Black Legion of Callisto

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN THE FALL OF HOOM

As Valkar sprang down the steps of the high altar and drew back his arm to plunge his blade directly into the back of the robed and hooded little wizard-priest, Ool turned and looked him full in the face, and Valkar gasped, and paled, and his blade went wavering to one side.

“Jandar!” he cried in astonishment.

Was it relief―or joy―or amazement―that flared in the emerald eyes of Darloona?

“Jandar―?” she echoed wonderingly.

At her side, Prince Vaspian blanched, and turned an incredulous gaze on the hooded figure who stood a few steps above him.

“Jandar!” he gasped bewilderedly.

I laughed and threw back my hood, tossing the heavy robes aside, and stood above them, grinning with reckless humor, the heavy cutlass in my hand.

For, of course, it was I who had emerged from the far side of the Hall of Hoom, muffled in the thick robes I had taken from the corpse of Ool the Uncanny who lay dead in the Pits of Shondakor. Hunched over so that I seemed no taller than the fat little Mind Wizard, shuffling along in imitation of his waddling stride, I had gained a place close to Darloona without a single person in all that mighty hall guessing my identity. But the rasp of Valkar’s buskin against the stone step had made me turn―just in time to let him see and recognize my face under the shadowing cowl, and turn his blade aside before it drank my heart’s blood.

After Ool fell and split his skull, ending our uncanny battle in the Pits, the spell which had subjugated my comrades, Lukor and Koja, was broken. Donning Ool’s robes as a handy disguise, I had swiftly found the nearest entrance to the maze of secret passages that lay within the walls of the royal palace, and we made our way to the Hall of Hoom where I knew Darloona was to be found.

Prince Vaspian saw the look in my eyes and the naked sword in my hand, and realized suddenly that this was the end of an imposture. His lips curled in a sullen snarl, and he tore his rapier from its jeweled scabbard, but I disarmed him with a practiced twist of the wrist and he fled from me, abandoning the Princess.

“Jandar―is it really you?” she whispered as I put my arm about her shoulders and turned to hold the astounded throng at bay.

“It is I, my princess, I replied calmly. “Think you that Jandar would not move heaven and earth to protect you from the arms of that weakling? Fear not for your helpless people―Vaspian will not very long be in a position to harm them!”

Valkar spoke from behind us in a clear, penetrating voice.

“Jandar entered the city pretending to be a mercenary and won a place in the ranks of the Black Legion in order to rescue you, my princess,” he said. “His daring and courage, his cool head and quick mind, have saved you from a hideous parody of a marriage! Now you must come with us, swiftly, without argument―”

But just then we had no time for talk. Arkola, his face a savage mask of ferocity and rage, thundered a command at his bewildered guards who came charging up the stair towards where we stood. Valkar and I met them with flashing steel and drove them back a pace.

Darloona, however, would not obey our wishes and retreat to the top of the altar level where it was safer. The brave girl snatched up the rapier the cowardly Vaspian had let fall in his ignominious flight and stood beside us, adding the strength of her blade to our own.

Within seconds, four guards lay gasping out their life on the bloody steps and we had won a moment’s respite from the assault.

But a hundred stout warriors of the Black Legion thronged the hall in a guard of honor and Arkola thundered commands that snapped them from their paralysis and sent them charging up the flight of marble steps in a massed body.

Our swords flickered and played like summer lightning, and men fell screaming, splashed with gore, but others came charging over the flopping bodies of the fallen, and we were hard pressed and retreated, step by step, holding our own only by advantage of superior height, as we stood higher on the stair than did they who sought to assault us.

Still, it was only a matter of time before sheer weight of numbers dragged us down. As I fought, I wondered desperately―where were Koja and Lukor? They had hidden in the antechamber as I went out to impersonate Ool and seize the Princess, but surely they had heard all the commotion by now and knew we were fighting for our very lives here on the steps below the altar of Hoom!

I dispatched an opponent and turned to see if Darloona was safe.

She was not only safe, but fighting like a tigress. How glorious she looked, her red-gold hair streaming about her lithe body like a tattered war banner, the fire of battle shining in her splendid green eyes, her full red lips parted with the excitement of the moment. In a second her flickering blade cut down the warrior she had engaged and she turned her enigmatic gaze on me.

“This is all madness, Jandar―yet, well met! I had not thought that we should ever meet again, save perhaps in the spirit, when our souls should travel on that long journey to stand before the tall thrones of the Lords of Gordrimator,” she said.

“I could not desert you, my princess,” I said.

“It was very brave of you to seek me out amidst the legions of the Chac Yuul,” she said somberly. “Yet now all my plans are ruined, and my people are doomed―”

“I could not stand idly by and see you wed to a man you loathed/” I protested. She shook her head fiercely.

“But I must! Else my people will suffer/”

“Let us await the outcome of this day,” I suggested. “For I managed to get word to your uncle, Lord Yarrak, of a secret tunnel beneath the Ajand and the city walls, and ere long the Ku Thad will enter Shondakor in force, and mayhap your people and not the Black Legion will be the masters here before this day ends.”

Hope flared suddenly within her glorious emerald eyes, and her warm full lips parted breathlessly as if to speak―but then they were upon us in strength again, and we were both too busy for further conversation just then.

They pressed us hard, ringing us about with flashing steel, and although we fought magnificently, I knew in my heart that it was but a matter of time before superior weight of numbers would crush us down.

Yet it was not in me to complain of my lot. For indeed, were I to fall here, I could not think of a better way to die than this―battling for my life beside the woman I loved, a sword in my hand, grim laughter on my lips, Darloona beside me!

We fought on, but without hope … .

Suddenly the warrior whose sword I had engaged fell back a step, dropped his point, and cried out in fear. His features paled and his mouth sagged open, and his eyes went beyond me and froze as if fixed on some fearful apparition which stood behind my back.

“The god―moves,” he cried with horror.

The other warriors about us staggered back from us now, their gaze transfixed with terror on something behind us.

“The god―lives!”

Risking a sword between the shoulders, I turned swiftly and cast a swift glance behind me. What I saw made me start with astonishment!

Above us on the flat dais stood the hideous stone idol of Hoom, devil-god of the Chac Yuul. Very horrible was Hoom, with glaring eyes, pot belly, leering fanged jaws gaped wide in a gloating grin, monstrous arms spread as if to crush us puny mortals in his multiple embrace.

And Hoom … moved/

Even as I stared in amazement, the arm which was extended out over the stairs lifted into a position of command!

And a deep, hollow voice boomed out, filling the great hall with rolling echoes!

“LET THEM GO FREE,” it thundered.

Swords wavered and fell; men stared up with expressions of utter astonishment frozen upon their pallid features.

I sprang into action. I knew not what had caused this weird and inexplicable phenomenon, but I seized the opportunity for escape which it held out to us. Valkar and Darloona stood, gripped in the same amazement that held the others petrified. I signaled them frantically.

“Come/ The panel―now, while we have the chance!”

We sprang up the steps to the dais, and Vaspian saw us.

He was no less the superstitious savage than his fellows, but jealousy and suspicion colored his mind. His features distorted into a vicious snarl as he saw us eluding his vengeance, and he came leaping up the stair after us, sword lifted for the kill.

But it was Hoom who slew!

The great stone arm that was lifted in a commanding position came smashing down―and crushed his skull. Vaspian fell dead on the steps of the high altar in a welter of splattering gore, and the room erupted into fury!

“Kill them all!” Arkola thundered, waving his great blade. A host of swordsmen sprang howling on our heels.

I darted around behind the idol, and found a stone door open in its back. Within, his hands working a series of levers, sat Lukor, his merry eyes dancing with delighted mischief―and Koja, whose deep metallic voice, through a wooden trumpet arranged so that the words seemed to come from the very mouth of the idol, had supplied the booming command.

In a flash the entire mystery was revealed. The image was hollow and a simple system of weights and counterweights enabled whoever sat within to move the idol’s arms up and down through slots and grooves. Doubtless this was the secret of Ool’s authority over the Black Legion―he struck at them through their superstitious terrors of the unknown.

I learned later that Koja and Lukor had lurked in concealment, awaiting my return, until the sounds of the uproar caused by my unmasking alerted them to peril. They had hurried out to a new position of concealment behind the idol, and by .accident had touched the secret spring that opened the hidden door in the idol’s back. The discovery had offered them a more powerful method of assisting us than merely adding their swords to our own. But now the imposture was over, and half a hundred warriors were charging up the stairs to pull us down. I thought swiftly. If the massive stone idol were hollow instead of solid, then it was not as heavy and immobile as it looked―

“Here―with me!” I said curtly, and I set my shoulder against the back of the idol and―heaved!

Valkar, Koja, and Lukor grasped my plan instantly, and lent their strength to my own while Darloona stood, hands pressed to her heart in an agony of suspense.

Would our desperate scheme work? There was no time to think of an alternate. I clenched my jaw and threw the full weight of back, arms, and shoulders into one last terrific effort.

And Hoom―moved.

The idol shuddered, slid forward on its dais with a grating of stone against stone, struck the horns of the altar, and toppled over!

Men were crushed beneath its ponderous weight, for even though Hoom was hollow, still he was fashioned of massive stone. The monstrous idol came sliding and crashing down the steps, spilling men to either side, squeaking and crunching over the buckling stair. Then it crashed full length and went rolling down the steps like some colossal juggernaut of destruction. The multiple stone arms broke away; fragments of stone went flying to every side; I saw one mammoth stone hand spin away and smash a fleeing warrior to bloody ruin, for all the world as a man might crush a fly with the palm of his band. Dozens were crushed to death; scores were maimed or injured.

Midway down the stair, Hoom struck an obstruction and shattered. His grinning head cracked and broke off and went skipping horribly down the steps, straight for the place where Arkola stood, his strong face frozen in a mask of incredulous horror.

The head smashed full into him and skidded on, leaving him a broken, dying thing.

Thus died Arkola the Usurper.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE CONQUEST OF SHONDAKOR

We saw no more of Hoom’s murderous fall, for we seized the opportunity afforded by his juggernaut-like passage down the stone stair to duck into the secret panel from which Valkar had sprung.

I seized Darloona’s arm and thrust her ahead of me, with Valkar going before and Koja and Lukor at my heels. We ran through dark passageways and it seemed, from the uproar, that the entire palace was filled with the clamor of battle. Had the Ku Thad struck at last? We came out onto a broad and level terrace overlooking the city and gazed with delight upon what we saw.

Down every street came yelling mobs of Shondakorians, brandishing clubs, sticks, tools―whatever they could lay their hands on.

Before them, scattered units of the Black Legion retreated in confusion. And in a moment we saw the reason why―for there, in the forefront of the howling mobs, battled the warrior nobles of the Ku Thad with mighty Yarrak in the fore, his beard blowing on the wind, his great sword catching dayfire as it rose and fell tirelessly, smashing down warrior after warrior of the Chac Yuul.

In truth, the Ku Thad had come at the best possible moment, and half the city was theirs!

I laughed, weeping with delight, shaking Valkar’s shoulder, yelling and pointing. Darloona’s eyes shone with fierce, queenly pride and her lips trembled. Koja and Lukor recognized the bold warrior lords of the

Golden People and shouted with joy and triumph.

But there was much fighting to do before the city was truly ours, for the Black Legion, although taken by surprise, still vastly outnumbered Darloona’s warriors, and although the populace of the city had recognized Lord Yarrak and had risen in arms to join the battle for their beloved princess, they were poorly armed and could not stand up to Arkola’s trained and disciplined troops. Even as we watched, the progress of the loyalists slowed to a crawl as Chac Yuul units sped to reinforce their sagging lines.

Then the inexplicable intervened.

A dense black shadow fell over the embattled streets below and before any could look up in surprise a deafening explosion and a blinding flash of flame erupted in the very midst of the thickly packed Chac Yuul warriors.

Another explosion―and another! We stared up to see the skies filled with fantastic flying vessels which had appeared over the embattled city as if by magic.

It was the Sky Pirates of Zanadar, and they had launched their long-impending attack against the Black Legion at last!

The ungainly flying contraptions of the City in the Clouds were like great wooden galleons, made fantastical with carven poop, fluttering banners, ornamental balustrades. They hung aloft on immense, slowly beating wings, buoyed up against the pull of gravity by the powerful lifting force of the mysterious gas wherewith their hollow double hulls were suffused.

To the eye of the uninitiated, the sky ships of Zanadar were a thrilling and unbelievable sight, a fleet of enormous galleons that rode the golden vapors of Thanator’s skies as the galleons of another world might ride the blue waves of the sea. But Lukor, Koja, and I had labored at the wheels of similar vessels but months before, and we knew the ingenious system of weights and pulleys that manipulated those vast ungainly wings, and the unique structure of the flying galleons which were made of compressed paper instead of wood, and thus weighed only a fraction of what their ocean-going counterparts on another world would have. Still and all, they were an incredible achievement, and had it not been for the rapacious greed and cruelty of the Sky Pirates, who used their aerial armada to prey off the merchant caravans of weaker peoples, I could have applauded their amazing skills with undimmed enthusiasm.

Nothing on my world had ever equaled the fantastic achievement of the Zanadarians, although that mighty genius of the Renaissance, the immortal Leonardo da Vinci, had sketched out plans for just such wing-powered ornithopters in his secret notebooks. And had he had access to the powerful lifting gas wherewith the Zanadarians nullified the weight of their flying ships, and had he also possessed the secret of the strong, molded, and laminated paper construction, the skies of old Earth might well have seen such a flying navy as this, half a thousand years before the triumph at Kitty Hawk.

Never before had I seen the ornithopters of Zanadar actually engaged in battle; now I saw the immense tactical advantage the fantastic flying galleons of the Sky Pirates possessed over land armies, and a qualm went over me. Unless some unexpected disaster intervened to demolish the imperial ambitions of Prince Thuton of Zanadar, his aerial navy could conquer all of Thanator and subjugate her peoples with ease.

Indeed, the Sky Pirates of Zanadar formed, if anything, a far greater menace to the peaceful nations of this jungle world than did the Mind Wizards of Kuur, who were few in number and who lacked military might.

Hovering on their slowly beating vans, the ponderous flying machines hung against the golden skies like something in one of the nightmarish paintings of Hieronymus Bosch or Hannes Bok. Far above the reach of spear, arrow, or catapult they hovered, and from the safe vantage of their height they rained down explosive missiles on the crowd―thronged streets below.

It was the hated Chac Yuul they were attacking, luckily for us, and the fire bombs wreaked a terrible toll of the beleaguered Black Legion warriors. Before my gaze the defensive lines about the palace were crumbling and the victorious ranks of the Ku Thad pressed forward, beating back the broken and demoralized forces of the foe.

Ere long, it seemed likely that the surviving Chac Yuul warriors would take refuge within the palace itself, which was constructed on the lines of a fortress, and which could be held indefinitely against siege. It was needful, then, for me to carry word to Lord Yarrak concerning the secret entrance into the palace―the hidden route whereby Valkar had often found his way into the network of secret passageways and thus to the suite of the Princess Darloona. For unless Yarrak made swift use of this secret door, he would exhaust his strength in a costly and time-consuming siege of the palace.

There was no time to lose.

I seized Valkar’s arm and swiftly drew him aside, suggesting that he withdraw to a secluded corner of the terrace and guard the safety of the Princess, while Koja, Lukor, and I sought to fight our way through the battling mobs to the side of Lord Yarrak.

Valkar protested that there was no reason why he should remain behind in security while we risked all, but I had no leisure in which to argue the point and tersely said so.

“Take care, Jandar,” the Princess begged. I made no reply, but after one long look into her emerald eyes and a brief salute, I turned away and swung out over the balustrade of the terrace and began clambering down the outer wall of the palace, followed by Koja and Lukor.

Obviously, it would have wasted much time for us to have attempted to work our way out of the palace through the mazelike network of secret passages. This route was much shorter and swifter. It was also, of course, much more hazardous: but I had faced a thousand perils in the service of my princess ere now, and I was not likely to flinch from one more danger.

Fortunately the outer wall of the palace was encrusted with elaborate sculptures. I have noted before the considerable similarity between the architectural style of Shondakor and the fantastical stone structures of the enigmatic ruined cities of Cambodia, such as Angkor Vat and Arangkor. The surface of the walls was covered with enormous stone masks which stared down like so many carven gods on the embattled streets below. Stone devils and dragons, gargoyles and gorgons, leered and laughed from between the calm features of graven divinity, and their profusion of horns and beaks and claws afforded us a broad choice of handholds and toeholds wherewith to clamber down the two stories to the street level below. Thus without any particular difficulty we reached the broad plaza before the main gate of the palace.

I found that matters had gone in the very direction I had assumed they might, and that the main forces of the Chac Yuul had already retreated into the palace, while small groups of surviving Black Legion warriors sought similar refuge in one or another of the stone buildings of the city. From these citadels they were fighting a twofold battle against the Ku Thad in the streets and the Zanadarians aloft in the skies.

Arkola had erected a rude defense against the impending attack of the Sky Pirates during the last days of his regime. Rooftop catapults had been set in readiness to do battle against the flying machines of Thuton, and as I gained the ground at last I saw to my surprise that the embattled Chac Yuul warriors had actually managed to bring down at least one of the great aerial galleons.

A well-placed stone missile, hurled with terrific force from one of these rooftop war engines, had smashed the control cupola of this galley, and grappling irons, securely hooked into the ornamental carvings, figurehead, and deck balustrade, had drawn it against the roof of a nearby building, from which bonds it was not likely to escape. Even as I gazed the Chac Yuul archers swept the decks of the captive ornithopter with a deadly rain of arrows, and thus the flying armada of Zanadar was lessened by at least one vessel.

But now Chac Yuul warriors, fleeing in broken rout before the victorious advance of the Ku Thad, were all about me, and I had no time to observe further events. For I was busy fighting for my life against the panicking warriors.

With Koja at my left hand and gallant old Lukor at my right, we formed a flying wedge and cut our way through the fleeing rabble to the forefront of the advancing Ku Thad. We three made a magnificent team, and the terror-stricken Chac Yuul melted out of our path, helpless to oppose us for long.

It was a scene of strange and terrible beauty, apocalyptic in its grandeur and destruction. The streets were filled with battling men, and they rang with the steely music of clashing swords, the shouts and war cries of the victorious, the howls and shrieks of the injured and the dying. Corpses lay all about, amidst the rubble of shattered stone, and the air was darkened with a pall of drifting smoke from burning buildings. The heavens resounded with the deafening explosion of the bombardment of the Sky Pirates, and their mighty winged ships darkened the ground with their monstrous gliding shadows. All about me men were fighting, falling, fleeing. The day of vengeance had come at last for the Black Legion, and the day of victory had dawned for the brave warriors of Shondakor.

We fought on through a scene of nightmarish splendor and power, while all about us a dynasty died and a new age was born.

At length we recognized the grim features of Lord Yarrak as be fought at the forefront of his warrior nobles, his beard flying in the murk, his eyes ablaze with victory, his great sword rising and falling tirelessly as he cut down the squat, swarthy men who had long held his city in their merciless grip, and who now received no mercy from his avenging blade.

He knew me at a glance, and his eyes lit with amazement to see me here in the streets amid the struggling hosts. Swiftly I drew him aside and satisfied his apprehensions, assuring him that Darloona was in a place of safety, guarded by his own valiant son, for which he gave heartfelt thanks to the Lords of Cordrimator.

“But as you can observe,” I said tersely, “most of the surviving Black Legion warriors have already retreated within the walls of the palace, from which vantage they can safely hold the gates against a thousand warriors, while picking o$ your men with well-placed archers.”

“That is true, Jandar,” he nodded in grim assent.

“There is, however, a secret entrance into the palace, which was discovered by your own son, Prince Valkar,” I informed him. “If you will follow me, we can be within the palace before the Chac Yuul are aware of it, and can open the gates to the body of your warriors.”

“Lead on, then!”

Summoning a small band of picked swordsmen to accompany him, Lord Yarrak, Lukor, Koja, arid I swiftly made our way to the secret door whose hidden place Valkar had disclosed to me many days before. I do not think that a single eye marked our progress, for the bombardment of the Zanadarian flying machines had set afire several nearby buildings in their efforts to destroy the rooftop catapults which imperiled the safety of the aerial fleet, and the drifting smoke of the conflagration effectively hid us from view as we crept along the outer wall of the royal citadel to the small stand of ornamental sorad trees whose thick dark foliage concealed the secret door from discovery.

My fingers fumbled along the rough stone of the wall and within but moments they had found and depressed the secret spring. A mighty slab of stone sank soundlessly into the earth, revealing the black mouth of a secret passage which yawned before us. With a reassuring word to Lord Yarrak and his. nobles, I stepped forward without hesitation into the throat of the hidden passageway and within moments we had vanished from sight. The stone slab rose behind us and once again became part of the walls of the citadel.

It would be to no particular purpose to bore my reader―if any eye but mine own shall ever peruse these pages―with a lengthy and complete account of the battle which ensued.

Suffice it to say that, once we had breached the walls of the palace by means of the hidden entrance, our flashing swords swiftly cut down the astonished guards the Chac Yuul leaders had set over the palace gates, and it was but the work of moments to remove the massive bolts which had been set in place to hold the gate secure against the entry of the Ku Thad.

And once the gates were opened, and the victorious forces of Lord Yarrak poured within, the palace fell to us without a prolonged and costly battle. For, although those of the Chac Yuul who survived sought to blockade the hallways and corridors, and to make us pay dearly in the lives of our warriors for every advance, they were helpless to oppose us for long. Yet once again, I thanked whatever gods might be that I had spent so many weary hours in the exploration of the secret passages within the massive walls of the palace. For by means of this network of hidden ways, I was able to circumvent every attempt by the Black Legion to block our progress. Each time they sought to seal off a corridor or close a suite of apartments against us, I simply sought and found a hidden panel in the walls and led a force of Ku Thad warriors through the labyrinthine maze, coming out behind the barricade to strike down the surprised Chac Yuul who guarded it.

In this manner we very swiftly invested the entire palace from top to bottom, slaying a vast number of the Black Legion, and taking captive those whose prudence or cowardice was sufficient to overcome their stubborn sense of superiority and who laid down their weapons and surrendered to our advance.

The battle had taken hours and it was now late afternoon. But―save for a few scattered pockets of resistance, where a handful of Black Legion warriors still held out and refused to surrender―before nightfall the Golden City of Shondakor was conquered and the victorious Ku Thad reigned again in the mighty metropolis of their ancestors there on the shores of the river Ajand.

CHAPTER NINETEEN VICTORY―AND DEFEAT!

The weeks that have passed since the conquest of Shondakor and the victory of the Ku Thad and the destruction of the Black Legion have been quiet, but not exactly restful, for we have labored long and mightily to repair the damage wrought by the great battle and to bring into some semblance of order the chaos and confusion into which Shondakor fell during the struggle among the three forces.

The bombardment of the Sky Pirates of Zanadar was actually less destructive than it seemed at the time, for the main goal of Prince Thuton was obviously to crush the Black Legion rather than to level the city of the Ku Thad. Thus most of the fire bombs had been directed at mobs of Chac Yuul warriors in the streets, and only those buildings which housed the rooftop catapults had been assaulted by the Sky Pirates. Only a few buildings had suffered any extensive damage from the aerial bombardment; and since by far the greater number of structures towards the heart of the city, in the area around the royal palace, were built of stone, the fires caused by the Zanadarian bombs had not spread.

It had, of course, crossed my mind at the time that we might succeed in destroying the Black Legion only to find ourselves locked in battle against the Sky Pirates. Fortunately this did not prove to be the case. In fact, even while we were still engaged in crushing the vast vestiges of Chac Yuul resistance within the royal palace, the bombardment ceased―the armada lifted ―the Sky Pirates suspended their attack upon Shondakor and rose into the upper air, wheeling slowly above the city, with the obvious intention of sailing off to their distant stronghold, the City in the Clouds.

This cessation of the attack, this withdrawal of the vast flying contraptions from the skies over Shondakor, was most puzzling. At the time I could not account for it. It was only later that the dread truth burst upon my consciousness and I realized the ghastly reason that had occasioned this inexplicable retreat of the Sky Pirates ….

The golden skies of Thanator darkened swiftly with the advent of night, which falls swift and suddenly upon this jungle world. Huge Imavad ascended the skies, glowing against the dark like a vast rose-red lamp. Tiny Juruvad, as the peoples of this world call Amalthea, the innermost moon of the planet Jupiter, was also aloft, a minute flake of golden fire. Ere long the shimmering lime-green sphere of Orovad, or lo, would soar up into the heights of heaven.

But before Orovad rose over the horizon, the city was ours.

Great was the joy with which the citizens of Shondakor hailed the triumphant warriors of the Ku Thad. Ten thousand voices rose up to chant the stately measures of the anthem of the immemorial stone city by the river Ajand. Surely the measured thunders of that noble and ancient song were audible to the last of the Sky Pirates of Zanadar as they sailed off down the darkling sky, bound for their far-off mountaintop fortress amidst the mountains of Varan-Hkor which rise hundreds of korads away, beyond the trackless jungles of the Grand Kumala, on the borders of that unknown and boreal wilderness called The Frozen Land.

I could almost think that the music of that mighty anthem rang against the cold and watchful stars that peer down in redundant remote scrutiny on the little dramas played out by mortal men across the small stage of this little world.

More than one half of the Black Legion perished in the battle of Shondakor.

Arkola, the Warlord, and his son, Prince Vaspian, and many of the clan leaders and high commanders of the Black Legion died there in the Hall of Hoom, either crushed beneath the rolling juggernaut of their fallen devil-god, or slain by the swords of Valkar, Darloona, and myself, when we held the stair against their advance.

Leaderless, a milling chaos of confused and frightened men, under attack from every side, the common warriors of the Chac Yuul fell in their hundreds and their thousands before the mobs of angry citizens, the disciplined swords of the Ku Thad, or the rain of death and fire from the flying navy of Zanadar. Over a thousand were slain by Lord Yarrak’s force within the palace itself.

The small number which remained of the once-mighty conquering bandit horde were broken and demoralized. They were disarmed and captured with little effort; many of them laid down their weapons and surrendered rather than continue the unequal struggle any longer.

Lord Yarrak could have had the captured remnants of the Chac Yuul slaughtered. It was no less than they deserved, and in this barbaric world, mercy was a rare phenomenon. However, the great Baron spared all those who had been taken; he expressed himself as being weary of killing, sick of slaughter, and as the few who had survived the destruction of the Legion could never again form a menace against the peaceful nations of Thanator, he set them free and drove them forth from the gates of Shondakor into perpetual exile, never again to return to the lands of the Ku Thad on peril of death.

Thus the Black Legion passed forever from the great stage of history; scattered bands of them infested the mountains for some little time, preying on merchant caravans, but these small bands dwindled and soon were heard of no more. Rarely has a more decisive and total victory been recorded in the annals of warfare.

In the weeks that followed I have set down this narrative account of my deeds and adventures on the moon Callisto, and now I am almost at the end of my story.

Lord Yarrak has promised me that when I have concluded this history, a band of his warriors will carry it from the gates of Shondakor through the jungles of the Grand Kumala to that enigmatic ring of monoliths which stand as eternal guardians over the Gate Between The Worlds. They will set the bundle of manuscript within the circle of the standing stones, and will watch as the cycle of the moons comes again to that hour when the mysterious sparkling beam of unknown force blazes forth once more to link this world of Thanator and my own Earth, the planet whereupon I was born, with its weird and inexplicable shining pathway.

And for the second time a bundle of manuscript that is a true narrative of my remarkable adventures upon the surface of this strange and terrible and beautiful world will dematerialize into a sparkling cloud of energy and go flashing up that weird ray to vanish from the knowledge of men in the dark places between the stars.

Will this record of my adventures find its way across the limitless void? Will it cross unharmed the vast distance of some three hundred and ninety million miles of space to rematerialize once more in the Lost City 9f Arangkor amidst the trackless jungles of Cambodia, on the planet Earth?

I cannot know for certain.

I can only hope that this record of my discoveries and deeds will survive that mysterious trip through space, and come to the attention of some person of my own world. For I should not like to think that this account, wherein I have so laboriously preserved the lore of another world, will be lost forever in the darkness between the stars.

There is a curious blending of nostalgia and sorrow in my heart as I set down these last few words.

There is a restlessness in me, and a hunger to visit again the fair and splendid cities of my youth, to see dawn break crimson over the green jungles of the Amazon and the stars glimmer faintly in the clear gliding waters of the Oronoco, to drink raw gin in the fetid back alleys of Rio, and taste the indescribable savor of fresh black coffee and frying bacon on the cold winy air of a little camp high in the Rockies.

I would like to see the fabulous lights of Broadway beating up to dim the few faint stars above, and to see the mighty shaft of the Empire State lift its flashing crown of searchlights against the gloom, and to wash down a sizzling veal scallopini with a bottle of tangy Chianti in that Italian restaurant on Bleecker Street in crazy, cluttered Greenwich Village.

All of these things I would like to do, and all of them I could do, if I truly wished.

Yes, for I could accompany that band of handpicked Ku Thad warriors across the jungles of the Grand Kumala to that ring of stones that marks the place where I first set foot on the surface of this world of Thanator.

Then I was naked as a babe, alone and friendless, lost in a weird and hostile world of savage men and hideous monsters.

Now I have a multitude of friends: somber Koja with his great eyes blazing like black jewels in the featureless casque of his gleaming, inhuman features; gallant old Lukor, that chivalrous and gentlemanly master swordsman; brave, noble Valkar and wise Zastro and stern, kingly Lord Yarrak―good friends and gallant comrades all, tried and true, and tested in a thousand battles. They love me well, that I know, and will stand beside me in peace or in war.

And, although they have heaped me with honors, ennobled me with the high rank of a komor of the Ku Thad, thus giving me a place in the lordly nobility of Shondakor, and although I know that the Golden people of the Golden City will be proud and pleased to offer me a home amongst them for however long I wish to stay … I also know that they would not stand in my way if I should desire to make that long trek through the jungle country of the Kumala and stand naked amidst the standing stones of the Gate, to bathe again in that shimmering force that will whisk me across millions of miles of space to the world that is my home.

My departure would grieve my Thanatorian friends and my old comrades would miss me at their high councils and on the ringing plains of war, we who have so often stood shoulder to shoulder, a smile on our lips, a sword in our hands, facing together the onslaught of our enemies.

They would mourn my departure, but they would set no obstacle before it.

But of course I shall not enter the Gate Between The Worlds.

It well may be that I shall never again stride the shores of the Oronoco, the back alleys of Rio, or the busy sidewalks of Broadway.

Perhaps, someday, I shall return, but not yet and not now. For now Thanator is my home. Here on this jungle world of war and battle and intrigue, I have found good friends, a cause for which to fight, and a woman to love.

Never shall I leave Callisto until she stands once again at my side.

If that longed―for day ever comes, if she truly yet lives, if I have succeeded in rescuing Darloona from the clutches of her enemies―then and then only will I think of going home once more.

My days are busy, assisting my friends in the rebuilding of war-shaken Shondakor. My afternoons and evenings have been devoted to setting down, however crudely, with what poor skill I possess, this record of my experiences.

My nights are given over to―dreams.

And my dreams have a soft, generous scarlet mouth, a splendid and womanly figure, clear, tilted eyes of emerald flame, soft warm flesh of amber gold, and a savage mane of rippling, red-gold splendor, like a mighty war banner.

Never can I forget her heart-shaking beauty, her peerless courage, her strength and fierce pride.

Never shall I forget my last glimpse of Darloona. The joy and horror and heartbreak of that cataclysmic moment echoes yet within the depths of my being.

The palace was finally ours and the last dejected survivors of the overwhelmed and broken Chac Yuul were disarmed and bound, our helpless captives.

We raced through the corridors, Yarrak and Lukor and Koja and I, to the broad terrace where I had left Darloona under the protection of Valkar’s sword. All about us lay scenes of carnage and devastation; corpses lay strewn about the hallways amidst the wreckage of broken barricades.

Bands of the Ku Thad paced vigilantly the hallways of their retaken citadel, herding groups of Black Legion captives before them or seeking out the last pockets of resistance. Swords were naked in their hands and the joyous light of victory shone in their weary faces.

At length we reached the level terrace and looked out over a city rejoicing in the first hour of its freedom. Here and there a building in flames cast a drifting pall of black vapor across the skies, but the streets were cleared now and the gold and crimson banners of imperial Shondakor shook out upon the night winds their heraldic colors in token of victory.

Through the smoke-veiled skies the last few ornithopters yet circled the vast metropolis, ere rising to the heights of the sky for their long return voyage to Zanadar, the City in the Clouds. One mighty vessel yet hovered close above the palace. I recognized it as the Kajazell, the flagship of the aerial navy, Prince Thuton’s own ship.

We searched the broad terrace with eager eyes, but strangely enough we did not see either Valkar or Darloona.

The ghostly chill of apprehension touched my heart.

Then I heard a stifled cry from behind me. It was Lord Yarrak, an expression of consternation on his face. With a trembling hand he pointed to a crumpled shape that lay huddled in the shadow of a mighty pillar.

It was Valkar!

His eyes were closed, his limbs slack, and a thread of scarlet fluid leaked from a great wound on his brow to stain the deathlike pallor of his features.

My heart racing, I knelt beside his sprawled figure and laid my palm against his breast. He yet lived, for the throbbing of that vital organ beat however faintly against my touch.

“Valkar! What has happened!” I cried as my comrades gathered about us and Lukor knelt to set a cup of water from his canteen at the white lips of our injured friend.

His eyelids flickered and a trace of color came into his marble cheeks.

“Jandar,” he whispered hoarsely, and in so faint a voice that I had to bend low to catch his next words.

“They sprang on me … from behind … three of them I … slew … but there were … too many,” he whispered feebly.

“And the Princess?” I cried in an agony of suspense. “What of the Princess? What of Darloona?”

“Seized … taken,” he whispered, and then he spoke no more. The effort had drained what small reserves of energy his body retained, and he fell back in my arms unconscious, although not seriously injured.

“Taken!” Lord Yarrak repeated, horror written upon his stern and kingly features.

“But by whom?” Lukor asked, rendering vocal the question that throbbed in the hearts of each of us.

And then the answer came―in a woman’s cry!

“Jandar! O Jandar!” came a faint, far voice. A voice that I knew. A voice that brought me swiftly to my feet, the sword ready in my hands.

“Darloona? Where are you?” I shouted, and the answer came, faintly as if from afar, “Here!”

And then I turned, and looked up, and saw her.

Her eyes looked longingly into mine; her warm lips were opened in a tremulous smile and her arms reached out as if to clasp me. My heart leapt within me, and her next words―the last words I was to hear from her lips―echo within me to this very hour, and shall remain in my memory so long as life endures: never had I dared to hope that I should hear her speak those words to me, and that I have heard them from her very lips is a precious memory which I shall shore up against whatever empty, lonely years of bitterness and despair lay ahead for me.

“O Jandar, my beloved, my gallant warrior―I love you! I love you! I shall love you until I die―”

A thunderous burst of emotion shook me to the core and rose to overpower me. I stood speechless, heart-shaken, basking in the glory of it―that my own hopeless and unspoken love was returned by my peerless and incomparable princess! She loved me!

My heart was too full for speech. But my eyes gazed deep into her own, and I doubt not that the eloquence of my gaze of longing and adoration communicated my feelings to her heart.

It was a magic moment, but already she was receding from me, her face dwindling, a pallid oval against the deepening dusk.

I stared after her, heartbreak and longing written on my anguished features. For as long as we remained within sight of each other, we continued to gaze deep into each other’s eyes.

But it was not very long.

For, locked a helpless captive in the clutches of Prince Thuton, who grinned down at me with cold gloating triumph written in his, cruel face, Darloona was swiftly borne away from me as she stood on the deck of the Kajazell, the flagship of the Zanadarian fleet, which rose from hovering above the terrace of the palace, circled us briefly once, and then rose again to fly at a vast height, dwindling down the sky, bound for Zanadar, the mountaintop fortress of the bold and powerful Sky Pirates of Callisto.