lords of Cordrimator did you never communicate with us again, after that first message?”

“It was impossible,” I said. “The only man I could trust was the fat innkeeper, Marud―and the guards seized him as he was reentering Shondakor after delivering that first note from me. They were planning to interrogate him, probably under torture, for I am certain that Arkola the Warlord would not scruple over the matter of a little pain!”

“And did they? Get anything out of Marud, I mean?” Lukor asked. I shook my head somberly.

“There was a real man behind that fat belly and that foolish face,” I said softly. “For he killed himself rather than yield my name to those who were to interrogate him.”

Lukor cleared his throat.

“A very gallant gentleman,” he said quietly. “I shall be proud to drink to his memory, when there is a drop of wine and a bit of leisure. But now―”

“But now we must get out of here―and fast, for every moment counts! Darloona will be wed to Arkola’s son this very day―almost at any moment! We must get swords and do what we can do to interrupt the ceremonies.”

And I cursed the low technology of the Thanatorians that they had not yet invented the wristwatch. For I had lost all sense of time by now and would have given my left hand to know what was the hour.

Koja gathered up the loose length of chain and passed it thoughtfully through his many-jointed, clawlike fingers, swinging it to assess the weight.

“As for Koja,” he said, blinking owlishly, “he shall require no weapon but this heavy length of iron chain, for the small blades used by the members of your race do not fit his hand. But this length of chain will serve well enough.”

“Then let us be going!”

Lukor led the way out of the cell, peering about through the dimness.

“Which way?” he inquired. I jerked my thumb toward the square stone room where Bluto’s corpse lay in a puddle of congealing gore. We sprinted off down the corridor, our footsteps raising echoes.

“Is this not foolhardy?” Koja asked, thudding along at my side, his ungainly strides carrying him along at a rapid pace. “How can such as we hope to traverse the palace unmolested? Surely the first Chac Yuul warrior to spy us will raise the alarm.”

“There is a network of secret passages hidden within the walls,” I said. “We can travel far by means of them, and without being discovered. There should be a panel leading into the labyrinth of hidden passages in the hall beyond the entrance to the Pits-2’

And then a pang of despair ripped through my heart! For even above the noise of our running feet and over the thudding of my own heartbeat, I could faintly hear a distant bell tolling the hour!

And Darloona was being married―right now!

“But―” Koja began. I cut him off with a curt word.

“Save your breath for running,” I panted, and we raced down the echoing hall and burst into the stone room.

And stopped short!

Eyeing the corpse, old Lukor voiced a snort of laughter.

“I see you had time for a bit of practice ere coming to seek us out, my boy!”

I did not reply. I hefted the heavy cutlass in my hands and wondered what the next few moments would bring.

For there in the doorway that led to this chamber from the upper level stood a fat, smiling little man with gleaming, amused eyes.

“I told you that we would have another little talk, O Jandar,” the man said in a high, breathy voice.

It was Ool the Uncanny.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN IN THE HALL OF HOOM

These things I, Jandar, did not see happen, for I was not there. But much later, when all was over, the fighting was ended, and Darloona taken from me, I heard how they had chanced to occur. And I tell them to you now, just as I heard them from the lips of Valkar, Prince of the Ku Thad.

Valkar waited long in the wineshop, but Jandar did not come. Minute by minute, time ticked past, the hour appointed for their rendezvous came and went, and still there was no sign of Jandar.

What had happened to prevent their meeting? Valkar grimly counted over the possibilities, and none of them were pleasant ones. Jandar’s imposture might have been discovered―his true identity revealed―his mission of rescue unveiled.

If this were so, every passing moment might bring danger closer to Valkar. For the komor well knew how pain can wring truth from the lips of even the bravest and most stubborn of men. Every minute he remained waiting here in the tavern might draw their plans closer to the brink of disaster. Even now, a contingent of guards might be clanking through the streets of Shondakor, bound for this inn.

The longer he waited here, the more likely was the chance that he would be arrested.

At length it was so close to the time of the marriage ceremony that Valkar dared wait no longer for his friend. If Jandar had not come by now, he was not coming. Some unforeseen happening had occurred to shatter their plan. The gnawing unease, the feeling that something had gone wrong, grew stronger.

Abruptly, Valkar rose from the wine-stained table, tossed a glittering coin at the sallow-faced innkeeper, and strode out of the wineshop, peering up towards the towers of the royal palace where it rose beside the plaza in the heart of the great city.

It was up to Valkar to come to the aid of his princess and he must do it alone.

Valkar had entered the palace and its maze of hidden passages within the walls only a few times before, and always by the dark of night, when few were abroad and the chances of being seen were slender.

Never before had he dared to enter the closely guarded citadel by broad light of day. And, under ordinary circumstances, he would never think of making the attempt with the palace crowded with warriors and officers, every corridor thronged with wedding guests, a thousand scurrying servants making last-minute preparations for the impending royal nuptials.

Under such circumstances, the chances of discovery were vastly greater. However, Valkar had no alternative but to try it. For within the hour, unless he found some means of intervening and bearing off the Princess to safety, Darloona would be married before the hideous stone idol of the Chac Yuul devil-god, Hoom.

Under his cloak, Valkar was dressed in his most resplendent decorations, for this was a festival day and all the chieftains of the Black Legion had been commanded to clothe themselves in all their finery as if for parade.

Tossing aside his cloak, Valkar found it not difficult to mingle with the other officers thronged before a side gate, and to enter in their midst. His decorations and ornaments were no less glittering than their own, and thus he gained entry into the palace without detection or even being noticed.

Striding through the hallways, he thanked the mysterious Lords of Gordrimator for this small stroke of fortune! On previous secret visits to the palace of the Kings of Shondakor, he had entered the walls by a small door in the outer circuit of the walls, a door concealed behind a heavy growth of shrubbery. But in the broad light of day it was impossible to use that route without being seen.

Now that he was actually within the palace, he must find one of the sliding panels that would give him entry into the hidden passageways behind the thick walls. And this he found most difficult.

The trouble was, simply, that the palace was bustling with guests and visitors. Every room and corridor he passed, every rotunda and antechamber, was filled with people. On the rare nights when he had visited Darloona in secret to urge her to permit him to assist her in an escape, he had chosen a late hour when certain side passages were untenanted. Now, every passage was filled with busy people. Perspiration started on his brow; he had the horrible feeling one experiences sometimes in a nightmare, of racing against the clock, of struggling to avert some hideous doom, and of finding that every step is slowed and encumbered by an unseen impediment, so that one battles forward in slow motion while doom races nearer with every madly ticking second!

Straining to keep the tension from being visible on his features, Valkar turned aside and ascended a staircase to the second level, hoping to find a momentarily empty suite wherein to make his entrance through one of the hidden panels.

At last, after an agonized eternity of strolling past crowded rooms, he found a chamber empty of all occupants and wasted no time in striding to a further wall covered with a richly brocaded wall hanging.

The swordsman stepped behind the hanging and in a moment his searching gaze found one of the minute and unnoticeable signs that marked a bidden door. In another moment his fingers had found and depressed a secret spring.

With a faint clashing of hidden counterweights, the door slid open and a black hole yawned before him. Without hesitation he stepped within and sealed the panel shut behind him.

He had brought no candle or lantern into the dark maze of passageways, for it would have looked odd for an officer to be strolling through the brightly lit palace carrying a lantern when it was broad daylight. And it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness.

But ere long he could see well enough to make his way down the narrow passage to a side branch where coded markings would direct him to his easiest route. Valkar had spent many hours studying the code wherewith the secret labyrinth was marked, and he could find his way through the winding maze with ease.

It was quite different here inside the secret passages by day. By night the narrow tunnels are drenched in impenetrable gloom, and without a candle or some other means of illumination it is almost impossible to find your way. But during the daylight hours a sufficient amount of light leaks into the passages through cracks and crannies in the walls to spread a dim, vague illuminance by which, if one goes with care, one can make one’s way without great difficulty.

Before long Valkar found the right passage and followed it to its end, striding as swiftly as he dared in the half-gloom.

He came at length to a spyhole and slid its covering aside to peer through the small aperture at a scene of astounding magnificence.

The temple of the devil-god of the Chac Yuul lay before him.

Before the conquest by the Black Legion, the Ku

Thad had used the immense hall for a throne room. But now a hideous stone idol stood on the topmost tier of a vast flight of low, broad marble steps where once the Kings of Shondakor had sat in state.

The idol was very old, black with age, and grimy with the stain of splattered blood―for the horror of human sacrifice was not unknown to the savage warriors of the Black Legion.*

Half again as tall as a man, the stone image squatted atop the uppermost tier, its legs folded tailor-fashion beneath it, its bulging paunch sagging down in an obscene fashion.

Five arms the idol lifted to its sides and each clawlike stone hand grasped a weapon of war. As for the sixth hand, it was empty, and held out over the top steps as if clutching for human prey.

The face of the god Hoom was indescribably hideous, screwed into a leer of malice, with glaring eyes under scowling brows, and bared fangs. Curling horns sprouted from its bald pate, between the sharp, pointed ears.

A grisly necklace of human skulls dangled about its thick throat.

Such was the demon-god of the Chac Yuul.

Such was the grim divinity whereof Ool the Uncanny was high priest!

On the broad steps below the place where black Hoom squatted, leering and monstrous like some bloated and gigantic toad, a glittering assembly awaited the coming of the priest.

Arkola was there, magnificent in black velvet, his strong face grim and unsmiling. There, too, were the lords of the council and the high chieftains of the horde, in their barbaric finery.

Light streamed through tall tapering windows to flash in mirror-polished shields and burnished helms, to twinkle from the jewels in sword hilt and girdle and the gems that flashed about the throats of the Chac Yuul women.

A step or two below the idol stood Darloona. She was superb in a long gown of golden satin sprinkled with small diamonds, but for all her beauty and the splendor of her gown, Valkar could see the tension and fear in her pale, set features, and in the way her hands gripped and twisted at a small scrap of handkerchief.

Vaspian smirked and lolled at her side, resplendent in silken robes, a gilt coronet upon his brows. From time to time he leaned to whisper in Darloona’s ear, and at the way her face tightened with distaste, Valkar could guess the message of his leering whisper, and his hand gripped his sword hilt until the knuckles whitened.

The bell had long since rung the hour, but it seemed that this splendid company yet awaited the coming of Ool. A murmur arose from the throng, as the Chac Yuul whispered. What was keeping the fat little wizard-priest?

Valkar, from his hidden place, searched the audience with a narrow gaze, but not for Ool the Uncanny. He wondered if Jandar was in the crowd, and although he searched for him carefully, he saw him not. For the hundredth time, he wondered what calamity could have prevented his comrade from attending their vital meeting.

Now a stir and rustle went through the throng.

Valkar peered about and saw that at last Ool the Uncanny had entered the hall. The fat little man was muffled in thick robes of a dull, drab hue, and the cowl of that robe was drawn, concealing his face. Head down, hands tucked into his capacious sleeves, the little wizard stumbled across the top of the flight of steps from an entrance on the far side. He was aware of his lateness and had hurried, for be was breathing heavily. Valkar wondered what could have detained him―and again wondered what had become of Jandar.

Now Ool descended the topmost steps to stand between the Prince and the Princess, with the great stone idol towering up behind him.

And now Valkar could delay no longer. With or without Jandar he must act swiftly now, before the nuptials were sealed and Darloona was wed to the man she loathed.

Valkar touched the hidden spring and the panel slid aside.

With a leap he attained the dais whereupon the idol stood. Ripping out his sword, the Prince sprang down the steps, catching a swift glance at the expression of astonishment that crossed the faces of Prince Vaspian and Darloona at his unexpected appearance. Ool still had his back turned and saw nothing.

Daylight flashed on the blade of his rapier as Valkar lifted the sword and sent its point hurtling to cut down Ool from behind before he could speak the doom-fraught words which would seal the marriage. Ool turned and looked Valkar directly in the eyes! And Darloona screamed!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE MIND WIZARD OF KUUR

Cold chills went down my back as I stared at the fat little wizard-priest who lounged in the doorway of the Pits.

“What are you doing here?” I blurted. It was an inane thing to say and it made him laugh, a thin, titter of malicious humor that had no mirth in it.

“Why, I am here for our long-delayed little talk,” he purred, slitted eyes agleam with mischief. “I told you we would speak together at a later time―and this is it.”

He paused, surveying the corpse that lay sprawled in congealing gore amidst the tumbled rushes. His eyes lifted to the bare cutlass I held, and again that mirthless titter fell from his fat smiling lips.

“You are a man of action, I see, O Jandar! Alas, you would not lift cold steel against a fat old man, who hath naught wherewith to defend himself?” The purring voice trailed off on a questioning note. I hefted the heavy sword, feeling foolish. Koja and Lukor were watching all this without comprehension.

For some reason the fat little priest gave me pause. I should have simply run by him, but for some reason which I cannot quite explain this seemed not the thing to do. It was, I think, a matter of presence.

Whatever else he may have been, Ool the Uncanny was not a man you could easily ignore!

Now he came waddling into the square stone room, hands tucked within capacious sleeves. He wore his usual thick robes of drab hue. His sandals slapped and whispered against the stone pave.

His sharp glance took in the tall somber arthropod and the keen-eyed, white-headed little Swordmaster behind me.

“A warrior lord of the Yathoon people, and a master-swordsman from the City in the Clouds,” mused Ool thoughtfully. “How in the name of thirty devils could an ordinary mercenary from Soraba know such as these―so much that he commits mutiny, aye, and murder, too, in the freeing of them! ‘Tis a puzzle, indeed: a mystery … there is much about you O Jandar, that savors of the mysterious.”

Lukor cleared his throat, a little impatient bark of sound.

“I believe you said something about a bell, lad? Why do we stand here talking, when the lass is about to wed that fool of a Prince?” he demanded.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Ool said swiftly: “Rest easy on that point, O Lukor of Ganatol; the Princess Darloona cannot be wed until I arrive in the Hall of Hoom beyond the Throne Chamber. I know, for ‘tis I, old fat Ool, who will conduct the nuptials.”

“How do you know me, priest?” snapped Lukor. Ool smiled lazily and his eyes drifted from one of us to the other.

“I know you at least as well as you know yourself, O Swordmaster―and the komor Koja of the Yathoon Horde―and you, as well, O Jandar of―what should I say? `Tellus’ or `Terra’―or `Earth’? Aye, Jandar of Tellus―that would be the proper construction.”

Jandar of Tellus!

Shock ripped through me, the shock of complete amazement, as I realized this placid little butter-colored Buddha somehow knew my closely guarded secret―knew that I was not native to this world of Thanator, but was a visitor from a far-distant planet! But how could he have known that?

Almost as if he read the question in my mind, he smiled again, obviously enjoying my mystification.

“I know many things, O Jandar, which are bidden from other men. You, and all those that dwell within the walls of Shondakor, think me but a priest of Hoom, my god―that, or a wizard of strange gifts and stranger wisdom. You have seen me many times, and each time it has entered your mind that my flesh is yellow and my black eyes aslant, and that I am unlike any people you have yet encountered upon the face of Thanator―but never has it occurred to you to think about this puzzle.”

Ool spoke truth. Suddenly it came to me that I knew well the races of Thanator: the Ku Thad of Shondakor, with their amber skin, emerald eyes, and flaming manes―the papery-white Sky Pirates of Zanadar, with their lank black hair―the bald-headed, crimson-skinned men of the Bright Empire of Perushtar―the Chac Yuul warriors, with their greasy, swarthy skins and colorless hair―and those crossbreeds, such as the Ganatolians. And not one of these races had the butter-yellow skin and slant black eyes of Ool the Uncanny!

Yet never had I noticed this!

“And for very good reasons, O Jandar of Tellus,” the fat priest chuckled. “I am one of the Mind Wizards of Kuur, dark shadowy Kuur that lies beyond Dragon River amid the Peaks of Harangzar, on the other side of Thanator.’ My people share a curious science, a mental discipline that permits us to read the thoughts and minds of other beings. As you can well imagine, this art gives us an unusual advantage over the other races of Thanator, an advantage we are not hesitant to employ.”

“That’s how you led the Chac Yuul into Shondakor!” I cried.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “An archivist possessed knowledge of the secret tunnel beneath the river and the outer walls, and thus I gained ascendancy over Arkola and a place in his councils, by bartering the secret of a safe road into the Golden City for power.”

A cold flash of reptilian greed shone momentarily in his slitted eyes.

“We are a small, a dying race; but we have a mighty power over the minds of other men, a power which, if used adroitly, can lay an empire within our reach. I found my way into the inner councils of the Chac Yuul by means of my mind power, and the Chac Yuul seized a kingdom. That iron man of war, bold Arkola, thinks he rules the Black Legion, but it is I am the master here!”

“Then using your mind power, you were able to still suspicion of your race in the brain of every man you met?” Lukor asked keenly. “That is why it never occurred to anyone to wonder who and what you were, with your yellow skin and slant gaze?”

His bald pate nodded sleepily.

“True, Ganatolian. It is but the least of my abilities. When this gallant warrior here came into Shondakor, I knew him from the very first as a man from another world. His is a strange tale, and it will have a stranger ending, as I somehow seem to know―”

“Know you aught of the mysterious power that guided me to this world?” I cried, for the mystery of my coming hence had long plagued me. Reluctantly, Ool shook his head and his cold eyes were dull and opaque.

“Nay. There are things hidden even from the probing skills of a Mind Wizard: but someday you will know the answer―if you live.” He smiled.

“From the first, I knew of your true identity and of your cause and mission,” he said sleekly, animation returning to his keen gaze. “I did not reveal you to my lords, for it amused me to see you play this little drama out to its end. But that end has come, aye, the last act is upon us even now, and I fear me you shall none of you live out the scene to its final curtain.”

I lifted my cutlass into view.

“Have you forgotten, Mind Wizard, that I bear cold steel and you are unarmed?” I said tensely. His smile was mild and bland.

“And would you strike down an old man in cold blood?” he murmured. I shrugged.

“I will kill any man who stands between me and the woman I love,” I growled. “I have naught against you, Ool; naught have you done to oppose me in my quest, therefore I am willing to let you live. Only do not get in my way―”

“Alas for your quest, O Jandar, it is not my will that you rescue the Princess of your heart,” he smiled.

“You mean―”

“I mean that for all these months I have been working towards a certain end,” he replied, and I knew then that I would have to kill him.

“What end, Mind Wizard?” I asked.

“I am not here by chance or accident, but by plan. We of dark Kuur must subjugate this hemisphere, and since we are few, we must set nation against nation, weakening them through endless wars, so that we may carry off the victory in the end. According to the decision of my Masters, the Prince of the Chac Yuul weds the Princess of Shondakor, thus provoking war between the Sky Pirates and the Black Legion. Out of that war, one victor shall arise―and we of shadowy Kuur shall dominate that victor. Alas, our plans have no room in them for Jandar of Tellus, or Koja of the Yathoon Horde, or Lukor of Ganatol―or even. for the Ku Thad.”

Suddenly I saw everything, clear and plain as if it were written on the wall.

It was the meddling little Mind Wizard had set Prince Vaspian and his father at odds, had cast the seeds of suspicion into their minds each of the other. For surely, if the mind wizardry of Ool the Uncanny could blot a question of his race from the minds of those he met, that same grim art could insert a thought into the minds of others just as easily.

A sense of futility arose within me. All that we had striven for, all our plans and hazards, had been but as a game played out for the amusement of this fat, sinister little priest!

He had known when I despatched poor brave doomed Marud to the Lord Yarrak with my letter which revealed the secret tunnel under the walls and the river. That was true―now I remembered!―it had been Ool’s men who caught Marud on his return!

But why on his return? Why let him get to the warriors hiding in the Grand Kumala at all, when Ool could just as well have seized him ere he entered the secret passage? Why let him pass the letter to the Ku Thad, unless

―Unless the Golden Warriors were walking into the trap!

“You are not stupid, O Jandar,” the little Mind Wizard chuckled. “Indeed the mighty Yarrak and his gallant warriors will find themselves entrapped when they come through the tunnel this day and gamble all on one last, brave attempt to reconquer Shondakor! For I shall alert a full cohort of the Legion to wait hidden by the secret entrance of the tunnel, and as they emerge into the streets of Shondakor, they shall face the last battle and the doom of all their kind.”

Grimly I stepped in front of him and set the point of my sword over his heart.

“You have just signed your own death warrant, wizard!” I said.

His cold, clever eyes probed deeply into mine, and his gaze was not worried but placid and serene and smiling.

“Think you I am a fool, O Jandar of Tellus?” he said softly. “Think you I came here to explain everything, to put myself into your power, without a means of escape? I am not a fool, Earthling; nay, ‘tis you who art the fool. You should thrust home with that clumsy sword, and speak after. Now it is too late.”

And then a thunderbolt struck me directly between the eyes and I fell forward into a sea of black gloom.

Agony lanced through my skull as I swam groggily back to consciousness again. I could feel the gritty stone flags against my cheek, and the dank odor of musty straw was heavy in my nostrils.

Blearily I opened my eyes and strove to see what was happening.

Behind me, Koja and Lukor lay crumpled on the stone pave. Ool had struck them down even as I had been felled by his mental bolt. The power to read and to manipulate minds must include with it the strange and awful skill to employ the mind as a weapon. Ool’s trained mind was able to project a stunning mental blow before which any lesser mind was helpless.

Why, then, had my own unconsciousness been but a momentary thing? Why did I rouse to wakefulness, while Lukor and Koja lay sprawled in the grip of an eerie mental paralysis?

Perhaps the answer lay in my own nature. I was not native to this jungle moon of Thanator; my body, my brain, had evolved upon a far-off planet. The bolt of mental force which the fat little Mind Wizard of Kuur had projected had stunned, but had not thrust me down into full unconsciousness. Perhaps the intensity of that stunning bolt had been attuned to the frequency of minds native to Thanator. Perhaps Ool the Uncanny had, for a moment, forgotten my extra-Thanatorian origin. It was a small thing to forget―doubtless, it had seemed of no great importance. But it seemed, after all, that the fate of a world hung on that little error he had committed in his complacence.

I resolved that he would feel the full weight of that error now!

Springing to my feet, snatching up the cutlass where it had fallen from my hand as I fell, I faced Ool, who had been bending over Lukor and who now started around with amazement written all over his placid, buttery features.

My brain throbbed abominably―I had the great-grandfather of all headaches―but I grimly thrust the consciousness of pain from me and sprang upon him, sword in hand.

From under his voluminous robes, Ool drew a rapier. So he was armed after all! His pretense at being unarmed was just another deception―just one more lie. It would benefit him little: I had learned the art of the blade from Lukor himself, and he was one of the greatest masters of that art on all Thanator. The fat little man could not long stand against my flashing steel, and now he knew his mental bolts had but a momentary and passing influence on my alien intelligence.

We fought without words, the little Mind Wizard and I, with no one to watch. Our only audience consisted of a dead man and two unconscious warriors.

It was a strange duel. In many ways, it was the strangest battle that I have ever fought.

Ool knew hardly anything of swordplay; his soft, plump hands were not accustomed to the grip of a sword hilt. Nor was he used to violent physical exercise. In no time his fat jowls and bald brow glistened with the sheen of perspiration and his breath came in panting gasps and his arms trembled from weariness and exertion.

But Ool could read my mind, and he knew in advance where I would direct every thrust and stroke―and his blade was there ahead of me!

It was an odd sensation. In a way it was like fighting yourself, like battling against a mirror image, pitting your blade against an adversary who knew precisely it! every move you would make even before you made

A cold horror gripped me. I had faced powerful swordsmen ere now; it was absurd to feel qualms of dread, crossing steel with this fat, puffing little priest. But so much depended on the outcome of this duel that my mind was a dizzy turmoil of fear and tension. Koja and Lukor lay helpless, mentally paralyzed by the bolt of uncanny mind force: if Ool slew me, my helpless friends would follow me down to Death’s amazing kingdom. The woman I loved would be forced into the arms of a sneering coward, the gallant warriors of Lord Yarrak would walk directly into a trap, the small, peaceful kingdoms and cities of Thanator, cities I had never seen, would fall to the cunning of the Mind Wizards―a world lay helplessly in bondage if I were slain!

I wonder if ever before, in all the history of Thanator or of any other world, so much rested on the outcome of a single duel. The fate of a world, the destiny of many nations, depended on my quick thinking, steady hand, and flashing sword!

I tried to fence automatically, without conscious thought, relying on the sheer force of training and instinct alone, hoping in that way to overcome the advantage Ool’s unearthly mind power had over me. Alas, it was in vain: whatever the nature and extent of his telepathic skills, he continued to anticipate, by a fraction of a second, my every thrust, parry, and stroke.

Perhaps his mental probe went deeper than I even guessed. Perhaps he could read me clear to the depths of my unconscious and could scrutinize those fighting instincts, those trained responses, on which I now relied. Perhaps he was alert to those tiny triggering impulses of nervous energy as they set into action the twitching of my muscles, long ere those muscles moved in actuality. I know not. I only know that wherever my point flashed, the flat of his blade was there.

Only the Lords of Cordrimator know what would have been the eventual outcome of this weird battle of strength and steel against mind magic.

Perhaps my very superior endurance would have won out in the end, or perhaps Ool’s strange powers would have gained the ascendancy hi the duel, and he would have struck at me, using some tactic of advanced swordsmanship drawn from my own brain to strike me down.

At any rate, it was not my hand that slew him, but the hand of a dead man that struck his doom.

As I advanced, plying my blade in a glittering dance of death, the little wizard retreated, shuffling along backwards. Around the huge square stone chamber we went … and then the hand of Fate struck.

The corpse of Bluto lay where I had struck it down. A puddle of cooling gore splashed the rushes. His dead limbs lay asprawl, and as Ool shuffled backwards, retreating from my point, he struck the dead hand of Bluto with one foot, staggered off balance, and fell over backwards, striking his bald pate on the cold stone pave.

His skull split like a ripe melon … and thus the weird duel of sword skill against mind magic came to an end, and death came to Ool the Uncanny at the hand of a corpse!