City of the Beast (Warriors of Mars)
Michael Kane Book 1
by Michale Moorcock
Version 1.0


Chapter One

MY DEBT
TO M. CLARCHET

THE Matter Transmitter is both villain and hero of
this story (began Kane), for it took me to a world
where I felt more at home than I shall ever feel
here. It brought me to a wonderful girl whom I
loved and who loved me—and then took it all away
again.
But I had better begin nearer the beginning.

I was born, as I told you, in Ohio—in Wynns-
ville—a small, pleasant town that never changed
much. Its only unusual feature was in the person of
M. Clarchet, a Frenchman who had settled there
shortly after the First World War. He lived in a
large place on the outskirts of town. M. Clarchet
was a cosmopolitan, a Frenchman of the old
school—short, very straight-backed, with a typically
French, waxed moustache and a rather military
way of walking.

To be honest, M. Clarchet was something of a
caricature to us and seemed to illustrate everything
we had learned about the French in our dime
novels and comic books. Yet I owe my life to M.
Clarchet, though I wasn't to realize it until many
years after the old gentleman had passed on, and
when I found myself suddenly transported to Mars
... But again I am getting ahead of myself.

Clarchet was an enigma even to me though, as

boy and youth, I probably knew him better than
anyone else. He had been, he said, a fencing mas-
ter at the Court of the Tsar of Russia before the
Revolution and had had to leave in a hurry when
the Bolsheviks took over.

He had settled in Wynnsville directly because of
this experience. It had seemed to him at the time
that the whole world was in chaos and was being
turned upside down. He had found a small town
that was never likely to change much—and he liked
it. The way of life he led now was radically differ-
ent from the one he had been used to, and it
seemed to suit him.

We first met when I had accepted a dare by my
young pals to climb the fence of his house and see
if I could observe what M. Clarchet was up to. At
that time we were all convinced he was a spy of
some description! He had caught me, but instead
of shooting me, as I half-expected, he had laughed
good-naturedly and sent me on my way. I liked
him at once.

Soon after that we kids had a phase which was a
sequel to seeing Ronald Colman in The Prisoner of
Zenda. We all became Ruperts and Rudolfs for a
time. With long canes for swords, we fenced one
another to exhaustion—not very skilfully but with a
lot of enthusiasm!

On a sunny afternoon in early summer, it so hap-
pened that I and another boy, Johnny Bulmer,
were duelling for the throne of Ruritania just out-
side M. Clarchet's house. Suddenly there came a
great shout from the house and we wheeled in as-
tonishment.

"Non! Non! Non!" The Frenchman was plainly
exasperated. "That ees wrong, wrong, wrong! That
ees not how a gentleman fences!"

He rushed from his garden and seized my cane,
adopting a graceful fencing stance and facing a
startled Johnny, who just stood there with his
mouth open.

"Now," he said to Johnny, "you do ze same, oui?"

Johnny inelegantly copied his posture.

"Now, you thrust—so!" The cane darted out in a
flicker of movement and stopped just short of
Johnny's chest.

Johnny copied him—and was parried with equal
swiftness. We were amazed and delighted by this
time. Here was a man who would have been a
good match for Rupert of Hentzau.

After a while M. Clarchet stopped and shook his
head. "It ees no good with thees slicks—we must
have real foils, non? Come!"

We followed him into the house. It was well fur-
nished though not lavishly. In a special room at the
top we found more to make us gasp.

Here was an array of blades such as we'd never
even imagined! Now I know them to be foils and
epees and sabres, plus a collection of fine, antique
weapons—claymores, scimitars, Samurai swords,
broadswords, Roman short swords—the gladius—
and many, many more.

M. Clarchet waved a hand at the fascinating dis-
play of weapons. "Zere! My collection. Zey are
sweet, ze little swords, non?" He took down a small
rapier and handed it to me, handing a similar
sword to Johnny. It felt really good, holding that
well-balanced sword in my hand. I flexed my wrist,
not quite able to get the balance. M. Clarchet took
my hand and showed me the correct way of grasp-
ing it.

"How would you like to learn properly?" said M.
Clarchet with a wink. "I could teach you much."

Was it possible? We were going to be allowed to
wield these swords—taught how to sword-fight like
the best. I was amazed and delighted—until a
thought struck me, and I frowned.

"Oh—we don't have any money, sir. We couldn't
pay you and our moms and pops aren't likely to—
they're mean enough as it is."

"I do not wish for payment. The skill you ac-

quire from me will be reward enough! Here—I will
show you zee simple parry first . . ."

And so he taught us. Not only did we learn how
to fence with the modern conventional weapons-
foils, epees and sabres—but also with the antique
and foreign weapons of all shapes, weights, sizes
and balances. He taught us the whole of his mar-
vellous art.

Whenever we could, Johnny and I attended M.
Clarchet's special Sword Room. He seemed grate-
ful to us, in his way, for the opportunity to pass on
his skill, just as we were to him for giving us the
chance to learn. By the time we were around fif-
teen we were both pretty good, and I think I prob-
ably had the edge on Johnny, though I say it
myself.

Johnny's parents moved to Chicago about that
time so I became M. Clarchet's only pupil. When I
wasn't studying physics at high school and later at
university, I was to be found at M. Clarchet's,
learning all I could. And at last the day came when
he cried with joy. I had beaten him in a long and
complicated duel!

"You are zee best, Mike! Better zan any I have
known!"

It was the highest praise I have ever received. At
university I went in for fencing, of course, and was
picked for the American team in the Olympics. But
it was a crucial time in my studies and I had to
drop out at the last moment.

That was how I learned to fence, anyway. I
thought of it in my more depressed moments as
rather a purposeless sport—archaic and only in-
directly useful, in that it gave me excellently sharp
reactions, strengthened my muscles and so on. It
was useful in the Army, too, for the physical disci-
pline essential in Army training was already built
in to me.

I was lucky. I did well in my studies and sur-
vived my military service, part of which was spent

fighting the Communist guerrillas in the jungles of
Vietnam. By the time I was thirty, I was known as
a bright boy in the world of physics. I joined the
Chicago Special Research Institute, and because of
my ideas on matter transmission was appointed
Director of the department responsible for de-
veloping the machine.

I remember we were working late on it, enlarg-
ing its capacity so that it could take a man.

The neon lights in the lab ceiling illuminated the
shining steel and plastic cabinet, the great 'trans-
lator cone' directed down at it, and all the other
equipment and instruments that filled the place al-
most to capacity. There were five of us working-
three technicians and Doctor Logon, my chief
assistant.

I checked all the instruments while Logan and
the men worked on the equipment. Soon all the
gauges were reading what they should read, and
we were ready.

I turned to Doctor Logan and looked at him. He
said nothing as he looked back at me. Then we
shook hands. That was all.

I climbed into the machine. They had tried to
talk me out of it earlier but had given up by this
time. Logan reached for the phone and contacted
the team handling the 'receiver'. This was situated
in a lab on the other side of the building.

Logan told the team we were ready and checked
with them. They were ready, too.

Logan walked to the main switch. Through the
little glass panel in the cabinet I saw him switch it
on gravely.

My body began to tingle pleasantly. That was all
at first. It is difficult to describe the weird sensation
I experienced as soon as the transmitter began to
work. It was literally true that every atom of my
body was being torn apart—and it felt like it. I be-
gan to get light-headed; then came the sensation of

frightful pressures building up inside me, followed
by the feeling that I was exploding outwards.

Everything went green and I felt as though I
was spreading gently in all directions. Then came a
riot of colors blossoming around me—reds, yellows,
purples, blues.

There was an increasing sense of weightless-
ness—masslessness even. I felt I was streaming
through blackness and my mind began to blank out
altogether. I felt I was hurtling over vast distances,
beyond time and space—covering an incredible
area of the universe in every direction in a few sec-
onds.

Then I knew nothing more!

I came to my senses—if senses they were—under
a lemon-colored sun blazing down on me from out
of a deep blue, near-purple sky. It was a color
more intense than any I had ever seen before. Had
my experience enabled me to see color with
greater sharpness?

But when I looked around I realized that it was
more than intensity which had changed. I was ly-
ing in a field of gently swaying, sweet-smelling
ferns. But they were ferns unlike any I had ever
seen!

These ferns were an impossible shade of crim-
son!

I rubbed my eyes. Had the transmitter—or rather
the receiver—gone wrong and put me together
slightly mixed up, with my color sense in a
muddle?

I got up and looked across the sea of crimson
ferns.

I gasped.

My whole sight must somehow have been al-
tered!

Cropping at the ferns, with a line of yellowish,
hills in the background, was a beast as large as an
elephant and of roughly the same proportions as a
horse. Yet here the similarly to any beast I knew

ended. This creature was a mottled shade of mauve
and light green. It had three long, white horns
curling from its flat, almost catlike head. It had
twin, somewhat reptilian, tails spreading to the
ground behind it, and it had one huge eye covering
at least half the area of its face. This was a faceted
eye that shone and glinted in the sunlight. The
beast looked rather curiously at me and lifted its
head, then began to move towards me.

With, I suspect, a wild yell, I ran. I felt con-
vinced I was experiencing some sort of nightmare
or paranoiac delusion as a result of a fault in the
transmitter or receiver.

I heard the beast thundering on behind me, giv-
ing out a strange mooing sound, and increased my
pace as best I could. I found I could run very eas-
ily indeed and seemed to be lighter than normal.

Then to one side of me I heard musical laughter,
at once merry and sympathetic. A lilting voice
called something in what was to me a strange,
unearthly language, trilling and melodic. In fact,
the sound of the language was so beautiful that it
did not seem to need words.

"Kahsaaa manherra vosu!"

I slowed my pace and looked towards the source
of the voice.

It was a girl—the most wonderful girl I have
ever seen in my life.

Her hair was long, free and golden. Her face
was oval, her white skin clear and fresh. She was
naked, apart from a wispy cloak which curled
round her shoulders and a broad, leather belt
around her waist. The belt held a short sword and a
holster from which jutted the butt of a pistol of
some kind. She was tall and her figure was exqui-
site. Somehow her nakedness was not obvious and
I accepted it at once. She, too, was totally unself-
conscious about it. I stopped still, not caring about
the beast behind me so long as I could have a few
seconds' glimpse of her.

Again she threw back her head and laughed that
merry laugh.

Suddenly I felt something wet tickling my neck.
Thinking it must be an insect of some sort, I put
up my hand. But it was too large for an insect. I
turned.

That strange mauve and green beast, that mon-
ster with the fly-like, Cyclops eye, two tails and
three horns, was gently licking me!

Was it tasting me? I wondered vaguely, still con-
centrating on the girl. Judging by the way she was
laughing, I thought not.

Wherever I was—in dream or lost world—I knew
that I had fled in panic from a tame, friendly, do-
mestic animal. I blushed and then joined in the
girl's laughter.

After a moment I said: "If it's not a rude ques-
tion, I wonder, ma'am, if you could tell me where I
am."

She wrinkled her perfect brow when she heard
me and shook her head slowly. "Uhoi merrash?
Civinnee norshasa?"

I tried again in French but without any luck.
Then in German—again no success. Spanish was
equally ineffective at producing communication be-
tween us. My Latin and Greek were limited, but I
tried those, too. I am something of a linguist, pick-
ing up foreign tongues quickly. I tried to remem-
ber the little Sioux and Apache I had learned
during a brief study of the Red Indians at college.
But nothing worked.

She spoke a few more words in her language
which seemed to me, when I listened very care-
fully, to have certain faint similarities to classical
Sanskrit.

"We are both, it seems, at a loss," I remarked,
standing there with the beast still licking me lov-
ingly.

She stretched out a hand for me to take. My
heart pounded and I could hardly make myself

move. "Phoresha," she said. She seemed to want me
to go somewhere with her, and pointed towards
the distant hills.

I shrugged, took her hand and went along with
her.

So that was how, hand in hand with its loveliest
resident, I came to Varnal, City of the Green
Mists—most splendid of the splendid Martian cities.

Oh, how many thousands upon thousands of
years ago!

Chapter Two

THE ASTOUNDING TRUTH

VARNAL is more real to me, even in my memories,
than ever Chicago or New York can be. It lies in a
gentle valley in the hills, which the Martians term
the Calling Hills. Green and golden, they are cov-
ered with slender trees and, when the wind passes
through them, they sound like sweet, distant, call-
ing voices as one walks past.

The valley itself is wide and shallow and con-
tains a fairly large, hot lake. The city is built
around the lake, from which rises a greenish steam,
a delicate green that sends tendrils curling around
the spires of Varnal. Most of Varnal's graceful
buildings are tall and white, though some are built
of the unique blue marble which is mined close by.
Others have traceries of gold in them, making
them glitter in the sunlight. The city is walled by
the same blue marble, which also has golden
traceries in it. From its towers fly pennants, gay
and multicolored, and its terraces are crowded
with its handsome inhabitants, the plainest of
whom would be a sought-after beau or belle in

Wynnsville, Ohio—or, indeed, Chicago or any other
great city of our world.

When I first came upon the city of Varnal, led
by that wonderful girl, I gasped in awed admira-
tion. She seemed to accept my gasp as the compli-
ment it was and she smiled proudly, saying
something in her then incomprehensible language.

I decided that I could not be dreaming, for my
own imagination was simply not capable of
creating such a vision of splendor and loveliness.

But where was I? I did not know then. How had
I got there? That I still cannot answer fully.

I puzzled over the second question. Evidently
the matter transmitter had had a fault. Instead of
sending me to the receiver on the other side of the
lab building it had sent me hurtling through
space—perhaps through time, too—to another
world. It could not be Earth—not, at least, the
Earth of my own age. Somehow I could not be-
lieve it was any Earth, of the past or the future.
Yet it could not be the only other obvious planet in
our solar system—Mars—for Mars was a dead, arid
planet of red dust and lichen. Yet the size of the
Sun and the fact that gravity was less here than on
Earth seemed to indicate Mars.

It was in a daze of speculation that I allowed the
girl to lead me through the golden gates of the
city, through its tree-lined streets, towards a palace
of shining white stone. People, men and women
dressed—if dressed is the word—similarly to the
girl, glanced in polite curiosity at my white lab
coat and grey pants which I was still wearing.

We mounted the steps of the palace and entered
a great hall, hung with banners of many colors, on
which were embroidered strange emblems, myth-
ical beasts and words traced out in a peculiar
script which also reminded me of Sanskrit.

Five galleries rose around the hall and in the
centre a fountain played. The few simply-dressed
people who stood conversing in the hall waved

cheerfully to the girl and gave me that same look
of polite curiosity I had received in the streets.

We walked through the hall, through another
doorway and up a spiral staircase of white marble.
Here she paused on the landing and opened a door
that at first looked like metal but on closer observa-
tion proved to be wood of incredible hardness and
polish.

The room in which I found myself was quite
small. It was barely furnished, with a few rugs of
brightly dyed animal skins scattered about and a
series of cupboards around the walls.

The girl went to one of these cupboards, opened
it and took out two metal circlets in which were set
radiant gems of a kind completely unknown to me.
She placed one of these on her head and indicated
that I should imitate her with the second. I took
the circlet and fitted it over my own head.

Suddenly a voice spoke inside my skull. I was as-
tonished for a second, until I realized that here was
some kind of telepathic communicator which we
physicists had only speculated about.

"Greetings, stranger," said the voice, and I could
see the girl's lips move, framing those lovely, alien
syllables. "From where do you come?"

"I come from Chicago, Illinois," I said, more to
test the device than to convey information which I
guessed would be meaningless to her.

She frowned. "Soft sounds and very pleasant, but
I do not know that place. Where in Vashu is that?"

"Vashu? Is this city in a land called Vashu?"

"No—Vashu is the whole planet. This city is
called Varnal, capital of the nation of the Karnala,
my people."

"Do you have astronomy?" I asked. "Do you
study the stars?"

"We do. Why do you ask?"

"Which planet is this in relation to the sun?"

"It is the fourth from the sun."

"Mars! It is Mars!" I cried.

"I do not follow you."

"I am sorry. Somehow I have arrived here from
the third planet, which we call Earth. That is
where Chicago is!"

"But there are no men on Negalu, the third
planet. Only steamy jungles and monstrous beasts!"

"How do you know so much about the planet?"

"Our ethercraft have visited it and brought back
pictures."

"You have space-ships—but ..." I was at a loss.
This was too incredible for me to accept all at
once. I questioned her more closely and soon
learned that the Earth her people knew was not
the Earth I bad left. It seemed to be an Earth that
had existed millions of years ago, during the Age
of Reptiles. Somehow both space and time had
been crossed. That matter transmitter had more to
it than we'd guessed!

Another thing puzzled me. The people did not
appear to have a great deal of technology visible in
the city—yet they had space-ships.

"How could this be?" I asked her.

"We did not build the ethercraft. They were a
gift from the Sheev—as were these mind-crowns.
We have a science of our own but it cannot com-
pare to the great wisdom and knowledge of the
Sheev."

"Who are the Sheev?"

"They are very great and few of them still live.
They are remote and of an older race than any on
Vashu. Our philosophers speculate on their origin,
but we know little about them."

I let that go for the time being and decided it
was about the moment to introduce myself.

"I am called Michael Kane," I said.

"I am Shizala, Bradhinaka of the Kanala, and
ruler in the absence of the Bradhi."

I learned that the Bradhi was about the equiva-
lent of our 'kang', although the title did not suggest
that the man who held it possessed absolute power.

Perhaps Guide would be a better one—or Protec-
tor? Bradhinaka meant, roughly, Princess—daugh-
ter of the King.

"And where is the Bradhi?" I asked.

I saw her face become sad and she glanced at
the ground.

"My father disappeared two years ago—on a
punitive expedition against the Argzoon. He must
have been killed or, if he was captured, killed him-
self. It is better to die than become a prisoner of
the Blue Giants."

I expressed my sympathy and did not feel the
time right to ask what the Argzoon or Blue Giants
were. She was evidently deeply moved by the
memory of the loss of her father, but showed great
self-control in refusing to burden someone else
with her grief.

I felt immediately like trying to offer her some
comfort. But, considering I knew nothing of the
moral code and customs of her people, that might
perhaps have been disastrous.

She touched her circlet. "We only need to wear
these for the time being. The Sheev have given us
another machine which should be able to teach
you our spoken language."

We conversed a little longer and I learned much
of Mars—or Vashu, as I was already beginning to
think of it.

There were many nations on Mars, some friendly
towards the Kanala, some not. They all spoke rec-
ognizable versions of the same root language. This
is supposedly true of Earth—that our language was
originally a common one; but in our case the
changes have been extreme. This was not the case,
I learned, on Vashu.

Mars's seas still existed, Shizala told me, though
apparently they were not so vast as Earth's. Varnal,
capital of the Karnala nation, was one of a number
of countries, with rather hazily defined borders,
which existed on a large land-mass bigger, but in

roughly the same geographical position, than the
whole of the American continent.

Travel was effected in two main ways. Most or-
dinary travel relied on the dahara, a riding and
carriage beast of great strength and endurance. But
many nations had a few aircraft. As far as I could
make out, these relied on atomics—which none of
the Vashu peoples understood. These had not been
gifts of the Sheev, I learned, but must once have
belonged to the Sheev. They were incredibly an-
cient by all accounts and could not be replaced
when destroyed. Thus they were only used in
emergencies. There were also ships incorporating
some sort of atomic engine, and sailing ships of
various kinds. These plied the few rivers of
Vashu—rivers which were shrinking with almost
every year that passed.

For arms, the Vashu warriors relied primarily on
the sword. They had guns—Shizala showed me
hers. It was a long-barreled, finely made weapon
with a comfortable grip. I could not quite see what
it fired or on what principle it worked, but as
Shizala tried to explain haltingly I concluded that
it was some sort of laser gun. What an incredible
amount of power, I thought, was packed into its
chambers, for we scientists had always argued that
a laser hand-gun was out of the question, since the
power required to produce the laser ray—tightly fo-
cused light which could cut through steel—relied
on a very big generator. Wonderingly, I handed
the gun back to her. These guns, not gifts of the
Sheev but probably looted from their now lost or
completely ruined cities by Shizala's remote ances-
tors, were also used infrequently, since once the
charge was finally expended it could not be replaced.
Their akashasard—or ethercraft—apparently num-
bered five in all. Three of these belonged to the
Karnala and one each to friendly, neighbouring na-
tions—the Iridala and the Walavala. Although there

were pilots who could operate them, none of the
folk of Vashu had any idea how they worked.

Other benefits which a few chosen nations had
received from the mysterious Sheev included a lon-
gevity serum which, once taken, did not need to be
taken again. Everyone was allowed to use it and it
gave up to two thousand years of life! Because of
this very few children were born, so the population
of Vashu remained comparatively small. No bad
thing, I reflected. I could have listened to Shizala
for hours, but at length she stopped my questions
with a smile.

"First we must eat. The evening meal will be
served soon. Come."

I followed Shizala as she led me from the little
room and down into the main hall, which was now
furnished with several large tables at which sat
men and women of Kanala, all handsome and
beautiful and chatting gaily.

They all rose politely, though not servilely, as
Shizala took her place at the head of one of the
tables. She indicated the chair on her left and I sat
down. The food looked strange but smelled good.
Opposite me, on Shizala's right, sat a dark-haired
young man, superbly muscled. He wore a simple
gold bangle on his right wrist and he put his arm
on the table in such a way as to show it off.

Evidently he was proud of it for he wanted me
to see it. I guessed it to be a decoration of some
kind and thought no more of it.

Shizala introduced the man as Bradhinak—or
Prince Telem Fas Ogdai. The name did not sound
like a Karnala name, and it soon transpired that
Bradhinak Telem Fas Ogdai was from the city of
Mishim Tep, a friendly nation some two thousand
miles to the south. He was, so it seemed, a witty
talker though, of course, I could not understand
what he said. Only a person wearing a circlet
could communicate with me.

On my left was a pleasant-faced young man with

long, almost white, fair hair. He seemed to be mak-
ing a special effort to make me feel at home, offer-
ing food and drink, asking polite questions through
Shizala, who translated for us. This was Darnad,
Shizala's younger brother. Apparently the succes-
sion to the throne of Varnal was determined by sex
and not by age.

Darnad was apparently chief Pukan-Nara of
Varnal. A Pukan, I learned, was a warrior, and a
Pukan-Nara a warrior leader. The chief Pukan-
Nara was elected by popular vote—by civilians and
warriors alike. I assumed from this that Darnad's
position was therefore no honorary one, and that
he had earned it through prowess and intelligence.
Though he was personable and charming, the
people of Varnal did not judge a man merely on
his appearance but on his merit and record.

I was already beginning to pick up a few words
of the Vashu tongue by the time the meal was
over, and we adjourned into an ante-room to drink
a beverage called basu, a sweetish drink I found
quite palatable but which, frankly, did not at that
time seem as good to me as good, old-fashioned
coffee. Later I was to discover that basu grew on
one and then I preferred it to coffee. Like coffee, it
is a mild stimulant.

In spite of the basu, I began to feel quite sleepy
and, always alert to her guests' needs, Shizala
sensed this.

"I have had a room prepared for you," she tele-
pathed. "Perhaps you would like to retire now."

I admitted that the day's surprising experiences
had taken a lot out of me. A servant was called
and Shizala went with us up the stairs to the sec-
ond floor of the palace. A dim bulb burned in the
room, giving adequate light,

Shizala showed me a bell-rope very like old-fash-
ioned bell-ropes on Earth. It was close to the bed
and was used to summon a servant. She left her
circlet behind when she left. Before she did so she

told me that anyone could use the circlet and the
servant would know how.

The bed consisted of a wide, hard bench, on
which was a thin mattress. A large fur rug was laid
over this, and it seemed rather too heavy, since the
day had been very warm. To some, perhaps, the
bed would have been too austere but, as it hap-
pened, it was the kind I preferred.

I fell asleep immediately, having shed my
clothes, and I awoke only once in the middle of the
Martian night—which is, of course, longer than
ours—feeling very cold. I had not realized how
much the temperature could change. I pulled the
rug about me and was soon asleep again.

Chapter Three

THE INVADERS

A FEMALE servant entered in the morning, after
knocking lightly on the door. I was standing at the
window looking out over the beautiful streets and
houses of Varnal. At first I felt embarrassed by my
nakedness. But then I realized that there was no
need since it was abnormal here to wear many
clothes, and then, it seemed, only for decoration.

What did continue to embarrass me, however,
was the look of open admiration she gave me as
she handed me my breakfast tray of fruit and basu.

After she had gone I sat down to eat the fruit—a
large one very similar to grape-fruit but with a
slightly less bitter taste—and drink the basu.

I was just finishing when there was another
knock on the door. I called, "Come in!" in English,
thinking that this would do the trick. It did. In
walked Shizala, smiling.

Seeing her again, it seemed that I had dreamed

of her all night, for she was as beautiful—if not
more so—as I remembered her. Her blonde hair
was swept back from her shoulders and back. She
had on a black, gauzy cloak and at her waist was
the wide belt containing holstered gun and short
sword. These, I gathered, were ceremonial
weapons of office, for I could not imagine such a
graceful girl having much familiarity with the arti-
facts of war. On her feet she wore sandals, laced
up the calf almost to the knee. That was all she
was wearing—but it was enough.

She picked up the circlet she had worn the day
before and put it on.

"I thought you might wish to ride around the
city and see everything," I heard her voice say in
my head. "Would you like that?"

"Very much," I replied. "If you can spare the
time."

"It would please me to do so." She gave me a
warm smile.

I could not make up my mind whether she felt
as attracted to me as I was to her, or whether she
was just being normally polite. It was a puzzle
which was already beginning to fill a great deal of
my thoughts.

"First," she continued, "it would be better if you
spent a couple of hours with the Sheev teaching
machine. After that you will be able to converse in
our language without recourse to these rather
clumsy things."

As she led me down corridors and staircases, I
asked her why, if the tongue of Vashu were com-
mon, there should be such a thing as a language-
teaching machine. She replied that it had been
designed for use on other planets but, since the
other planets in the solar system only appeared to
be inhabited by animals, it had never been used.

She led me below ground. The cellars of the
palace seemed to go down many levels, but at last
we reached a place lighted by the same sort of dim

bulb as the one in my room. These bulbs were also
of Sheev manufacture, Shizala told me, and had
once burned much brighter than they did now. The
room was small and contained a single piece of
equipment. It was large and made of metal I did
not recognize—probably an alloy. It glowed a little,
adding to the light in the room. It seemed to con-
sist of a cabinet with an alcove moulded to accom-
modate the form of a seated human being.

I could see no other machinery and I would
dearly have loved to strip the cabinet down to see
what was inside—but curbed my impatience.

"Please sit there," said Shizala, indicating the
cabinet. "According to what I have been told, the
cabinet will be activated immediately you do so.
You may feel yourself black out, but do not be dis-
turbed."

I did as she asked and, sure enough, as soon as I
was seated the cabinet began to hum softly. A cap
came down from above and fitted itself over my
head, then I began to feel dizzy and soon became
unconscious.

I did not know how much time had passed until
I came to, finding myself still seated in the now no
longer activated cabinet. I looked at Shizala a little
dazedly. My head was aching slightly.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine," I said, getting up.

But I had not said 'fine' at all, I realized. I had
said vrazha—the Martian word that was its nearest
equivalent.

I had spoken Martian!

"It works!" I cried. "What sort of machine is it
that can achieve that so swiftly?"

"I do not know. We are content simply to use
the things of the Sheev. We were warned in the far
past never to tamper with their gifts since it might
result in disaster for us! Their mighty civilization
once suffered a disaster, but we have only a few
legends which speak of it and they are bound up

in talk of supernatural entities in whom we no
longer believe."

Respecting what was evidently a deeply rooted
custom never to question the Sheev inventions, I
remained silent, though every instinct made me
want to get at the language-teaching machine,
probably a highly sophisticated computer contain-
ing an hypnotic device of some kind.

My headache had gone by the time we reached
the upper levels of the palace and walked through
the great hall out into the city. At the bottom of
the wide, white steps two strange beasts were wait-
ing.

They were about the same size as Shire horses—
the famous English Great Horse which had once
borne knights into battle. But horses they were not.
Their origin seemed to stem from the same basic
root as Man! They were ape-like creatures with
wide kangaroo tails, their hind legs larger than
the forelegs. They were on all fours now and
saddles were on their backs. Their great heads,
placid and intelligent, turned to look at us as we
came down the steps.

I had a few qualms about mounting mine, since
it did bear certain affinities to my own race, but
once aboard it seemed natural that I should ride it.
Its back was wider than that of a horse and in-
volved stretching one's legs out in front, and cup-
ping the feet in the stirrups attached to another
part of the harness up ahead. The saddle had a
solid support allowing the rider to stretch back-
wards at ease. It was rather like being seated in a
sports car, and was very comfortable.

In a kind of holster on my right were several
lances, though I had no idea of their purpose. I
found that by gentle tugs on the reins, the dahara
would respond quickly to any command I made.

With Shizala leading the way, we trotted off
through the plaza and down the main street of
Varnal.

The city was as exquisite as ever under the deep
yellow sun. The sky was cloudless and I began to
relax, feeling that I could spend the rest of my life
in Varnal and its surrounds. Here a dome caught
the light and flashed brightly; there a little white
house nestled between an impressive ziggurat on
one side and a slender tower on the other. People
moved about in a leisurely yet purposeful way. A
fruit market was busy, but there was none of the
noise and bustle of a similar Earthly market-place.
As we rode around the city, Shizala told me much
about it.

The Karnala as a race had always been primarily
traders. Their origins were the same as many
races—they had started off as barbarian raiders and
finally settled on one part of the country they had
liked. But instead of turning to farming they had
continued to travel as traders instead of raiders.
Because of daring expeditions to far parts of
Vashu, they had become very rich, trading south-
ern artifacts for northern precious metals, and so
on.

The Karnala were also great artists, musicians
and—what was highly worthwhile in terms of
trade as well as everything else—the finest book
producers in their world. The printing presses of
Karnala, I learned, were of a flatbed type, not so
fast as the rotary machines on Earth, but produc-
ing what appeared to my eye much sharper print-
ing. The Sanskrit-like lettering I still could not read
but, as Shizala took me round a small press,
showing me some of the beautifully made books it
produced, I soon learned to recognize many words
as she pointed them out to me.

These books were in great demand across the
whole continent and were a great asset to the Kar-
nala, as were their artists and writers who pro-
duced the raw material.

Other industries thrived in Varnal. Their sword-
smiths were also renowned throughout the world, I

learned. The smiths still worked by the old
methods, using furnace and anvil much as smiths
on Earth worked—an earth that was yet to come, I
realized.

Some farming was done now, but on a big scale
and not by private landowners. Square miles of
cereals were sown, I was told, and harvested all at
once by volunteers from all over the Karnala na-
tion. What was not used was stored in case of hard
times, for the Karnala were well aware that a na-
tion based on trade and industry cannot buy food
in famine and will only survive if it can produce its
own.

The absence of any places of worship was notice-
able and I asked Shizala about this. She replied
that there was no official religion of any kind, but
for those who wanted to believe in a higher being
it was better to look for Him in their own minds
and hearts, not to seek Him in the words of others.

On the other hand, there were public schools, li-
braries, clinics, social centers, hotels and the like,
and no one seemed under-privileged or unhappy in
Varnal.

The Karnala political philosophy seemed to be
one of armed neutrality. They were a strong nation
and prepared for any attack. Besides this, an old-
fashioned martial code still seemed to exist, be-
cause an aggressor never attacked without good
warning.

After telling me this, Shizala added: "Apart from
the more savage tribes, and they are no threat.
Those-and the Blue Giants."

"Who are the Blue Giants?" I asked.

"The Argzoon. They are fierce and without code
or conscience. They dwell in the far north and only
venture out on raids. They have only once come
this far south, and then my father's army drove
them away ..." She bowed her head and tightened
her grip of the reins.

"And never returned?" I said sympathetically,
feeling I had to say something.

"Just so."

She jostled the reins and the dahara began to
trot faster. I imitated her and we were soon gal-
loping along the wide streets through which the
delicate green mist wound, and up towards the
golden hills—the Calling Hills.

We were soon out of the city and rushing
through the strange trees which seemed to be call-
ing for us as we moved among them.

After a while Shizala slowed her steed and I did
likewise. She turned to me with a smile.

"I acted wilfully—I hope you will forgive me."

"I could forgive you anything," I said, almost
without thinking.

She gave me a quizzical, intelligent look which
again I could not interpret.

"Perhaps," she said. "I should mention ..."

Again I spoke on impulse. "Let us not talk—we
are interrupting the voices of the trees. Let us just
ride and listen."

She smiled. "Very well."

As we rode I suddenly began to wonder how I
was going to live on Mars. I had accepted that
I would like to stay in the idyllic city of Varnal—
I would never willingly leave a place which shel-
tered such a graceful beauty as the girl riding
beside me at that moment—but how was I going to
earn my living?

As a scientist I could probably contribute some-
thing to the industries. It struck me that Shizala
might be interested if I suggested that she elect me
as some sort of Court Scientific Adviser! This
would allow me to serve a useful function in the
community and at the same time enable me to be
close to her and see a great deal of her.

At that time, of course, I was acting almost intui-
tively. I had not as yet wondered if the customs of
the Karnala would even permit me to propose mar-

riage to Shizala—and, anyway, there was a very
good chance that Shizala would want nothing to
do with me. Why should she? Although she had
not questioned what I had told her about where I
had come from and how I had arrived on her
planet, for all she knew I might be a lunatic.

My mind was confused as I rode along. At
length we decided we had best return to the city
and the palace, and I directed my strange steed
back with some reluctance.

The visiting Prince of Mishim Tep, Telem Fas
Ogdai, was waiting on the steps of the palace
when we arrived. He had one foot on a higher step
and his hand rested on the hilt of his long, broad-
bladed sword. He wore soft boots and a heavy
cloak of dark material. He looked both angry and
impatient, and twice as I dismounted and walked
up the steps towards him, removed his hand from
his sword-hilt to finger the plain gold bangle on bis
wrist.

He ignored me but flashed a glance at Shizala
and then turned his back on both of us, rumbling
up the steps into the palace.

Shizala looked at me apologetically. "I am sorry,
Michael Kane—but I had better speak to the
Bradhinak. Will you excuse me? You will find food
in the hall."

I bowed. "Of course. I hope to see you again
later."

She gave me a quick, half-nervous smile and
then she was tripping up the steps after Bradhinak.

Some diplomatic problem, I guessed, since the
prince was evidently an emissary of some kind and
was here on diplomatic business as well as a
friendly visit.

Perhaps Karnala's strength had been sapped in
the battle and the following expedition which had
lost them their king. Perhaps they were forced to
rely on stronger allies while they built up their
strength again—and perhaps Mishim Tep was one

of these allies. All this speculation seemed likely—
and much of it was subsequently proved correct.

I entered the great hall. A kind off buffet meal
had been laid out on the table by servants. Cold
meat, fruit, the inevitable basu, sweetmeats and so
forth. I sampled a little of everything and found al-
most all of it to my liking. I exchanged small talk
with some of the men and women around the
table. They were evidently very curious about me
but too polite to ask too many direct questions—
which I did not feel in any mood to answer at that
moment.

As I munched on a particularly tasty piece of
meat wrapped in a green, lettuce-like leaf, I sud-
denly heard an odd sound. I was not sure what it
was, but I listened carefully so that I should hear it
again if it came.

The courtiers had fallen silent and were also lis-
tening.

Then the sound came again.

A muffled cry.

The courtiers looked at one another in apparent
consternation but made no move towards the
source of the cry.

It came a third time and now I was sure I recog-
nized the voice.

It was Shizala's!

Although there were guards at intervals around
the hall, none of them moved and no orders were
given to go to Shizala's assistance.

Desperately, I looked round at the courtiers.
"That is your Bradhinaka's voice—why don't you
help her? Where is she?"

One of the courtiers looked very disturbed and
pointed to a door leading off the hall. "She is
there—we cannot help her unless she summons us.
It is a very delicate matter involving the Bradhinak
Telem Fas Ogdai..."

"You mean he is causing her pain! I will not al-

low it. I thought you were people of character—but
you just stand here ..."

"I told you—the situation is delicate. We feel
very deeply ... But etiquette ..."

"To hell with etiquette," I said in English. "This
is no time for niceties—Shizala may be in danger."

And with that I strode towards the door he had
pointed to. It was not locked and I flung it open.

Telem Fas Ogdai was holding Shizala's wrists in
a cruel grip and she was struggling. He was speak-
ing to her in a low, urgent tone. When she saw me
she gasped:

"No, Michael Kane—go from here. It will mean
more trouble."

"I will not leave while I know this boor is trou-
bling you," I said, flicking him a look of scorn.

He frowned, then he grinned evilly and his teeth
flashed.

He still held her wrists.

"Let her go!" I warned, stepping forward.

"No, Michael Kane," she said. "Telem Fas Ogdai
means me no harm. We are having an argument,
that is all. It will end ..."

But I had put my hand on the prince's shoulder
now and I let it lie there heavily.

"Release her," I ordered.

He released her all right—and at the same time
swung both his fists round to catch me on the
head, sending me reeling. That was it! My temper
got the better of me and I surged back in. A punch
on the chest winded him and a following punch on
the jaw knocked him back. He tried to retaliate so
I punched him on the jaw again. He went down
with a clatter and stayed down.

"Oh!" cried Shizala. "Michael Kane, what have
you done?"

"I have dealt with a brute who was hurting a
very beautiful and sweet young lady," I said, rub-
bing my fists. "I am sorry that it had to happen,
but he deserved it."

"He has a bad temper sometimes, but he is not
evil. I am sure you did what you thought was best,
Michael Kane, but now you have made things even
worse for me."

"If he is here on diplomatic business he should
behave like a diplomat and with dignity," I re-
minded her.

"Diplomat? He is no emissary from Mishim Tep.
He is my betrothed—did you not see the armlet on
his wrist?"

"Armlet—so that's what it is! Your betrothed!
But—but he can't be! Why would you consent to
marry such a man?" I was horrified and bewil-
dered. There was no chance of making her mine!
"You could not love him!"

Now she frowned and it sent a shudder through
me to see that I had angered her. She drew herself
up and pulled a bell-cord. "You do not behave as
befits a stranger and a guest," she said coldly. "You
presume too much!"

"I am sorry—deeply sorry. I was impulsive.
But..."

In the same emotionless voice, she said: "It was
my father's wish that when he died and I
succeeded him I should marry the son of his old
ally, thus making sure of the Karnala's security. I
intend to respect my father's wish. You are pre-
sumptuous to make any comment concerning my
relationship with the Bradhinak of Mishim Tep."

This was a side of Shizala I had not seen be-
fore—the regal side. I must have offended her
deeply for her to adopt this manner and tone, for I
knew it was not natural.

"I—I am very sorry."

"I accept your apology. You will not interfere
again. Now, please leave."

In confusion, I turned and left the room.

Bewildered, I walked straight from the great
hall, down the steps of the palace to where a ser-

vant was just leading away the dahara I had been
riding earlier.

With a muttered word to the servant I mounted
the beast and shook its reins, making it gallop
away down the main street towards one of the
gates of the city.

I had to go right away from Varnal for the time
being, had to go somewhere where I could be
alone to collect my thoughts and pull myself to-
gether.

Shizala betrothed! A girl whom, I knew now, I
had loved from the moment I saw her. It was too
much to bear!

My heart beating much more rapidly than nor-
mal and my thoughts racing, my whole being
seething with anguish, I rode blindly from the city,
past the Green Lake and out into the Calling Hills.

Oh, Shizala, Shizala, I thought, I could have
made you so happy.

I believe that I was close to crying then. I,
Michael Kane, who had always prided himself on
his self-control.

It was some time before I slowed my pace and
began to make myself think levelly.

I did not know how far I had ridden. Many,
many miles I suspected. My surroundings were un-
familiar. There was no landmarks I could recog-
nize.

It was then that I saw a movement to the north.
At first I thought I was looking at a distant herd of
beasts galloping towards me but, shading my eyes
from the sun, I soon realized that these were riders
mounted on some sort of beast similar to my da-
hara. Many riders.

A horde!

Knowing so little of Martian geography or, for
that matter, politics, I did not know whether these
riders threatened danger or not.

I sat my beast, watching them advance at a
tremendous pace. Even so far away from them I

could feel the ground faintly trembling, reverber-
ating to the sound of the thundering animals.

Something seemed a little strange as they ap-
proached closer. I guessed they still could not see
me—one solitary figure—but I could see them.

The scale was wrong. That was it.

Judging the average height of man and mount
against the average height of trees and shrubs, I
knew that these riders and their steeds were gigan-
tic! Not one of their daharas was less than twice
the height of mine; not one rider was under eight
feet tall.

My memory worked swiftly and came up with
only one answer.

These were invaders!

More—I thought I knew them.

They could only be those fierce, northern raiders
Shizala had mentioned. The Blue Giants—the
Argzoon!

Why had the city had no warning of the horde's
approach?

How had they managed to come this far unde-
tected?

These questions rose in my mind as I watched,
but I dismissed them as useless. The fact was that
a mounted force of warriors—thousands of them it
seemed—were riding towards Varnal!

Quickly, I turned my beast, all thoughts of my
grief now forgotten. I was obsessed by the
emergency. I must warn the city. At least they
would have a little time!

I checked my position from the sun and guided
the swiftly-moving dahara back the way I had
come.

But I had not reckoned with the Argzoon
outriders. Though I had observed the main horde,
the scouts sent ahead had evidently observed me!

As I ducked low to avoid the low branches of
the slim trees and emerged into a wide glade, I

heard a huge snort and a strange, wild, gusty
laugh.

Then I was staring at a mounted giant towering
above me on his great beast. In one hand he held
an enormous sword and in the other an oval-
headed mace of some land.

I was unarmed—save for the slender lances that
still reposed in the holster at my side.

Chapter Four

THE ATTACK

MY MIND raced. For a moment I felt completely
overwhelmed, staring up into the face of a being
that was to me as impossible as the unicorn or the
hippogriff.

His skin was a dark, mottled blue. Like the folk
of Varnal, he did not wear what we should think of
as clothing. His body was a mass of padded leather
armor and on his seemingly hairless head was a
tough cap, also of padded leather, but reinforced
with metal.

His face was broad yet tapering, with slitted
eyes and a great gash of a mouth that was open
now in laughing anticipation of my rapid demise.
A mouth full of black teeth, uneven and jagged.
The ears were pointed and large, sweeping back
from the skull. The arms were bare, save for wrist-
guards, and strongly muscled on a fantastic scale.
The fingers were covered—encrusted would be a
better description—with crudely-cut precious
stones.

His dahara was not the quiet beast that I rode.
It seemed as fierce as its rider, pawing at the deli-
cate green moss of the glade, its head sporting a

metal spike and its body partially protected by the
same dark brown, padded leather armor.

The Argzoon warrior uttered a few guttural
words which I could not understand, though they
were clearly in the same language that I now
spoke so fluently.

Fatalistically feeling that if I must die I would
die fighting, I reached for one of the lances in the
holster.

The warrior laughed again jeeringly and waved
his sword, clapping his massive legs to his mount's
side and goading it forward.

Now my reactions came to my rescue.

Swiftly, I plucked one of the lances from tie hol-
ster and almost in the same motion got its balance,
then flung it at the giant's face.

He roared as it hurtled towards him but with in-
credible speed for one so huge he struck it aside
with his sword.

But by that time I had another lance in my hand
and turned my jittery mount away as the warrior
advanced, his sword swooping down towards me.

I ducked and felt it pass within an inch of my
scalp.

Then he had thundered past, carried on by the
weight of his own momentum. I wheeled my beast
and flung another lance at him as he tried to turn
his mount, which was evidently less well trained
than mine.

The lance caught him in the arm.

He yelled in pain and rage and this time his
speed was even faster as he bore down on me
again.

I had only two lances left.

I flung the third as he came in with his sword
held out in front of him, like a cavalryman on
Earth might once have held his sword in a charge.

The third lance missed. But at least my second
had wounded his mace-arm and I only had the
sword to contend with; I could not duck this one.

But what could I do? There were split seconds in
which to decide!

Grabbing the remaining lance, I flung myself off
the beast and fell to the ground just as the sword
met air where I would have been.

Bruised, I picked myself up. I still gripped the
last lance.

I would have to use it with certainty if I were to
win this duel.

I crouched, waiting as he turned, poised on the
balls of my feet, watching the gigantic, snorting
brute as he fought his dahara, turning it round
again.

Then he paused, laughing that gusty, animal
laughter, his blue head flung back and his vast
chest heaving beneath its armor.

It was his mistake.

Thanking providence for this opportunity, I
hurled the lance with all my force and skill-
straight at the momentarily exposed neck.

It went in some inches and for a brief instant the
laughter still came from his mortally wounded
throat. The noise changed to a shocked gurgle, a
high sigh, and then my opponent pitched back-
ward off his dahara and lay dead on the ground.

As soon as it was relieved of its ride, the dahara
galloped away into the forest.

I was left, panting and dazed but grateful for
the fortuitous opportunity I had been given. I
should have been dead. Instead, I was alive--and
still whole.

I had expected to die. I had not counted on the
incredible stupidity of an adversary who had been
so sure of victory he had exposed a vital spot
which could only have been reached by the very
weapon I happened to possess.

I stood over the great hulk. It lay spread out on
the moss, the sword and mace still attached by
wrist-thongs to its arms. There was a stink about it
not of death but of general uncleanliness. The

slitted eyes stared, the mouth still a grinning gash,
though now it grinned in death.

I looked at his sword.

It was, of course, a great weapon, such as only a
nine-foot giant would use. Yet, proportionately, it
was almost a short sword—just over five feet long.
Fastidiously I bent down and unhooked the thong
from the creature's wrist. I picked the sword up. It
was very heavy, but finely balanced. I could not
use it in one hand as the Argzoon scout had done,
but I could use it as a broadsword in two hands.
The grips were just right. I hefted it, feeling better,
thanking heaven for M. Clarchet, my old fencing
master, who had taught me how to get the most
out of any blade, no matter how strange or crude it
at first seemed.

Holding it by its thong, I remounted my beast
and lay the sword across my legs as I rode in that
still peculiar riding position back towards the city.

There was a long way to go and I had to
hurry—even more so now—to warn the city of the
imminent attack.

But as I rode up hill and down dale for what
seemed hours, I was to be threatened once again
by an Argzoon giant who came riding at me from
my right flank as I rode down one of the last hill-
sides before Varnal.

He did not laugh. Indeed, he uttered no sound at
all as he came at me. Evidently so near the city he
did not wish to alert anyone who might be close

by.
He had no mace—just a sword.
I met his first swing with my own recently ac-
quired weapon. He looked at it in surprise, clearly
recognizing it as one forged by his own folk.

His surprise served me well. These Argzoon
were swift movers for their size, but poor think-
ers—that had already been made quite plain.

While he was staring at my sword and at the
same time bringing his own round for another

blow, I did not swing up to protect myself but
drove the sword towards where I hoped his heart
would be. I also prayed it would pierce the armor.

It did, though not as swiftly as I had hoped and,
as the blade struck through leather and then flesh,
bone and sinew, his sword came down in a convul-
sive movement and grazed my right arm. It was
not a bad wound but, within a moment, it was
painful.

His sword dropped from inert fingers, dangling
by its thong as he sat in his saddle, rocking
dazedly and looking at me groggily.

I could see that he was badly wounded, though
not mortally, I guessed.

As he began to topple from his saddle I reached
out and tried to take his weight to stop him from
falling. With my own wounded arm it was difficult,
but I managed to hold him there while I inspected
the injury I had inflicted.

Turned slightly by the padded armor, the sword
had gone in just below the heart.

I managed somehow to dismount, still holding
him, and lifted him down and laid him out on the
moss.

He spoke to me then. He seemed very puzzled.
"What—?" he said in his thick, brutish accent.
"I am in a hurry. There, I have stopped the
bleeding. It doesn't look fatal. Your own folk must
look after you."

"You—you do not kill me?"
"It is not my way to kill if I do not have to!"
"But I have failed—the warriors of the Argzoon
will torture me to death for that. Slay me, my van-
quisher!"

"It is not my way," I insisted.
"Then ..." He struggled up, reaching towards a
knife in his belt. I forced the huge hand away and
he sank back, exhausted.
"I will help you to that undergrowth." I pointed

to some thick shrubbery nearby. "You can hide
there and they will not find you."

I realized I was showing him more mercy than
he expected, even from the folk of Varnal. And in
helping him I was slowing myself up. Yet a man is
a man, I thought—he cannot do what is contrary to
his own feelings and principles. If he has a code of
honor he must adhere to it. The moment he forgets
that code, then all is lost, for even though he for-
gets on one occasion, it is the beginning of the end.
Bit by bit the code will be qualified, any break
with it justified, until the man is no longer a man,
in truth, at all.

That is why I helped the odd being I had van-
quished. I could do nothing less. As I had told
him—it was my way. Such emotions may sound old-
fashioned, even prudish, in this modern age where
values are changing—many think for the worse—or
things are losing their values altogether. But
though I realize I may sound stiff arid peculiar to
many of my contemporaries, I am afraid that then,
in that gentle valley on ancient Mars, just as now,
on Earth, I had a set of principles—call it what you
will—that I knew I must abide by.

As soon as I had hauled the creature to cover, I
sent his dahara galloping away and mounted my
own.

Within a few minutes I had reached the gates of
the city and was riding desperately through them,
shouting my warning.

"Attack! Attack! It is the hordes of Argzoon!"

The men looked startled but evidently they, too,
recognized the type of sword I was carrying. The
gates began to close behind me.

Straight to the palace steps I rode and flung my-
self from the exhausted dahara, running up the
steps, half staggering with pain, exhaustion and the
weight of the sword—proof of what I had to tell!

Shizala came running into the main hall. She

looked disheveled and her face bore traces of her
earlier anger.

"What is it? Michael Kane! What means this dis-
turbance?"

"The Argzoon!" I blurted out "The Blue Giants—
your enemies—a great horde of them attacks the
city!"

"Impossible! Why have we not heard? We have
our mirror posts that signal messages from hill to
hill. We should have heard. Yet..."

She frowned thoughtfully.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The mirrors have had no messages for some
time. Perhaps the stations were destroyed by the
wily Argzoon."

"If they have reached this far before, they will
have known roughly what to expect."

"But from where comes their strength! We had
thought them beaten and quiescent for at least an-
other ten years. They were all but wiped out by
my father's army and its allies! My father headed
the army which hunted down the survivors!"

"Well, the horde he defeated must have been
only a fraction of the Argzoon strength. Perhaps
this raid is part of a consistent strategy of surprise,
meant to weaken you."

"If that is their plan," she sighed, squaring her
beautiful creamy shoulders, "then it was a good
one, for in truth we are unprepared!"

"No time for self-recrimination now," I pointed
out. "Where is your brother Darnad? As chief
Pukan-Nara of Varnal it is up to him to direct
preparations for defense. What of the other war-
riors of Karnala?"

"They patrol borders, keep the peace against
roaming bandit bands. Our army is scattered, but
even if it were all assembled in Varnal it might not
suffice to meet an Argzoon horde!"

"It seems impossible that you received no warn-
ing at all—not even a runner from another city.

How have the Argzoon been able to get this far
south without you knowing?"

"I cannot think. As you say, it could be that they
have been planning this for years, that they have
had spies not of their own race working for them,
travelling in small groups under cover at night and
in disguise, assembling in some nearby remote
quarter of our land—and now ride on the city with
none of our allies knowing our fate."

"The walls will resist heavy siege," I pointed out.
"You say you have some aircraft. You can bombard
them from the air, using your Sheev-guns. That is
one advantage."

"Our three aircraft will not achieve much against
so large a force."

"Then you must send one of them to your
nearest ally. Send your—your ..." I paused as
memory flooded back. "Send the Bradhinak of
Mishim Tep to summon his father's aid—and seek
help from your other, weaker, allies on the way."

She frowned thoughtfully and then looked up at
me with a strange, half-puzzled look. She pursed
her lips.

"I will do as you suggest," she said at length.
"But even at their fastest our aircraft will take
several days to reach Mishim Tep—and an army
will take even longer getting here. We will have
difficulty resisting so long a siege!"

"But outlast it and resist it we must—for Varnal
and for the security of your neighboring states," I
told her. "If the Argzoon conquer the Karnala, then
they will sweep on across other nations. They must
be stopped at Varnal—or your entire civilization
could go under!"

"You have a clearer idea of what is at stake than
I." She smiled slightly. "And you have only been
with us a short time."

"Warfare," I said quietly, thinking of my own
experiences, "does not seem to change much
anywhere. The basic issues remain much the

same—the strategy, the aims. I have already en-
countered two of your Blue Giants and hate to
think of this lovely city being ruled by them!"

I did not add that it was not only the city I
feared for but Shizala, too. Try as I might, I could
not make myself forget the emotion I felt for her. I
knew now she was betrothed to another and that
whatever she or I felt it was impossible that any-
thing could come of it. Evidently her code was
quite as strong as mine and would not let her
weaken, just as I did not intend to weaken.

For a long moment we looked into each other's
eyes and all this was there—the pain, the
knowledge, the resolution.

Or did I simply imagine that she was to some
degree attracted to me? I must not think such
thoughts, in any case. It was over—and Varnal
must be protected.

"Have you more suitable arms for me than this?"
I said, indicating the Argzoon sword.

"Of course. I will call a guard. He will take you
to the arms room where you can select whatever
weapons you wish."

At her command, one of the guards stepped for-
ward and she ordered him to take me to tie arms
room.

He led me down several flights of steps until we
were deeper below the palace than I had been be-
fore.

At last he stopped at two huge, metal-studded
doors and cried:

"Guard of the Tenth Watch-it is Ino-Pukan
Hara with the guest of the Bradhinak! Please
open." An Ino-Pakan, I now knew, was a warrior
with a rank about equivalent to sergeant.

The doors moved slowly open and I stood in a
long hall of great size, dimly lit by the waning blue
bulbs in the roof.
The guard who admitted us was an old man

with a long beard. At his belt were twin pistols. He
carried no other weapons.

He looked at me quizzically.

The Ino-Pukan said: "The Bradhinaka wishes
her guest to arm himself as he pleases. The
Argzoon attack!"

"Again? But I thought them finished!"

"Not so," said the Ino-Pukan sadly. "According to
our guest here, they are almost upon us."

"So the Bradhi died in vain—we are still to be
vanquished." The old man's voice sounded hopeless
as he let me wander up the hall admiring the great
assortment of weapons.

"We are not defeated yet," I reminded him, star-
ing at rack upon rack of fine swords. I took several
down, testing them for length, weight and balance.
At last I selected a long, fairly slim sword, rather
like a straight sabre, with a blade as long as the
sword I had taken from my Argzoon opponent.

It had a beautiful balance. It had a basket hilt
and, as with swords on Earth of the same kind, one
curled two fingers, the index and the one next to it,
around the crosspiece, gripping it with the thumb
along the top of the hilt with the remaining two
fingers curled under. That may seem an awkward
grip to some, but it is actually quite comfortable
and also has the advantage of making sure that the
sword is not easily knocked from the grasp.

I found a broad belt, equipped at the side with a
wide sword-loop of leather. It seemed traditional in
Varnal that swords were carried naked and not
scabbarded—some old custom from less peaceful
times internally, I gathered.

There were also guns that seemed operated by a
combination of spring and air. I took one of these
from its place and turned to the old keeper of the
arms room.

"Do many use these?" I asked.

"Some, our guest." He took the gun from my
hand and showed me how it loaded. A magazine of

steel darts was exposed. These, in the manner of
airgun darts, could be slid automatically into the
breech. The air was automatically repressured after
a shot—this was done by means of the spring at-
tachment. A very fine piece of craftsmanship but,
as the old man demonstrated, the accuracy was all
but nil! The gun bucked so much as it shot its mis-
sile that the target had to be very close indeed if
- one was to have much success in hitting him!

Still, my arms belt had a place for a gun—an-
other leather loop—so I slipped the airgun in. Now
with the gun and sword I felt better and was eager
to rejoin Shizala to see how the preparations were
progressing.

I thanked the old man and, accompanied by the
Ino-Pukan, strode back up to the ground level of
the palace. Shizala was not in the hall, but another
guard led me up many flights of stairs that grew
increasingly narrower until we were standing out-
side a room that obviously was in one of the circu-
lar towers rising from the main building of the
palace.

The guard knocked.

Shizala's voice called for us to enter.

We did so and Shizala stood there with Telem
Fas Ogdai and her brother, the Bradhinak Darnad.
Darnad darted me a quick smile of acknowledg-
ment. Shizala's welcome was a gracious movement
of the head, but Telem Fas Ogdai's smile was stiff
and frosty. He evidently had not forgotten our ear-
lier encounter that day. I couldn't blame him now,
though I still disliked him greatly. I put my
feelings about him down to the situation and made
an effort to dismiss them as best I could.

Darnad had spread out a map. It was a little
strange to me, this method of map-making. The
symbols for cities, forests and so on were not picto-
rial as ours tend to be, but at last I had some
idea of where we were in relation to the rest of that
mighty continent—and to Mishim Tep and our

other allies. I could also point out where I had seen
the Argzoon and at what speed they had been
travelling, and so on.

"Little time," Darnad murmured thoughtfully,
running his fingers through his long, near-white
hair. His other hand gripped his sword-hilt. He
seemed very young just then—probably little more
than seventeen. A boy playing at soldiers, one
would have thought at first glance. Then I noted
the look of responsibility he wore, the confident
way he carried himself, the unself-conscious, un-
studied mannerisms.

He began to speak rapidly to us, suggesting
where the weakest points would be in the city
walls and how they would best be defended.

Having had some training in warfare, I was able
to make some suggestions which he found useful.
He looked at me with something like admiration
and I accepted the look as a compliment, for I
might have been doing much the same. His essen-
tial manliness and clear-headed, objective attitude
to the task ahead made me feel that he was ideal
as a military leader, and I felt that to fight beside
him would be reassuring, to say the least. It would
also be, in its way, a pleasure.
Shizala turned to Telem Fas Ogdai.
"And now, Telem, you have seen what we shall
try to do and will have some idea of what our
chances are of holding off the Argzoon. An aircraft
awaits you at the hangars. Lucidly, its motor has
been prepared, since we planned to show it to our
guest.   Go   swiftly   and   make   sure   that   rein-
forcements are sent at once from all cities allied to
Varnal. And tell them if Varnal falls, their chances
of withstanding the Argzoon are lessened."

Telem bowed slightly, formally, looked deep
into her eyes, darted me another of his looks and
left the chamber.

We returned to the study of the map.
From the balcony of the tower it was possible to

see the whole lovely city laid out beneath us—and
we could see the surrounding countryside.

After a while we took the map out on to the bal-
cony. It was as if we felt something was immi-
nent—as, indeed, something was!

A short time later Darnad pointed.

"Telem leaves," he said to his sister.

Although there had been talk of aircraft I had
not expected the sight which greeted me.

The aircraft was of metal, but it rose and navi-
gated like an old fashioned airship—gracefully,
slowly. It was oval in shape and had portholes
dotted along its length. It gleamed like richly bur-
nished gold and was heavily ornamented with pic-
tures of strange beasts and symbols.

It swung in the air as if defying the very laws of
gravity and then began to move towards tie south,
travelling rapidly by my standards, but with a
stately dignity which could not be matched by any
aircraft ever known to Earth.

It was not out of sight before Darnad pointed
again—this time to our north-east.

"Look!"

"The Argzoon!" gasped Shizala.

The horde was coming. We could see the first
wave clearly, looking like an army of marching
ants from where we stood, yet the menace implicit
in its steady progress could not be ignored. We all
felt it.

"You did not exaggerate, Michael Kane," Darnad
said softly. I could see his knuckles whiten on his
sword-hilt.

The air was still and very faintly we could hear
their shouts. Thin shouts now—but, having already
had some experience of the sounds that the
Argzoon warriors could make, I imagined what the
noise must be like at source!

Darnad stepped back into the room and came
out on to the balcony again, clutching what was
obviously a megaphone.

He leaned over the balcony, peering down into a
courtyard where a group of guards stood ready.

He put the megaphone to his mouth and shouted
to them.

"Commanders of the wall—to your posts. The
Argzoon come." He then relayed specific orders
based on what we had discussed a short time be-
fore.

As the commanders marched away to take
charge of their men and position them, we
watched in awful fascination as the horde ap-
proached.

Rapidly—too rapidly for us—they began to near
the walls. We saw movement from within the city,
saw warriors taking up their posts. They stood still,
awaiting the first attack.

There were too few of them, I thought—far too
few!

Chapter Five

A DESPERATE PLAN

AT LEAST we held the wall against the first wave.

The whole city seemed to shake at their on-
slaught. The air was ripped by their great, roaring
shouts, polluted by the stink of their incendiary
bombs launched from catapults, and by the odor of
their very bodies. Flame licked here, crackled
there—and the women and children of Varnal
struggled valiantly to extinguish it. The sounds of
clashing steel, of dying or victorious war-cries, the
swish of missiles—blazing balls of some pitch-like
substance—as they hurtled overhead and dropped
in streets and on roofs.

Shizala and I still watched from the balcony but
I felt impatient, anxious to join the brave warriors

defending the city. Darnad had already gone to
rally his men.

I turned to Shizala, feeling moved, in spite of
myself, at her closeness. "What of your remaining
aircraft? Where are they?"

"We are keeping them in reserve," she told me.
They will be of better use as a surprise later."

"I understand," I told her. "But what can I do?
How can I help?"

"Help? It is not for you—a guest—to concern
yourself with our problems. I was thoughtless—I
should have sent you away with Telem Fas
Ogdai."

"I am not a coward," I reminded her. "I am a
skilled swordsman and have been shown great
kindness and hospitality by you and your folk. I
would regard it as an honor to fight for you!"

She smiled then. "You are a noble stranger,
Michael Kane. I know not how you came to
Vashu—but I feel it is good that you should be
here now. Go then—find Darnad and he will tell
you how you can help."

I bowed briefly and left, running down the stairs
of the tower until I had reached the main hall, now
in confusion, with men and women rushing this
way and that.

I made my way through them, asking a warrior
if he knew where I might find the Bradhinak Dar-
nad.

"I heard that the east wall is weakest. You will
probably find him there."

I thanked the warrior and left the palace, head-
ing for the east wall. The main buildings of the
city, sturdily built of stone as they were, were not
damaged by the fire-bombs hurled by the Argzoon
catapults, but here and there bundles of fabric and
dry sticks had caught, and single pumps were
being operated by women in an effort to put them
out.
Thick smoke burnt my lungs and made my eyes

water. My ears were assailed by cries and shouts
from all sides.

And outside—outside the mighty hordes of Blue
Giants battered against the city walls. An invinci-
ble force?

I did not let my thoughts dwell on that idea!

At last I saw Darnad through the smoke near the
wall. He was in consultation with two of his of-
ficers who were pointing up at the walls, evidently
showing him the weakest points. He was frowning
thoughtfully, his mouth set in a grim line.

"How can I assist you?" I asked, clapping him on
the shoulder.

He looked up wearily.

"I do not know, Michael Kane. Could you magi-
cally bring half a million men to our aid?"

"No," I said, "but I can use a sword."

He deliberated. Plainly he was unsure of me and
I could not blame him for wondering about one
who was, after all, untried.

Just then there came an exultant shout from the
wall—a shout that did not issue from a Karnala
throat.

It was one of those roaring, triumphant shouts I
had heard earlier.

All eyes turned upward.

"Zar! The devils have breached a section of our
defense!"

We could see them. Only a few of the blue war-
riors had gained the top of the wall but, unless
they were halted, I knew that soon hundreds
would be stepping over.

Scarcely stopping to think, I drew my blade
from my belt and leapt for the nearest ramp lead-
ing to the wall-top. I ran up it faster than I had
ever thought possible.

A blue Argzoon warrior, towering above me,
turned as I shouted a challenge from behind.

Again he voiced that deep, maniacal laugh. I
lunged with my blade and he parried the thrust

with a swift movement of his own thick sword. I
danced and saw a slight chance as his arm came
round. I darted my sword at the exposed upper
arm and was fortunate enough to draw blood. He
yelled an oath and swung at me with his other
weapon, a short-hafted battle-axe. Again my faster
speed saved me and I ducked in under his clumsy
guard to take him high in the belly. The sword
flashed into his flesh and came out again.

His eyes seemed to widen and then, with a dy-
ing growl, he toppled from the wall.

Another came at me, more cautiously than his
comrade. Again I took the attack to the towering
monster.

Twice I lunged, twice he parried, then he lunged
at me. I blocked his thrust and saw that my blade
was only an inch from his face. I pressed the blade
forward and took him in the eye.

I had now got the feel of my sword—a mar-
vellous weapon, better even than the best I had
used on Earth.

Now reinforcements had come to my aid. I
glanced down on the other side of the wall at what
seemed to be a great tide of turbulent blue flesh,
leathern armor and flashing steel. A scaling ladder
had been raised. More of the Argzoon were scaling
it.

That ladder had to be destroyed. I made it my
objective.

Although the scene was so confused and I could
hardly tell what the general situation was, I felt a
peculiar calmness sweep over me.

I knew the feeling. I had experienced it before
in the jungles of Vietnam—had even experienced
something like it in a particularly difficult en-
gagement while fencing for sport.

Now that I had a few comrades at least, I felt
even better. I stumbled on something and looked
down. One of my assailants had lost his battle-axe.
I picked it up in my left hand, testing its weighty

and found it was not too badly balanced for me if
I held it fairly close to the blade.

Both weapons ready, I moved forward in a half-
crouched position towards the next blue invader.

He was leading his fellows along the wall
towards the ramp. The wall was wide enough to
take three of us, and two warriors ranged them-
selves on either side of me.

I felt rather like Horatius holding the bridge at
that moment, but the Blue Giants were unlike Lars
Porsena's men in that none of them was crying
'back.' They all seemed to have the same ob-
session—to press forward at all costs.

Their huge bodies came towards us, lumbering,
powerful. Their slitted eyes stared black hatred at
us and I shuddered as, for an instant, I stared
directly into one face. There was something less
than human, something primeval about that gaze-
something so primitive that I felt I had a vision of
Hell!

Then they were upon us!

I remember only a fury of fighting. The rapid
cut and thrust of the duel; the desperate sense of
having to hang on, having to win, having to bring
out every ounce of energy and skill if we were to
drive them back to the ladder—and destroy it.

Yet it seemed at first as if the most we could do
was hold the wall against these huge beast-men,
looming above us with their great, corded muscles
rolling under blue skins, their hate-filled, slitted
eyes, their teeth-filled gashes of mouths, and their
heavy weapons, the weight of which alone could
sweep us from the wall to our doom!

I remember that my wrists, my arms, my back,
my legs—my whole body—were aching. Then the
aching seemed to stop and I felt only a strange
numbness as we fought on.
I remember the killing, also.
We fought against their superior strength and

numbers—and we killed. More than half-a-dozen
Blue Giants fell beneath our blades.

We had more to fight for than just a city. We
had an ideal, and this gave us a moral strength
which the Argzoon lacked.

We began to advance, driving the giants back
towards their ladder. This advantage gave us extra
strength and we redoubled our attack, fighting
shoulder to shoulder like old comrades—though I
was a stranger from another planet, another time
even.

And as the sun began to sink, staining the sky a
deep purple shot with veins of scarlet and yellow,
we had reached their ladder.

Holding the ladder we were able to stop the
giants as they attempted to climb up.

While the others concentrated on stopping any
more of the Argzoon gaining the wall, I chopped at
the ladder as far down as I could, shortening it so
that it no longer topped the wall. Spears clattered
around me, but I worked on desperately.

At length my task was as finished as I could
make it. I stood up, ignoring the missiles that flew
about my body, took careful aim with the axe, aim-
ing at the middle section of the ladder. Then I
flung it.

It hit a main strut about half-way down and it
went in deep. Several Argzoon warriors were
above the place where I had hit the ladder. Their
weight completed my work for me—the ladder
cracked, splintered and then broke.

With horrible screams the Argzoon fell upon the
heads of their comrades crowding the ground be-
low.

Luckily it was the only ladder they had man-
aged to raise, and only because the halberd-type
weapons the defenders used to push the ladders
back had not been available on this section.

This was rectified as two halberdiers took up
their positions.

I was feeling somewhat shaky after my efforts
and turned to grin at my comrades. One of them
was a boy, even younger than Darnad—a red-
headed youngster with freckles and a snub nose. I
gripped his hand and shook it, though he was not
familiar with the custom. Nonetheless, he respond-
ed in the right spirit, guessing the meaning of the
gesture.

I reached out my hand to grasp that of the other
man. He gave me a glazed look, tried to stretch out
his own arm and then pitched forward towards me.

I knelt beside him and examined his wound. A
blade had gone right through him. By rights he
should have been dead an hour before. Head
bowed, I paid my silent respects to such a brave
fighter.

Then I was up again, looking around for Dar-
nad, wondering how the battle went.
Night soon fell and flares were lighted.
It seemed we were to have some relief, for the
Argzoon horde retreated some distance from the
walls and began to pitch tents.

I staggered along the wall and down a ramp. I
learned from a wall commander that Darnad had
been called to the south wall but would be return-
ing to the palace soon.

Rather than seek him along the wall, I went
wearily back to the palace.

In the ante-room of the main hall, I found
Shizala. The guard who had brought me here left
and I was again uncomfortably alone with her.
Even in my exhausted condition I could not help
admiring her tall beauty.

At her silent indication I sank upon cushions that
had been heaped on the floor.

She brought me a flask of basu. Thankfully I
drank it down, almost in a single draught. Then I
handed the flask back to her, feeling a little better.

"I have heard what you did," she said softly, not
looking directly at me. "It was a heroic deed. Your

action may have saved the city—or at least a large
number of our warriors."

"It was necessary, that is all," I replied.
"You are a modest hero." She still did not look
my way but raised her eyebrows a little ironically.

"Merely truthful," I replied in the same manner.
"How goes the defense?"

She sighed. "Satisfactorily, considering our short-
age of men and the size of the Argzoon horde.
Those Argzoon, they are fighting well and cun-
ningly—with more cunning than I had suspected
they possessed. They must have a clever leader."

"I did not think cleverness was an Argzoon qual-
ity," I said, "from what I have experienced myself."

"Neither did I. If only we could reach their
leader—to destroy him would probably defeat the
entire plan of attack and the Argzoon, leaderless,
might disperse."

"You think so?" I said.

"I think it likely. The Argzoon can rarely be per-
suaded to fight with overall strategy of the sort
they are applying now. They pride themselves on
their individuality—refuse to fight as an army or
under any commander. They enjoy fighting, but
not the discipline demanded for ambitious fighting
involving armies and planned strategy. They must
have a superior kind of leader if he has persuaded
them to fight as they are doing now."

"How could we reach the leader?" I enquired.
"We cannot disguise ourselves as Argzoon—we
could dye ourselves blue but could not add eight
or ten kilodas to our height"—a kiloda is about a
third of a foot—"so an attempt to reach his tent
would be impossible."
"Yes." She spoke tiredly.

"Unless"—a thought had suddenly struck me—
"unless we could attack him from the air!"

"The air—yes . . ." Her eyes gleamed. "But even
then we do not know who their leader is. They

seem to be one great tide of warriors—I saw no ob-
vious commanders. Did you?"

I shook my head. "And yet he must be out there
somewhere. It was too confused today. Let us wait
until dawn, when we will be able to see their camp
before they resume the attack."

"Very well. You had better go to your room and
sleep now—you have exhausted yourself and will
need all your strength for tomorrow. I will have a
guard wake you just before dawn."

I got up, bowed and left her. I went up to my
room and stood for a moment at the window. The
sweet smell of the Martian night—cool, somehow
nostalgic—was tinged now by the stink of war.

How I hated those Blue Giants!

Someone had left some meat and fruit on the
table next to my bed. I did not feel hungry but
common sense told me to eat. I did. I washed the
dried blood, dirt, and sweat of the day's warfare
from me, climbed beneath that heavy fur and was
asleep immediately I lay down.

Next morning the same girl servant awakened
me. I received glances from her which were even
more overtly admiring than before. It seemed I
was something of a talking point in Varnal. I felt
flattered but a little bewildered. After all, I had
only done what anyone else would have done. I
knew I had done my chosen task well, but that was
all. I felt myself grow a trifle red with embarrass-
ment as I accepted the food she brought me.

It was not yet dawn, but would be in a very
short time—less than two shatis, I guessed. A shati is
roughly an eighth of an Earth hour.

Just as I was buckling on my sword-belt, a light
knock sounded on the door. I opened it and faced
a guard.

"The Bradhinaka awaits you in the tower," he
told me.

I thanked him and made my way up to the

tower-chamber where we had met the previous
day.

Shizala and Darnad were both there, already on
the balcony, tense and waiting for the sun to rise.

It began to rise as I joined them. They said noth-
ing as we exchanged nods.

Soon the sun was flooding golden light over the
scene. It struck the lovely walls of Varnal, gleamed
on water and illuminated the dark camp of the
Argzoon surrounding our city. I say 'our' city be-
cause that is how I was already thinking of it-
more so now.

The Argzoon tents were affairs of skin stretched
on wooden frames—oval in shape mainly, though a
few were circular or even square. Most of the com-
mon warriors seemed to be sleeping on the ground
and were beginning to stir as light pervaded the
scene.

But from one tent—no larger than the others—a
banner flew. All the others were undecorated and
tended to surround that solitary oval tent sitting in
their centre. There was no doubt in my mind that
the cunning Argzoon leader slept there.

"So now we know where their leader is," I said,
staring hard at the waving Argzoon banner. It
seemed to depict some sort of writhing, snake-like
creature with eyes not unlike those of the Argzoon
themselves.

"The N'aal Beast," Shizala explained with a
shudder when I asked her what it symbolized.
"Yes, it is the N'aal Beast."

"What—?" I broke off as Darnad pointed.

"Look," he cried, "they are already preparing to
attack!"

He rushed back into the room and came out
bearing a long, curling trumpet. He blew on this
with all his might and a high, melancholy note
echoed through the city. Other trumpet-calls
sounded in reply.

The warriors of Varnal—many of whom had slept

at their posts—began to make ready for another
day's fighting. It could well be their last.

Shizala said: "Although it will take Telem Fas
Ogdai another day before he reaches Mishim Tep,
he will have stopped off at nearer cities on the way
and relief might come by tonight or tomorrow
morning. If we can hold out until then ..."

"We may not need to if I can borrow one of
your aircraft," I said. "It only needs one man to
drop from the air on to the Argzoon commander—
and despatch him."

She smiled. "You are very brave. But the aircraft
motors take the best part of a day to warm up.
Even if we switched them on now they would not
be ready before evening."

"Then I suggest that you order them to be
switched on at once," I said disappointedly, "for
the opportunity might still arise and be welcomed
by you when it does."

"I will do as you say. But you would perish in a
venture such as you contemplate."

"It would be worth it," I said simply.

She turned away from me then, and I wondered
why. Perhaps she thought me stupid—an unintelli-
gent boor who only knew how to die. After all, I
had offended her earlier by behaving tactlessly and
unsubtly. Again I controlled my thoughts. It did
not matter what she thought, I told myself.

I sighed. Knowing nothing of the science that
had developed the aircraft, I could not suggest any
way of getting their motors ready faster. Obvi-
ously, I thought, it was some sort of slow reaction
system—probably very safe and foolproof, but at a
time like that I would have preferred something
faster even if more dangerous.

I felt as if Shizala were deliberately hampering
me for some reason, as if she did not want me to
put my plan into operation. I wondered why.

Darnad now put down the trumpet and clapped

me on the shoulder. "Do you want to come with
me?"

"Willingly," I said. "You must tell me how I can
be most useful."

"I was unsure of you yesterday," he said with a
smile. "But that is not true today."

"I'm glad. Farewell, Shizala."

"Farewell, sister," said Darnad.

She replied to neither of us as we left. I won-
dered if I had offended her in some way. After all,
I was unfamiliar with the customs of Vashu and
might have done so unknowingly.

But there was no time for such speculation.

Soon the walls of the city were shaking again to
another Argzoon attack. I helped with the siege
weapons, tipping cylinders of flaring fat down on
the attackers, hurling stones on them, flinging their
own javelins back into their ranks.

They seemed to care little for their own lives
and even less for the lives of their comrades. As
Shizala had pointed out, they were individualistic
warriors and, though they were taking part in an
organized mass attack, you could still see that they
were having to control their own instincts. Once or
twice I saw a couple of them fighting between
themselves while their fellows milled around them
and our missiles rained down.

By midday little had been gained or lost, save
that whilst the defenders were weary almost to the
point of dropping, the attackers could bring in
fresh reserves. I learned that the system of reserves
was alien to the Argzoon normally, and this was
another puzzling factor of their attack.

Though fierce and feared, the Argzoon had never
been a really important threat since they could not
be organized into one mass for long enough. Also,
this monstrous attack so far from their homeland—
an attack without warning—spoke of fantastic plan-
ning and ingenuity. It might also speak of
treachery, I thought privately—an ally letting the

horde through his land by pretending to ignore it
But I still did not know enough of Vashu politics
to make any fair guesses.

In the afternoon I helped the members of an en-
gineering squad force up special barriers in places
where the wall had been badly weakened by
Argzoon rams and catapults.

Turning and wiping sweat from my brow after a
particularly difficult piece of manipulating, I dis-
covered Shizala at my side.

"You seem able to turn your hand to anything."
She smiled.

"The test of a good scientist—the test of a good
soldier," I replied, returning her smile.

"I suppose it is."

"How is the aircraft coming along?"

"It will be ready just before dusk."

"Good."

"You are sure you want to make the attempt?"

"Certain." -

 "You will need a specially trained pilot."

"Then I hope you'll supply one."

She dropped her gaze. "That will be arranged."

"Meanwhile," I said, "have you stopped to think-
that the Argzoon may have been able to arrive un-
detected here through the connivance of one of
your 'allies'?"

"Impossible. None of our allies would stoop to
such treachery."

"Forgive me," I said, "but though I am
impressed by the code of honor possessed by the
Karnala, I am not sure that all the races of Vashu
possess it—particularly since I have seen another
Vashuvian race almost as unlike the Karnala as it
could possibly be."

She pursed her lips. "You must be wrong."

"Perhaps. But my explanation seems the likeliest.
What if Mishim Tep were... ?"

Her eyes blazed. "So that is the foundation of
your suspicion—jealousy of Telem Fas Ogdai! Well,

let me point out that the Bradhi of Mishim Tep is
my father's oldest friend and ally. They have
fought many a battle together. The bonds of mu-
tual help that exist between the two nations are
centuries old. What you suggest is not only imper-
tinent—it is base!"

"I was only going to say ..."

"Say no more, Michael Kane!" She turned on her
heel and left.

I may tell you, I had little stomach for further
fighting just then.

Yet, scarcely three shatis later, I was part of a
small body of warriors defending a breach that the
Argzoon had made in the wall.

Steel clashed, blood spilled, the stench of death
was everywhere. We stood on the broken masonry
and fought off ten times our number of Blue
Giants. Brave and ferocious as they were, the Blue
Giants lacked our intelligence and speed—as well
as our burning ideal to hold the city at all costs.
These three advantages just seemed to balance the
savage attacks which we somehow managed to
withstand.

At one time I was engaging an Argzoon even
larger than most of his kind. Around his huge
throat he wore a necklace of human bones and his
helmet seemed constructed of several large, wild-
beast skulls. He was evidently some sort of local
commander.

He carried two large swords, one in each hand,
and he whirled them before him so that facing him
was rather like facing a propeller-driven plane!

I stumbled before the force of his attack and my
foot slipped on a blood-wet stone. I fell backwards
and lay there while, grinning jubilantly, he
prepared to finish me.

He raised both swords to hack at my prone fig-
ure, and then somehow I swivelled my body and
cut at his calves, deliberately slashing at the
muscles just behind his knees.

One leg bent and he opened his mouth wide in a
great roar of pain. Then the other leg bent and
suddenly he was falling towards me.

Hastily I scrambled up and flung myself out of
his path. With a tremendous crash he fell to the
broken stones and I turned and finished him with a
single sword-thrust.

Luck, providence—perhaps justice—were on our
side that day. I cannot explain how else we man-
aged to hold the city against the invaders.

But we did. Then, just four shatis before sunset,
I left the wall and headed for the aircraft hangars
that had been pointed out to me the day before.

The hangars were domed buildings near the cen-
tral square of the city. There were three of them,
side by side. The domes were not of stone, but of
some metallic substance, another alloy with which
I was unfamiliar.

The entrances were small, barely wide enough or
high enough for a man of my size to squeeze
through. I thought this strange, and wondered how
the aircraft could get out.

Shizala was in the first hangar I tried, supervis-
ing some male servants who were swinging one of
the heavy aircraft round on davits. It was cradled
in the davits, which swung slightly as they moved
it.

The strange oval ship was even more beautiful at
close view. It was evidently incredibly ancient.
There was the aura of millennia of existence about
it. I looked at it in fascination.

Shizala, tight-lipped, did not welcome me as I
entered.

I gave her a slight bow, feeling uncomfortable.

A low thrum of power came from the ship. It
looked more like a piece of sculpture in bronze-like
substance than a vehicle. The complicated, raised
designs spoke of a creative intelligence superior to
any in my experience.

A simple rope-ladder led to the entrance. I
walked up to this in silence and tested it.

I darted a look of enquiry at Shizala.

At first she refused to meet my glance, but at
length she did and said with a gesture at the ship:
"Go aboard. Your pilot will join you in a moment."

"There is not much time," I reminded her. "This
should be accomplished before nightfall."

"I am aware of that," she replied coldly.

I began to climb the swaying ladder, reached the
top and entered the ship.

It was richly furnished, with padded couches of
some deep green and gold material. At the far end
were controls, as beautifully made and as finely
decorated as the rest of the ship, with levers of
brass—perhaps even gold—instruments encased in
crystal. There was a small screen in a cabinet-
some kind of television equipment which gave a
wider view of what lay outside the ship than could
be obtained through one of the rather small port-
holes.

After inspecting the interior of the ship I sat on
one of the couches to work out my plan of assas-
sination—for that, in essence, was what it was—and
wait impatiently for my pilot to join me.

In a while I heard him climbing the rope-ladder.
My back was to the entrance so I did not see him
as he entered.

"Hurry," I said. "We have very little time!"

"I am aware of that," came Shizala's voice as she
walked towards the controls and seated herself at
them!

"Shizala! This is dangerous! It is no job for a
woman!"

"No? Then who else do you suggest? Only a few
pilots exist for the ships—and I am the only one
available."

I was not sure that she spoke the truth, but there
was no time to waste.

"Then be very careful," I said. "Your people

need you more than I do—do not forget your re-
sponsibility to them."

"That I could never do," she said. For some rea-
son I thought she spoke bitterly, though I could
not determine why at that time.

Now she operated the controls and the ship be-
gan to rise, light as a feather, towards the roof. As
the roof slid open, I realized how the ships left the
hangars. The dark blue sky of late evening was
above us. The ship's motors began to murmur with
greater intensity.

Soon we were winging over the city towards the
camp of the Argzoon. We noticed that they were
beginning to retreat again, as was their night-time
custom.

Our plan was simple. The ship would swoop
down over the tent of the Argzoon commander. I
would drop swiftly down the rope ladder. The oval
tent had holes at the top, covered with thin
gauze—presumably for better ventilation. The hole
would just take a man. I had to drop through it
and thus surprise the commander, engage him
quickly and despatch him with expediency.

A simple plan—but one that would require swift
reactions, excellent timing, and absolute accuracy.

As we began to move over the enemy camp,
their great catapults sent huge stones hurtling into
the air towards us. We had expected this. But we
had also expected what happened next—the falling
stones, of course, landed back in the Argzoon camp
and the warriors naturally objected to being
crushed by the artillery of their own forces. Soon
the barrage ceased.

Within a short time our objective was reached.

At a signal from Shizala, I went to the entrance
and began to pay out more of the rope-ladder from
the drum near the door.

I darted a glance at her but she did not turn to
look at me. I gazed down. I could see the Banner

of the N'aal Beast stirring in the faint breeze that
was beginning to blow.

The faces of hundreds of Argzoon were watching
me, of course, for they had expected some sort of
attack from us. I hoped they didn't realize what
form it would take.

Looking down at them, I felt like a fly dropping
into a nest of giant spiders, I gathered my courage,
made sure of my sword, drawing it in a single ges-
ture, shouted once to Shizala and swung down the
rope-ladder until I was directly over the gauze-cov-
ered opening of the leader's tent.

Argzoon were shouting and milling about.
Several spears flashed past me. More then ten feet
over the opening I decided it was now or never.

I let myself go and dropped towards the tent.

Chapter Six

SALVATION—
AND DISASTER!

THERE was a momentary roaring in my ears and
then I was plummeting through the opening, drag-
ging the gauze cover with me.

I landed on my feet but staggered as the air was
forced from my lungs. Then I whirled to confront
the occupants of the tent.

There were two of them—a large, battered
Argzoon warrior, resplendent in rudely-beaten
bangles and rough-hewn gems—and a woman! She
was black-haired, dark-complexioned and had a
haughty bearing. She was wrapped in a thick,
black cloak of some velvet-like material. She stared
at me in surprise. She was as far as I could tell an
ordinary human woman! What was she doing
here?

Outside came yells from the Argzoon warriors.

Ignoring the woman, I gestured to the battered
Argzoon to draw his sword. He did so with a sharp
grin and came at me suddenly.

He was an excellent swordsman and, still recov-
ering from my drop into his tent, I was forced to
fight a defensive duel for a few moments.

I had little time to do what I had come to ac-
complish. I met his thrusts with the fastest parries
I have ever made, returned them with thrusts and
lunges of my own. Our swords crossed perhaps a
score of times before I saw a break in his guard
and moved in swiftly, catching him in the heart
and running him through.

At that moment several more Argzoon rushed
into the tent. I turned to meet them but before we
could engage the woman cried imperiously:

"Enough! Do not kill him yet. I wish to question
him."

I remained on guard, suspecting a ruse of some
sort, but the warriors seemed to be in the habit of
obeying the woman's orders. They stood their
ground.

Cautiously I turned to look at her. She was exoti- cally beautiful in her wild, dark way, and her eyes
smouldered mockingly.

"You are not of the Karnala," she said.

"How do you know that?"

"Your skin is the wrong texture, your hair is
short—there is something about the set of your
shoulders. I have never seen a man like you.
Where are you from?"

"You would not believe me if I told you."

"Tell me!" She spoke fiercely.

I shrugged. "I come from Negalu," I said, using
the Martian name for Earth.

"That is impossible. There are no men on Ne-
galu."

"Not now. There will be."

She frowned. "You seem to speak truthfully but
in some sort of riddle. You are perhaps a—a . . ."

She seemed to regret what she was about to say,
and stopped.
"A what?"

"What do you know of Raharumara?"
"Nothing."

This seemed to satisfy her. She put her knuckles
to her mouth and seemed to gnaw them. Suddenly
she looked up at me again.

"If you are not of the Karnala, why do you fight
with them? Why did you jump into this tent and
kill Ranak Mard?" She indicated the fallen
Argzoon.

"Why do you think?"

She shook her head. "Why risk your life just to
kill one Argzoon captain?"
"Is that all I did?"

She smiled suddenly. "Aha! I think I know. Yes,
that is all you did."

My spirits sank. So I had been wrong. The tent
did not hold some great Argzoon battle-leader. Per-
haps it was a deliberate blind and the leader was
elsewhere.

"What of you?" I said. "Are you a prisoner of
these folk—a prisoner with some power?"

"Call me a prisoner if you like. I am Horguhl of
the Vladnyar nation."
"Where lies Vladnyar?"

"You do not know? It lies to the north of Kar-
nala, beyond Narvaash. The Vladnyar are ancient
enemies of the Karnala."

"So Vladnyar has struck up an alliance with
Argzoon?"

"Think what you like." She smiled secretively.
"And now, I think, you will d—" She broke off as
there came a great sound of fighting outside the
tent. "What is that?"

I could not think. It was impossible that the
small force of Karnala warriors in the city had at-
tacked the Argzoon—that would have been folly.
But what else?

As Horguhl and the Blue Giants turned towards
the sound, I seized my opportunity, stepped for-
ward and ran one of the Argzoon through the
throat. I fought my way through the others and
found myself outside the tent, staring into the
darkness as the remaining warriors came after me.

I ran in the general direction of the noise of
battle. I darted a quick glance back above the tent,
looking to see if Shizala had made good her es-
cape.

The ship was still there—hovering above the
tent!

Why hadn't she left? I stopped, uncertain what
to do, and in a second found myself engaging
several of the gigantic warriors. It was all I could
do to protect my own life, but as I fought I got the
impression that something was happening close by
and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a
group of splendidly-armored warriors of about my
own height break through a mass of blue swords-
men.

The warriors were not from the city, that was
plain. They wore helmets, for one thing—helmets
from which nodded brightly-colored plumes. Pho-
bos and Deimos, coursing across the heavens, gave
illumination to the scene around me. The new war-
riors also had lances and some carried what looked
like metal crossbows.

Soon their foreguard had pressed forward until I
found myself with several allies helping me to en-
gage the Argzoon who were attacking me.

"Greetings, friend," said one of them in an ac-
cent only slightly different from the one I was
familiar with.

"Greetings. Your presence here has saved my
life," I replied in relieved gratitude. "Who are
you?"

"We are from Srinai."

"Did Telem Fas Ogdai send you here?"

"No." The man's voice sounded a trifle surprised.

"We were originally on our way to deal with a
large force of bandits who fled into Karnala. That
is why there are so many of us. A detachment of
your border patrol were about to help us when a
messenger came with news that the Argzoon were
attacking Varnal—so we left the bandits and rode
to Varnal as fast as we could."

"I am glad you did. What do you think our
chances are of defeating them?"

"I doubt that we can—not completely. But we
might be able to drive them away from Varnal and
give your reinforcements time to come to your
aid."

This conversation was carried on while fighting
Argzoon warriors. But the Argzoon were becoming
increasingly few and it seemed we were winning in
that particular area, anyway.

At last we had them on the run and the com-
bined force of Srinai and Karnala chased the re-
treating Argzoon towards the Calling Hills from
whence they had come.

The Argzoon stood their ground on the crest of
the first range of hills, and then we withdrew to
count our strength and plan fresh strategy.

It was soon obvious that the Argzoon still out-
numbered us and that the Srinai and Karnala who
had attacked them from behind had had the ad-
vantage of being fresh and able to take the
Argzoon by surprise.

But I felt much better. Now, I decided, we could
withstand the next attack and hold the Argzoon off
until help came.

Then I remembered the ship and Shizala. I re-
turned to the now ruined Argzoon camp. The tent
with the banner was still standing, unlike most of
the others and, rather strangely, the ship still
hovered above it. It seemed to me, peering through
the moonlit darkness, that the ship was now lower
above the roof, the rope-ladder brushing the top of
the tent.

I called her name, but silence greeted me. With
a feeling of foreboding I climbed up the yielding
sides of the tent. It was a hard climb, but I made it
rapidly, almost in panic. Sure enough, the rope-lad-
der was closer, the ship lower. I grabbed the lad-
der and began to clamber up it.

Soon I was inside the ship.

A brief glance showed me that it was empty.

Shizala had gone!

How? Where?

What had happened to her? What had she done?
Why had she left the slip? What reason was there
for doing such a thing?

All these thoughts raced through my brain and
then I was dropping down the rope-ladder again,
hand over hand, until I was above the now uncov-
ered roof-opening. I dropped through it as I had
done earlier.

Save for the corpse of Ranak Mard the tent was
empty. Yet there were signs of a struggle and I no-
ticed that Ranak Mard's sword had been removed
from his dead grasp and now lay on the other side
of the tent.

Something else lay beside it.

A gun.

A gun of the Sheev.

It could only be Shizala's gun.

The mysterious, dark-haired woman Horguhl
and the Argzoon warriors must have taken part in
a struggle soon after I had left.

For some reason best known to herself, Shizala
had decided to follow me into the tent. She had
found me gone, of course, and confronted Horguhl
and the Argzoon. There had probably been a fight
and Shizala had been overpowered and captured.
She had not been killed—that was a mercy—or I
should have found her corpse.

Abducted, then?

My misguided plan to kill the absent master-
mind behind the Argzoon had been worthless. All

my plan had succeeded in doing was putting a
hostage in the hands of the Argzoon.

The best hostage they could ever hope for.

The ruler of Varnal.

I began to curse myself as I would never curse
another, even my greatest enemy.

Chapter Seven

 THE PURSUIT

THEN I was running from the tent, blind with re-
morse and anger. I rushed through the corpse-
strewn field towards the Calling Hills, bent on
Shizala's rescue!

I ran past startled warriors of the Srinai and the
Karnala, who called after me enquiringly.

I began to run up the hill towards the spot
where the Argzoon had taken their stand.

I heard more shouts behind me, the sound of
fast-moving feet. I refused to pay them any atten-
tion.

Ahead and above, the Argzoon stirred, evidently
thinking that we were launching another surprise
attack on them.

Instead of holding their ground as I expected,
they began to turn and run in twos and threes.

I yelled at them to stop and fight. I called them
cowards.

They did not stop.

Soon it seemed that the whole Argzoon force
was in full flight—pursued by one man with a
sword!

Suddenly I felt something grapple my legs. I
turned to meet this new adversary, wondering
where he had come from. I raised my sword, striv-
ing to keep my balance.

More men jumped on me. I growled in fury, try-
ing to fight them off. Then my head cleared for a
moment and I realized that the one who had
grappled me was none other than Darnad—
Shizala's brother!

I could not understand why he should be attack-
ing me. I cried out:

"Darnad—it is Michael Kane. Shizala—Shizala—
they have . . ." Then came a blow on my head and
I knew no more.

I awoke with a throbbing headache. I was in my
room in the palace at Varnal. That much I could
understand. But why?

Why had Darnad attacked me?

I fought to think clearly. I sat up rubbing my
head.

The door suddenly opened and my attacker en-
tered looking worried.

"Darnad! Why did you-?"

"How do you feel?"

"Worse than I would if your comrade had not
knocked me out. Don't you realize that..."

"You are still excited, I see. We had to stop you,
even though your madness resulted in the Argzoon
fleeing in complete disorganization. As far as we
can tell, they are now scattered. Your plan to slay
their leader must have worked. They seem to have
broken up completely. They no longer represent a
threat to Varnal."

"But I slew the wrong man. I—" I paused. "What
do you mean, my madness?"

"It sometimes happens that a warrior who has
fought long and hard, as you did, is gripped by a
kind of battle-rage in which—no matter how tired
he might be—he cannot stop fighting. We thought
this was what happened to you. There is another
thing that concerns me. Shizala—"

"Don't you realize what you have done?" I spoke
in a low, angry voice. "You speak of Shizala. Is she
here? Is she safe?"

"No—we cannot find her. She piloted the ship
that took you to the Argzoon camp, but the
ship was empty when we recovered it. We think
that..."

"I know what has happened to her!"

"You know? Then why did you not tell us?
Why-?"

"I was seized by no battle-rage, Darnad. I dis-
covered that Shizala had been abducted. I was on
my way to try to rescue her when you set upon
me. How long ago was this?"

"Last night—about thirty-six shatis ago."

"Thirty-six!" I got up, giving an involuntary
groan. Not only my head ached. The exertions of
the previous two days had taken their toll of my
body. It seemed a mass of bruises and minor
wounds. My worst wound—the one on my arm-
was throbbing painfully. Thirty-six shatis—more
than four hours ago!

As quickly as I could, I told Darnad all the de-
tails of what I had learned. He was as surprised as
I had been to learn of Horguhl the Vladnyar
woman.

"I wonder what part she plays in this?" he said
with a frown.

"I have no idea. Her answers were ambiguous, to
say the least."

"I am sorry that I made that mistake, Michael
Kane," he said. "I was a fool. I heard you shouting
something. I should have listened. With luck we
should have rescued Shizala and all would be over.
The Argzoon are scattered. We and our allies will
soon have cleansed Karnala of them. We will be
able to question prisoners and discover how they
managed to reach Varnal undetected."

"But while we are doing this Shizala could be
taken anywhere! North—south—east—west. How
are you to know where they will carry her?"

Darnad dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

"You are right. But if you think Shizala is with

this Vladnyar girl, then we must hope that some of
our prisoners will have seen which way they went.
There is also the chance that in our general routing
and capturing of the Argzoon we will manage to
rescue Shizala."

"There is no time for recriminations of any kind,"
I said. "So let us forget the errors of judgment we
have both made. The heat of the battle must be
held to account. What do you intend to do now?"

"I shall be leading a force with the specific in-
tention of capturing Argzoon and questioning them
on the whereabouts of Shizala."

"Then I shall accompany you," I told him.

"That is what I hoped you would say," he said,
patting my shoulder. "Rest while the last prepara-
tions are being made. I will call for you when we
are ready to leave—there is nothing else you can do
until then, and you had better regain as much
strength as possible—you are going to need it. I
will have food sent."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. He was right. I
must make myself relax—for Shizala's sake.

As I lay back on the couch, I again wondered
just why she had risked such danger by going into
the Argzoon tent. There had been no need for it—
and as ruler of her folk she should have returned at
once to Varnal.

I decided that the sooner we found her the
sooner we should have answers to these and other
questions.

I slept until a servant entered with food. Then I
ate the food and, on receiving a message that Dar-
nad and his warriors were ready, washed hastily
and went down to join them.

The day should have been grim and stark and
full of storm-clouds. It was not. It was a lovely,
clear day with the pale sun brightening the streets
of the city and obscuring most traces of the strife
that had so recently ended.

At the foot of the palace steps was a company of

warriors mounted on dahara. Darnad was at their
head, holding the reins of a dahara that was evi-
dently meant for me.

I mounted the beast, stretching my legs out
along it. Then the whole company turned into the
street leading towards the main gate.

We were soon riding across the Calling Hills,
tracking our fleeing enemy.

It was still a mystery why the Argzoon had fled
so precipitately—particularly in the face of such a
small force.

But we did not ask ourselves these questions as
we rode grimly after our quarry, even though it
seemed that Ranak Mard had, indeed, been the
master-mind behind the Argzoon attack—for it was
plain that he was dead and the Argzoon were now
in confusion.

Yet why had Horguhl told me otherwise?

No questions. Not yet.

Find the Argzoon—they will answer our ques-
tions.

On we rode.

It was not until late in the afternoon that we
managed to surprise a group of some ten weary
Argzoon who had camped in a shallow valley far,
far from the Calling Hills.

They rose up at our approach and stood ready to
fight. For once we outnumbered them. Normally,
this would not please me but I felt that in this case
it made a pleasant change to have the advantage
over the Argzoon.

They put up a token fight as we attacked them.
About half were killed and then the others lay
down their arms.

The Argzoon have no code of loyalty such as we
understand it, and little sense of comradeship with
one another. This made it easier to question them
in one way—but harder in another.

They did not stay silent because they did not

wish to betray their fellows. They stayed silent out
of stubbornness.

It was not until Darnad significantly fingered his
long dagger and hinted that, since they were no
use to us, it would be as well to dispose of the
Argzoon, that one of them broke.

We were lucky. He knew a great deal more than
we had expected one simple warrior to know.

They had not crossed from Argzoon to Karnala
by land at all but had spent over a year travelling
by sea and river. They had gone round the coast,
thousands of miles out of their way—for Varnal lay
many thousands of miles inland—and then sailed
down the Haal River, the largest of the rivers on
the continent. They had assembled in a place
called the Crimson Plain and then gone in small
groups from there, moving at night all the time,
until they reached Karnala undetected. We learned
that one or two parties of Karnala warriors had dis-
covered detachments of Argzoon, but the Karnala
had been wiped out.

"Simple," Darnad mused after hearing this. "And
yet we never credited the Argzoon with such inge-
nuity or patience. It just isn't in their nature to
spend so much time and thought on a raid. It is
good that you slew Ranak Mard, Michael Kane. He
must have been a strange sort of Argzoon."

"Now," I said, "let us try to discover where
Shizala has been taken."

But the Argzoon could not help beyond telling
us that as far as he knew all the Argzoon were
fleeing north. It seemed instinctive for them to go
north, back to their mountains, in defeat.

"I think he is right," said Darnad. "Our best
chance would be to try the north."

"North," I said—"that takes in a lot of territory."

Darnad sighed.

"True—but . . ." He looked at me directly and
there was a misery in his eyes that was only half
hidden.

I reached out and grasped his shoulder. "But all
we can do is search on," I said. "We will make
more prisoners soon and with luck we shall be able
to get a better indication of where they have taken
Shizala."

Our prisoners were tied securely and one of our
number undertook to escort them back to Varnal.

Now we rode across a vast plateau of short, wav-
ing crimson fern. It was the Crimson Plain. It was
like a great sea of bright blood, stretching in all
directions, and I began to feel hopeless of ever
finding Shizala.

Night fell and we camped, building no fires for
fear of ambush from Argzoon or from the maraud-
ing bandits who apparently roamed these plains,
nomadic bands made up from the riff-raff of all the
nearby nations. The Crimson Plain was a kind of
no-man's land hardly touched by law of any sort-
save the savage dog-eat-dog, weakest-to-the-wall
law of the lawless.

I slept little. I was beginning to feel frustrated,
wanting to find more Argzoon to question.

We moved off early, almost before dawn. It was
no longer fine and the sky was full of grey clouds,
a light drizzle falling.

We saw nothing of bandits or Argzoon until the
next afternoon when suddenly in front of us some
fifty Blue Giants rose up in our path. They looked
ready for a fight—ready for vengeance on us for
their defeat!

We scarcely paused as we drew lances and
swords and goaded our mounts towards them, yell-
ing as fiercely as they did.

Then we clashed and the fight was on.

I found myself engaged with a blue warrior who
wore around his waist a girdle of grisly spoils from
the earlier encounter—severed human hands.

I decided to claim some recompense for those
hands.

Being mounted, I was more at an advantage

than I had been, for the Argzoon were not. Apart
from the advance guard I had originally seen,
there seemed to be few mounts among them and I
concluded that their need for secrecy had made
them wary of using too many.

The warrior struck at me left-handed, catching
me by surprise. The weapon was a battle-axe, and
it took all my skill to block the blow and at the
same time avoid the lunge of his sword.

He pressed down on my sword with both
weapons and we remained in that position for
several moments, testing each other's strength and
reflexes. Then he tried to raise the sword to aim a
blow at my head, but I whipped my own blade out
from under his axe and he was unbalanced for a
second. I used that second to pierce him in the
throat.

Meanwhile there was general confusion around
me. Though it seemed we were beating the
Argzoon, we had many casualties. It seemed we
had only about half our original strength left.

I saw Darnad having trouble with a couple of
blue warriors and rode in to help him.

Together we quickly despatched our opponents.

From the fifty Argzoon we had fought, only two
had surrendered.

We used the same technique on them as we had
used with the previous prisoners. At last they be-
gan to answer our questions surlily.

"Did you see any of your comrades take a Kar-
nala woman with them?"

"Perhaps."

Darnad fingered his knife.

"Yes," said the Argzoon.

"In which direction were they riding?" I said.

"North."

"But where did you think they were going?"

"Maybe towards Narlet."

"Where is that?" I asked Darnad.

"About three days' ride—a brigand town near the
borders of the Crimson Plain."

"A brigand town—dangerous for us, eh?"

"It could be," Darnad admitted. "But I doubt it
if we don't make trouble. They prefer not to antag-
onize us if we make it plain we are not seeking any
of their number. In fact," Darnad laughed, "I have
a friend or two in Narlet. Rogues, but pleasant
company if you forget that they are thieves and
murderers many times over."

Again we put the prisoners in charge of one man
and our somewhat depleted force moved on
towards Narlet.

At least we had some definite information and
our spirits rose as we rode full speed towards the
City of Thieves.

Twice more en route we were forced to stop and
engage Argzoon and the prisoners we took con-
firmed that in all likelihood Shizala had been taken
to Narlet.

Less than three days later we saw a range of
hills in the far distance, marking the end of the
Crimson Plain.

Then we saw a small walled city—its wall seem-
ing to be built of logs covered with dried mud..

The buildings were square and seemed solid
enough, but they had little beauty.

We had reached Narlet, City of Thieves.

But would we find Shizala?

Chapter Eight

THE CITY OF THIEVES

IT WOULD not be true to say that we received a joy-
ous welcome in Narlet but, as Darnad had said,
they did not immediately set upon us, though they
gave us looks of intense suspicion and tended to

avoid us as we entered the city's only gate and
made our way through the narrow streets.

"We'll get no information from most of them,"
Darnad told me. "But I think I know where I can
find someone who will help us—if Old Belet Vor
still lives."

"Belet Vor?" I said questioningly.

"One of those friends I mentioned."

Our little party emerged into a market square of
some sort and Darnad pointed to a small house
sandwiched between two ramshackle buildings.
When I used to patrol these parts he saved my life
once. I had the good fortune to return the favor—
and somehow we struck up a strong friendship. One
of those things."

We dismounted outside the house and from it an
old man emerged. He was toothless and wrinkled
and incredibly ugly, yet there was a jaunty appear-
ance about him which made one forget his un-
wholesome visage.

"Ah, the Bradhinak Darnad—an honor, an
honor." His eyes twinkled, belying his servile
words. He spoke ironically. I could see why Dar-
nad had liked him.

"Greetings, you old scoundrel. How many chil-
dren have you robbed today?"

"Only a dozen or so, Bradhinak. Would this
friend of yours like to see my spoils—some of the
sweetmeats are only half-eaten. Heh—heh!"

"Spare us the temptation." I smiled as he ush-
ered us into his hovel.

It was surprisingly clean and orderly and we sat
on benches while he brought us basu.

Drinking the sweet beverage, Darnad said seri-
ously: "We are in haste, Belet Vor. Have any war-
riors of the Argzoon been seen in Narlet
recently—coming here perhaps a day or so before
us?"

The old rogue cocked his head to one side.
"Why, yes—two Argzoon warriors. Looked as if

they'd taken a beating and were scampering back
to their mountain lairs."

"Just two warriors?"

Belet Vor chuckled. "And two prisoners, by the
look of them. I'm thinking they wouldn't have
chosen such company of their own free will."

"Two prisoners?"

"Women, both of them. One fair, one dark."

"Shizala and Horguhl!" I cried.

"Are they still here?" Darnad asked urgently.

"I'm not sure. They could have left early this
morning, but I think not."

"Where are they staying?"

"Ah—there you have it, if you seek the prisoners.
The Argzoon warriors seem to be of high rank.
They are guests of our city's noble Bradhi."

"Your Bradhi-not Chinod Sai?"

"Yes. He has now chosen to call himself the
Bradhi Chinod Sai. Narlet is becoming respectable,
eh? He is one of your peers now, Bradhinak Dar-
nad—not so?"

"The scoundrel. He gives himself airs."

"Perhaps," said old Belet Vor musingly, "but I
seem to remember that many of the established na-
tions in these parts had origins similar to our,"

Darnad laughed shortly. "You have me there,
Belet Vor—but that's for posterity. I know Chinod
Sai for a blood-thirsty slayer of women and chil-
dren."

"You do him an injustice." Belet Vor grinned.
"He has killed at least one youth in a fair fight."

Darnad turned to me, speaking seriously. "If
these Argzoon have Chinod Sai's protection, then
we will have greater difficulty getting Shizala—and
this other woman—out of their power. We are in a
bad position."

"I have a suggestion, if you will hear it," Belet
Vor insinuated.

"I'll listen to anything reasonable," said Darnad.

"Well—I would say that the Argzoon and their

ladies are guesting in the special chambers set
aside for sudden visitors of some standing."

"What of it?" I said, a trifle tersely.

"Those chambers are conveniently placed on the
ground floor. They have large windows. Perhaps
you could help your friends without—er—actually
disturbing our royal Bradhi?"

I frowned. "But aren't they guarded?"

"Oh, there are guards surrounding the great
Bradhi's palace at intervals. He fears, possibly, that
there may be robbers in these parts—such little
faith does he have in his subjects."

"How would we enter the guest rooms without
the guards seeing us?" I rubbed my chin.

"You would have to dispose of them—they are
very alert. After all, some of the best thieves of the
Crimson Plain have tried to help themselves to
Chinod Sai's booty from time to time. A few have
even succeeded. Most have helped decorate the
city walls—or at least their heads have."

"But how could we silence the guards easily?"

"That," said Belet Vor with a wink, "is where I
can help you. Excuse me." He got up and hobbled
from the room.

"I think he's a likeable old bandit, don't you?"
Darnad said when Belet Vor had left.

I nodded. "But he puts himself in danger, surely,
by helping us. If we are successful this Chinod
Sai's men are bound to suspect that he had a hand
in it."

"True. But I doubt whether Chinod Sai would
do anything about it. Belet Vor knows many
secrets and some of them concern Chinod Sai. Also,
Belet Vor is very popular and Chinod Sai sits on his
self-made throne rather uncertainly. There are
many who would usurp him if they could gain a
popular following. If anything happened to Belet
Vor it would be just the excuse needed by some
would-be Bradhi of Thieves. Chinod Sai knows
that well enough."

"Good," I replied. "But nonetheless, I think he
risks more than he needs for our sake."

"I told you, Michael Kane—there is a bond be-
tween us."

That simple statement meant a great deal to
Darnad, evidently, and I think I knew how he felt.
Such virtues as loyalty, self-discipline, temperance,
moderation, truthfulness, fortitude and honorable
conduct to women are apparently outmoded in the
societies of New York, London and Paris—but on
Mars, my Vashu, they were still strong. Is it any
wonder I should prefer the Red Planet to my own?

Soon Belet Vor returned carrying a long tube
and a small, handsomely worked box.

"These will silence your guards," he said, flour-
ishing the box. "And more—they will not actually
kill them."

He opened the box carefully and displayed the
contents. About a score of tiny, feathered slivers
lay there. At once I guessed that the tube was a
blow-pipe and these were its ammunition. The
slivers must be tipped with some poison that would
knock the guards out.

In silence we accepted the weapon.

"There are some eight shatis until nightfall," Be-
let Vor said. "Time to exchange reminiscences, eh?
How many men came with you?"

"There are six left," I said.

"Then there is room enough in here for them. In-
vite them in for a cup of basu."

Darnad went outside to extend Belet Vor's invi-
tation to his men.

They came in and accepted the cups gratefully.
Belet Vor also brought food.

The eight shatis passed with incredible slowness
and I spent them, for the most part, in thoughtful
silence. Soon, if providence were on our side, I
would see Shizala again! My heart pounded in
spite of myself. I knew she could never be mine-
but just to be near her would be enough, to know

that she was safe, to know that I would always be
nearby to protect her.

When it was dark Belet Vor glanced at me.

"Eight is a good number," he said. "Not too
small a force if you run into trouble, not so large as
to be easily detected."

We rose, our war-harness creaking, our ac-
coutrements jingling. We rose in silence save for
those small sounds.

"Farewell, Darnad." Belet Vor grasped the
young Bradhinak's shoulder and Darnad grasped
the old man's. There seemed to be something final
about that parting, as if Belet Vor knew they
would never meet again.

"Farewell, Belet Vor," he said softly. Their eyes
met for an instant and then Darnad was striding
for the door.

"Thank you, Belet Vor," I said.

"Good luck," he murmured as we left and fol-
lowed Darnad towards Chinod Sai's 'palace'.

The building we finally came upon was situated
in the centre of the city. It was only two stories
high and while it had some stone in its construc-
tion it was mainly of wood.

It stood in an open square from which several
narrow streets radiated. We hugged the shadows of
the streets and watched the guards as they pa-
trolled the grounds of the palace.

Belet Vor had told Darnad exactly where the
guest rooms were and when the Argzoon were
likely to retire. We assumed that Shizala and Hor-
guhl would not be dining with Chinod Sai. At this
time it was likely that the Argzoon were eating in
the main hall of the building. This meant we might
be able to rescue the two women without arousing
the suspicion of those inside and thus avoid a noisy
fight.

After we had ascertained the exact movements of
the patrolling guards, Darnad placed the first dart
carefully in the blow-pipe and took aim.

His aim was accurate. The dart winged its way
towards the guard. I saw him clutch his neck and
then fall almost soundlessly to the ground.

The next guard—there were four we needed to
attend to in all—saw his comrade fall and rushed
towards him. We heard him lean over him and
speak casually. "Get up, Akar, or the Bradhi will
have your head. I told you not to drink so much
before we went on guard!"

I held my breath as Darnad aimed another dart,
expelled it softly—and the second guard fell.

The third guard turned a corner and paused in
astonishment on seeing the bodies of his fallen
comrades.

"Hey! What's this-?"

He would never fully know, for Darnad's third
dart took him in his naked shoulder. The drug was
quick. The guard fell. Darnad grinned at me—we
seemed near to success.

The fourth guard was disposed of even before he
saw his fellows.

Then the eight of us moved in, cat-footing it
towards the guest rooms.

Soon, soon, I thought, all this would be over and
we could return to Varnal to live in peace. I could
study the sciences of the mysterious Sheev, in-
crease the inventions that the Karnala would be
able to use. With my help, the Karnala need never
fear attack again. They had the basic technology
necessary for building internal combustion engines,
electric power generators, radios—I could accom-
plish all that for them.

Those were the thoughts—inapt, perhaps, for the
moment—that coursed through my brain as we
crept towards the guest room windows.

The windows were not glazed, only shuttered,
and one of these was drawn back. Luck seemed to
be on our side that night

Cautiously I peered into the room. It was richly
furnished, though somewhat vulgarly, floors

heaped with furs, carved chests and benches. In a
bracket a torch flared, illuminating the room. It
was empty.

I swung my leg over the low sill and entered the
room as quietly as I could.

Darnad and the others followed me.

Then we all stood there, staring at one another,
listening intently for some sound that might indi-
cate where the women were imprisoned.

It came at last—a low tone that could have been
anything. All we could be sure of was that it issued
from a human throat.

It came from a room on our left.

Darnad and I went towards the room, with the
warriors following. We paused at the door which,
surprisingly, was unbarred.

Now from within came a sound that seemed like
a soft laugh—a woman's laugh. But it could not be
a laugh. I must have misheard. The next sound was
a voice, pitched low and impossible to make sense
of.

Darnad looked at me. Our eyes met, and then
with a concerted movement we flung open the
door.

Torchlight showed us the two within.

One was Horguhl, standing close to the window.

The other was Shizala—my Shizala!

Shizala was bound hand and foot.

But Horguhl was unfettered. She stood with
hands on hips smiling down at Shizala, who glared
back at her.

Horguhl's smile froze when she saw us. Shizala
gave a glad cry: "Michael Kane! Darnad! Oh,
thank Zar you have come!"

Horguhl stood there expressionlessly, saying
nothing.

I stepped forward to untie Shizala. As I worked
at her bonds I kept a suspicious eye on the
Vladnyar girl, uncertain of her part in this. Was
she or was she not a prisoner?

It did not seem likely now. Yet...

Horguhl suddenly laughed in my face.

I finished untying Shizala's bonds. "Why do you
laugh?" I asked.

"I thought you were dead," she replied, not an-
swering my question. And then she lifted her head
and let out a piercing shriek.

"Silence!" Darnad said in a fierce whisper. "You
will alert the whole palace. We intend you no
harm."

"I am sure you do not," she said as Darnad
stepped towards her. "But I mean you harm my
friends!" Again she shrieked.

There was a disturbance outside in the corridor.

Shizala's eyes glistened with tears—but with
gladness also—as she stared up into my face. "Oh,
Michael Kane—somehow I knew you would save
me. I thought they had killed you—and yet. . ."

"No time for conversation," I said brusquely, try-
ing to hide the emotion that her closeness brought
to my breast. "We must escape."

Darnad had his hand over Horguhl's mouth. He
looked unhappy, not used to treating a woman so.

"Horguhl is no prisoner," Shizala said. "She—"

"I can see that now," I said. "Come—we must
hurry."

We turned and left the room. Darnad released
his hold on Horguhl and followed us.

But before we could reach the window a score of
men, led by the two Argzoon giants and another
who wore a bright circlet on his matted, greasy
hair, burst into the room.

Darnad, myself and our six warriors turned to
face them, forming a barrier between them and
Shizala.

"Leave quickly, Shizala," I said softly. "Go to the
house of Belet Vor." I gave her brief instructions
how to find the old man.

"I cannot leave you. I cannot."

"You must—it will serve us better if we know

you, at least, are safe. Please do as I say." I was
staring at the Argzoon and the others, waiting for
them to attack. They were moving in cautiously.

She seemed to understand my reasoning and it
was with relief that I saw her from the corner of
my eye clamber over the sill and disappear into the
night.

Horguhl emerged from the other room, pointing
an imperious finger at us. Her face was flushed
with anger.

"These men sought to abduct me and the other
woman," she said to the greasy-haired man who
stood there with drawn sword.

"So—did you not know," he said, addressing us
with a leer, "that Chinod Sai values the safety of
his guests and resents the intrusion of riff-raff such
as you?"

"Riff-raff, murderer of children," said Darnad. "I
know you upstart—you who calls himself Bradhi of
a collection of cut-throats and pilferers!"

Chinod Sai sneered. "You speak bravely—but
your words are hollow. You are all about to die."

Then he and his unholy allies were on us, his
guards supporting them.
The duel began.

I found myself fighting not only Chinod Sai but
one of the Argzoon, and it was all I could do to de-
fend myself, even though I knew I outmatched
them both in swordsmanship.

However, they tended to crowd each other and
this, at least, was to my advantage.

I held them off as best I could until I saw my
chance. Rapidly I flung my sword from my right
hand to my left. This foxed them for a second.
Then I lunged at the Argzoon, who was slower
than Chinod Sai, and caught him in the breast. He
fell back groaning. That left the self-styled Bradhi
of Narlet.

But seeing the great blue warrior fall, Chinod
Sai evidently lost his stomach for battle and

backed away, letting his hired guards take his
place.

It was my turn to sneer.

One by one our own warriors went down until
only Darnad and myself were left standing.

I hardly cared if I died. So long as Shizala were
safe—and I knew that the wily old Belet Vor would
see to that—I was prepared to die.

But I did not die. There were so many warriors
pressing in towards us that we could hardly move
our sword arms.

Soon we were hot so much sword-fighting as
wrestling.

Their weight of numbers was too great. After a
short time we were engulfed and, for the second
time in the space of a week, I received a blow on
the head—and this second blow was not meant in
kindness as the first had been!

My senses fled, blackness engulfed me, and I
knew no more.

Chapter Nine

BURIED ALIVE!

I OPENED my eyes but saw nothing. I smelt much.
My nostrils were assailed by a foul, damp, chilly
smell that seemed to indicate I was somewhere be-
low ground. I flexed my arms and legs. They were
unbound, at least.

I tried to get up but bumped my head. I could
only crouch on the damp, messy ground.

I was horrified. Had I been incarcerated in some
tomb? Was I to die slowly of hunger, or have my
senses leave me? With an effort I controlled my-
self. Then I heard a slight sound to my left

Cautiously I felt about me and my hand touched
something warm.

Someone groaned.  I had touched a limb. It
stirred.

Then a voice murmured: "Who is there? Where
am I?"

"Darnad?"

"Yes."

"It is Michael Kane. We seem to be in some sort
of dungeon—with a very low ceiling indeed."

"What?" I heard Darnad move and sit up, per-
haps reaching with his hands above him. "No!"

"Do you know the place?"

"I believe I have heard of it."

"What is it?"

"The old heating system."

"That sounds very innocuous. What's that?"

"Narlet is built on the ancient ruins of one of the
Sheev cities. Hardly anything of it exists, save the
foundations of one particular building. Those
foundations now make up Chinod Sai's foundations
for his palace. Apparently the slabs forming the
floor of the palace lie over an ancient, sunken pool
which could be filled with hot water and made to
heat the ground floor of the palace—perhaps the
whole of it—by means of pipes. From what I hear,
the Sheev abandoned this particular city well be-
fore their decline, for they later discovered better
methods of heating."

"And so we are buried under the floor of Chinod
Sai's palace?"

"I've heard it gives him pleasure to imprison his
enemies here—having them permanently at his feet,
as it were."

I did not laugh, though I admired the fortitude
of my friend in jesting at a time like this.

I put my hands up and felt the smooth, damp
slabs over my head, pressing on them. They did
not budge.

"If he can raise the slabs, why can't we?"

"There are only a few loose ones, I've heard—Be-
let Vor told me all this—and very heavy furniture is
placed over those when prisoners have been in-
carcerated."

"So we have been buried alive," I said, sup-
pressing a shudder of terror. I admit that I was
horrified. I think any man—no matter how brave-
would have been at the thought of such a fate.

"Yes." Darnad's voice was a thin mutter. It
seemed that he, too, had no liking for what had
happened to us.

"At least we have saved Shizala," I reminded
him. "Belet Vor will see that she returns safely to
Varnal."

"Yes." The voice sounded slightly less strained.
Silence for a while.
Later I made up my mind.

"If you will stay where you are, Darnad," I said,
"so that I may keep some sort of bearing, I will ex-
plore our prison."

"Very well," he agreed.

I had to crawl, of course—there was no other
way.

I counted the number of 'paces' as I moved
across that horribly wet and foul-smelling floor.

By the time I had counted to sixty-one I had
reached a wall. I then began to crawl round this,
still counting.

Something obstructed me. I could not tell at first
what it was. Thin objects like sticks. I felt them
carefully and then withdrew my hand suddenly as
I realized what they were. Bones. One of Chinod
Sai's earlier victims.

I encountered several more skeletons on my cir-
cuit of the walls.

From where I had started, the first wall
measured ninety-seven 'paces'; the second only
fifty-four. The third was, in all, a hundred and
twenty-six. I began to wonder why I was doing
this, save to keep my mind occupied.

The fourth wall. One 'pace', two, three ...

On the seventeenth 'pace' along the fourth wall
my hand touched—nothing!

Surely this could not be a means of escape? By
touch I discovered that some sort of circular hole
led off from the fourth wall—perhaps a pipe that
had once brought water into the chamber. It was
just wide enough to take a man.

I put my head inside and reached my arms along
it. It was wet and slimy but nothing stopped me.

Before I raised Darnad's hopes, I decided to see
whether the pipe really offered a chance of escape.

I squeezed my whole body into it and began to
lever myself forward, wriggling like a snake.

I began to feel elated when nothing obstructed
me. Soon my whole body was in the pipe. I
wriggled on. I hate being so confined normally, but
if the pipe meant escape it was worth suffering my
claustrophobia.

But then came disappointment.

My questing hands found something—and I
knew at once what they touched.

It was another human skeleton.

Evidently some other poor soul—perhaps many-
had sought this means of escape and been disap-
pointed—and not had the energy or inclination to
return.

I sighed deeply and began to wriggle back
down.

But as I did so I suddenly heard something from
behind me. I paused. It was the sound of grating
stone. A little light filtered up the pipe and I heard
someone chuckle.

I did not move. I waited.

Then came Chinod Sai's jeering voice. "Greet-
ings, Bradhinak—how are you enjoying your stay?"

Darnad did not reply.

"Come up, come up—I wish to show my men
what a real Bradhinak of the Karnala looks like. A

little befouled, perhaps—I  am  sorry my  accom-
modation is not quite what you are accustomed to."

"I'd rather stay here than be subjected to your
insults, you scum," Darnad replied levelly.

"And what of your friend—the strange one? Per-
haps he would like a little respite. Where is he?"

"I do not know."

"You do not know! But he was put down there
with you. Do not lie, boy—where is your compan-
ion?"

"I do not know."

The light increased, probably because Chinod
Sai was peering into his horrible crypt, using a
torch for illumination.

His voice rose querulously. "He must be down
there!"

Darnad's tone seemed lighter now. "You can see
he is not—unless one of these skeletons is his."

"Impossible! Guards!"

I heard the faint sound of feet above me.

Chinod Sai continued: "Take up some more of
these stones—see if the other prisoner is hiding in a
corner. He is down here somewhere. Meanwhile,
bring up the Karnala."

More sounds, and I gathered that Darnad had
been escorted away.

Then I heard the guards beginning to tear up
other slabs and I grinned to myself, hoping that
they would not think of looking in the pipe. Then
something occurred to me. It was not a pleasant
thought but it might save me and give me, in turn,
a chance to save Darnad.

I wriggled up the pipe again and reached up to
take hold of some of the bones of the unfortunate
who had been there before me. He had not been
lucky but, even though dead some years, he might
be able to help me now—and help me avenge him
if and when the opportunity came.

Squeezing myself up against one section of the
pipe as tightly as I could, I began to pass bones

down in front of me until quite a heap lay below
my feet. I did this as soundlessly as possible, and
any noise I did make was probably drowned by
the racket the desperate guards were making pull-
ing up flagstones and crawling around in the semi-
darkness trying to find me.

"He isn't here," I heard one of them say.
"You are a fool," answered another. "He must be
here!"

"Well, I tell you he isn't. Come and look for
yourself."

Another guard joined the first and I heard him
stumbling around, too.

"I don't understand—there is no way out of here.
We've put enough of them down here one time or
another. Hey—what's this?"

The guard had found the pipe. The light in-
creased.

"Could he have gone up here? If he did it won't
do him any good. It's blocked at the other end!"

Then the guard found the bones. "Ugh! He
didn't go up, but someone else tried to. These
bones are old."

"What are we going to tell the Bradhi?" The first
guard spoke nervously. "This smacks of magic!"
"There's no such thing!"

"So we're told these days, but my grandfather
says there are stories ..."

"Shut your mouth! Magic—ghosts. Nonsense . . .
Still, I must admit that he had a strange look about
him. He seemed to belong to no nation I've ever
seen. And I have heard that beyond the ocean lies
another land where men have powers greater than
normal. And then there are the Sheev..."
"The Sheev! That's it!"

"Hold your tongue. Chinod Sai will tear it out if
he hears such language spoken in his palace!"
"What do we tell him?"

"Only the facts. The man was here—but he is no
longer here."

"But will he believe us?"

"We must hope that he does."

I heard the guards clamber up and march away.
The instant they had gone I slipped down the pipe
as fast as I could and was soon standing up in
what had been my prison, my head just above the
level of the floor. Flagstones had been ripped out
and the whole floor was in a mess. I was glad of
that, at least.

No one was in the room, which seemed to be
some sort of throne room judging by the huge, or-
nately carved, precious-metal gilded chair at one
end.

I heaved myself up and stood in the room. As
swiftly and as silently as I could, I ran towards the
door and stood by it, listening.

It was half open. Angry voices came from the
other side.

There were more sounds coming from outside
the palace itself—shouts, cries. They sounded an-gry

Somewhere in the distance several pairs of fists
began to beat on a door.

Then I stepped back as, suddenly, someone came
into the room.

It was Chinod Sai.

He stared at me in horror for a moment.

That moment was all I needed. In a flash I had
darted forward and snatched his own sword from
his belt!

I pressed the point gently against his throat and
said with a grim smile on my lips: "Call for your
guards, Chinod Sai—and you call for death!"

He paled and gurgled something. I gestured for
him to come into the room and shut the door. I
had been lucky. Everyone had been too busy with
whatever else they were concerned with to notice
what had happened to their "Bradhi".

"Speak in a low voice," I ordered. "Tell me what
is happening and where my comrade is."

"How—how did you escape?"

"I am asking the questions, my friend. Now—an-
swer!"

He grunted. "What do you mean?"

"Answer!"

"The scum are attacking my palace," he said.
"Some petty dahara-thief seeks to replace me."

"I hope he makes a better chief than you. And
where is my comrade?"

He waved a hand behind him.

"In there."

Suddenly someone entered. I had expected the
guards to knock and had intended that Chinod Sal
should tell them not to enter.

But this was not a guard.

It was the surviving Argzoon. He looked aston-
ished to see me. He turned, giving a roar of warn-
ing to the men in the room.

They came in and I backed away, looking
around for a means of escape, but all the windows
in this room were barred.

"Kill him!" screamed Chinod Sai, pointing a
shaking finger at me. "Kill him!"

Led by the blue Argzoon, the guards came at
me. I knew that I faced death—they would not
take me a prisoner a second time.

Chapter Ten

INTO THE CAVES
OF DARKNESS

SOMEHOW I managed to keep them at bay, though
I will never know how. Then I saw Darnad appear
behind them, waving a sword he had got from
somewhere.
Together, one on each side, we took on Chinod

Sai and his men, but we knew we must be beaten
eventually.

Then there came a sudden, elated roar, and
bursting into the throne room came a wild mob
waving swords, spears and halberds.

They were led by a good-looking young man,
and by the gleam in his eyes—at once calculating
and triumphant—I guessed him to be the next con-
tender for the paltry throne of the City of Thieves.

Now, while the others helped Darnad deal with
the Argzoon and the guards, I concentrated on
Chinod Sai. This time, I promised myself, he
would not retreat.

Chinod Sai realized my intention and this
seemed to improve his skill.

Back and forth across the broken floor of the
throne room, over the bones of the wretches he
had incarcerated for his own perverted pleasure,
we fought.

Lunging, parrying, thrusting, the steel of our
blades rang through the hall while to one side the
mob fought, a thick mass of struggling men.

Then came disaster for me—or so I thought. I
tripped over one of the flagstones and fell back-
wards into the pit!

I saw Chinod Sai raise his arm for the thrust that
would finish me as, sprawled out on the slime, I
stared up at him.

Then, as the sword came towards my heart I
rolled away, under part of the floor that was still
intact. I heard him curse and saw him drop down
after me. He saw me and lunged. Raising myself
on my left arm, I returned his lunge and caught
him exactly in the heart. I pushed home my thrust
and he fell back with a groan.

I climbed from the pit. "A fitting burial place,
Chinod Sai," I said. "Lie with the bones of those
you have slain so horribly. You had a swifter death
than you deserved!"

I was just in time to see Darnad dispose of the
last Argzoon.

The fight was over and the young leader of the
mob raised his right hand high, shouting:

"Chinod Sai is defeated—the tyrant dies!"

The mob replied exultantly: "Salute Morda
Kohn, Bradhi of Narlet!"

Morda Kohn swung round and grinned at me.
"Enemies of Chinod Sai are friends of mine. In-
directly you helped me gain the throne. But where
is Chinod Sai?"

I pointed at the floor. "I slew him," I said simply.

Morda Kohn laughed. "Good, good! You are
even more of a friend for that little service."

"It was no service to you," I said, "but something
I had promised myself the pleasure of accomplish-

ing"

"Quite so. I was truly sorry about the death of
your friend."

"My friend?" I said as Darnad joined us. He had
a flesh wound on his right shoulder but otherwise
seemed all right.

"Belet Vor—did you not know?"

"What has happened to Belet Vor?" Darnad
asked urgently.

I must admit I was not only thinking of Belet
Vor—but of the girl I had sent to him, Shizala.

"Why, that is what enabled me to arouse the
people against Chinod Sai," Morda Kohn said.
"Chinod Sai and his blue friend learned that you
had been seen in the house of Belet Vor. They
went there and they ordered him to be beheaded
on the spot!"

"Belet Vor, dead? Beheaded-oh, no!" Darnad's
face turned pale with horror.

"I am afraid so."

"But the girl we rescued—the one we sent to
him?" I spoke in some trepidation, almost afraid to
hear the answer.

"Girl? I do not know—I heard nothing of a girl

Perhaps she is still at his house, hiding some-
where."

I relaxed. That was probably true.
"There is still another missing," Darnad said.
"The Vladnyar woman—Horguhl. Where is she?"

Together we searched the palace but there was
ho sign of her.

Night was falling as we borrowed mounts from
the new 'Bradhi' and rushed to Belet Vor's house.

Inside,   it  had   been   torn   apart.   We   called
Shizala's name but she did not answer.
Shizala had gone—but where? And how?
We stumbled out of the house. Had we fought
and risked so much only to fail now?

Back to the palace to see if Morda Kohn could
help us.

The new Bradhi was supervising the replace-
ment of the flagstones. "They will be securely ce-
mented down," he said. "They will never be put to
the same dreadful use again."

"Morda Kohn," I said desperately, "the girl was
not at Belet Vor's house. And we know she would
hot have gone anywhere of her own accord. Did
any of Chinod Sai's guards survive? If they did,
one of them may be able to tell us what hap-
pened."

"I think there are several prisoners in the ante-
room." Morda Kohn nodded. "Question them if
you like."

We went to the ante-room. There were three
sulking, badly wounded prisoners.
"Do any of you know where Shizala is?" I asked.
"Shizala?" One of them looked up with a frown.
"The blonde girl—the prisoner who was here."
"Oh, her—I think they both went off together."
"Both?"

"Her and the dark-haired woman."
"Where did they go?"

"What's it worth to tell you what I know?" The
guard looked cunningly at me.

"I will speak to Morda Kohn. He owes us a fa-
vor. I will ask him to show mercy to you."
"You'll keep your word?"
"Of course."

"I think they went to the Mountains of Argzoon."
"Ah-but why?" Darnad broke in. "Why should a
Vladnyar willingly go to Argzoon? The Blue Giants
are no-one's friends."

"There is something mysterious about Horguhl's
association with the Argzoon. Perhaps when we
find her we will learn the answer," I said. "Could
you lead us to the Mountains of Argzoon, Dar-
nad?"

"I think so." He nodded.

"Come, then—let's make haste after them. With
luck we may even catch them before they reach
the mountains."

"Best that we did," he said.
"Why?"

"Because the Argzoon literally dwell in the
mountains—in the Caves of Darkness that run un-
der the range. Some say it is really the Bleak
World of the Dead, and from what I've heard it's
possible!"

We spoke briefly to Morda Kohn, telling him to
show the guard mercy. Then we strode outside,
mounted our daharas and rode into the night-
heading for the dreadful Caves of Darkness.

We were not lucky. First Darnad's beast cut its
foot on a sharp rock and went lame. We had to
travel at walking pace for a full day until we came
to a camp where we could exchange Darnad's
prime mount for a rather stringy beast that looked
as if it had little stamina.

Then we lost our bearings on a barren plain

known as the Wilderness of Sorrow—and we could

understand why anyone would feel sorrowful on

encountering it.

On the other hand, the mount that Darnad had

exchanged was in fact very strong—and my own
beast wearied before his did!

We finally crossed the Wilderness of Sorrow and
emerged on the shores of an incredibly wide
river—wider even than the Mississippi.

Another pause while we borrowed a boat from a
friendly fisherman and managed to cross. Luckily
Darnad had a precious ring on his finger and was
able to convert this into pearls, which were the
general currency of these parts.

We bought supplies in the riverside town and
learned—to our relief, for there had always been
the chance that the guard was lying maliciously—
that two women answering to the description of
Horguhl and Shizala had passed that way. We
enquired if Shizala had seemed to be under re-
straint, but our informant told us that she did not
appear to be bound.

This was puzzling and we could not understand
why Shizala should seem to be travelling to the
terrible domain of the Argzoon of her own free
will.

But, as we told ourselves, all this would be
learned the quicker if we caught up with them.
They were still some three days ahead of us.

So we crossed the Carzax River in the fisher-
man's boat, ferrying our mounts and provisions
with us. It was a difficult task and the current drew
us many miles down river before we reached the
other side. The fisherman would collect the boat
later. We pulled it ashore, strapped our provisions
to our animals and mounted.

It was forest land now, but the trees were the
strangest I had ever seen.

Their trunks were not solid like the tree-trunks
on Earth, but consisted of many hundreds of slen-
der stems curling around one another to form
trunks some thirty or forty feet in diameter. On the
other hand, the trees did not reach very high, but
fanned out so that sometimes when passing

through a particular grove of low-growing trees
our heads actually stood out above the trees. It
made me feel gigantic!

Also, the foliage had a tinge similar to the ferns
of the Crimson Plain—though red was only the
main color. There were also tints of blue, green
and yellow, brown and orange. It seemed, in fact,
that the forest was in a perpetual state of autumn
and I was pleased by the sight of it. Strange as the
stumpy trees were they reminded me, in some ob-
scure way, of my boyhood.

Had it not been for the object of our quest, I
would have liked to relax more and spend longer
in that strange forest.

But there was something else in the forest that I
was to meet shortly—and that decided me, if noth-
ing else could have done, on the necessity of mov-
ing on.

We had been travelling in the forest for two
days when Darnad suddenly pulled his mount up
short and pointed silently through the foliage.

I could see nothing and shook my head in puz-
zlement.

Darnad's beast now seemed to move a little rest-
lessly, and so did mine.

Darnad began to turn his dahara, pointing back
the way we had come. The peculiar, ape-like beast
obeyed the guiding reins and my own followed
suit, rather quickly, as if glad to be turning back.

Then Darnad stopped again and his hand fell to
his sword.

"Too late," he said. "And I should have warned
you."

"I see nothing—I hear nothing. What should you
have warned me of?"

"The heela"

"Heela—what is a heela?"

"That-" Darnad pointed.

Skulking towards us, its hide exactly the same

mottled shades as the foliage of the trees, came a
beast out of a nightmare.

It had eight legs and each leg terminated in six
curved talons. It had two heads and each head had
a broad, gaping mouth full of long, razor-like teeth,
glaring yellow eyes, flaring nostrils. A single neck
rose from the trunk and then divided near the top
to accommodate the heads.

It had two tails, scaly and powerful-looking, and
a barrel-shaped body rippling with muscle.

It was unlike anything I could describe. It could
not exist—but it did!

The heela stopped a few yards away and its twin
tails lashed as it regarded us with its two pairs of
eyes.

The only thing to its advantage, as far as I could
see, was that it measured only about half the size
of an ordinary dahara.

Yet it still looked dangerous and could easily dis-
pose of me, I knew.

Then it sprang. Not at me and not at Darnad—
but at the head of Darnad's dahara.

The poor animal shrieked in pain and fear as the
heela sank its eight sets of talons into its great flat
head and simply clung there, biting with its two
sets of teeth at the dahara's spinal cord.

Darnad began to hack at the heela with his
sword. I tried to move in to help him but my ani-
mal refused to budge.

I dismounted—it was the only thing I could do—
and paused behind the clinging heela's back. I did
not know much about Martian biology, but I
selected a spot on the heela's neck corresponding
to the place where he was biting the dahara. I
knew that many animals will go for a spot on other
species which corresponds with their own vital
spots.

I plunged my sword in.

For a few moments the heela still clung to the
dahara's head; then it released its grip and with a

blood-curdling scream of anguish and fury fell to
the mossy ground. I stood back, ready to meet any
attack it might make. But it got up, stood shakily
on its legs, took a couple of paces away from me—
and then fell dead.

Meanwhile, Darnad had dismounted from the
dahara, now moaning in pain and stamping on the
moss.

The poor beast's flesh had been ripped away
from a considerable area of its head and neck. It
was beyond any help we could give it—save to
put it out of its pain.

Regretfully, I saw Darnad place his sword
against the creature's head and drive it home,
wincing as he did so.

Soon dahara and heela lay side by side. A useless
waste of life, I reflected.

What was more, we should now have to ride
double and though my dahara was strong enough
to carry both of us, we should have to travel at
about half our previous speed.

Bad luck was dogging us, it seemed.

Riding double, we left the heela-infested forest
behind. Darnad informed me that we had been
lucky to meet only one of the beasts since there
had been others of its pack about. Apparently it
was quite common amongst heelas for the leader to
attack the victim first and, if successful, lead the
rest in for the kill, having tested the victim's
strength. If, on the other hand, the heela-leader
were killed, then the pack would skulk off, judging
the enemy too strong to risk attacking. Besides
which they would feed off their dead leader's
corpse. In this case, the corpse of the dahara, too.

It seemed that, like hyaena, the heelas were
strong but cowardly. I thanked providence for this
trait, at any rate!

Now the air grew colder—we had been travelling
for well over a month—and the skies darker. We
began to cross a vast plain of black mud and ob-

sidian rock, stunted, sinister shrubs and ancient ru-
ins. The feet of our single dahara splashed in deep
puddles or waded through oozing mud, slipped on
the glassy rock or stumbled over great areas of bro-
ken masonry.

I asked Darnad if these were the ruins of the
Sheev but he muttered that he did not think so.

"I suspect that these ruins were once inhabited
by the Yaksha," he said.

I shivered as cold rain fell on us.

"Who were the Yaksha?"

"It is said they are ancient enemies of the Sheev
but originally of the same race."

"That is all you know?"

"Those are the only facts. The rest is superstition
and speculation." He seemed to shudder inwardly,
not from the cold but from some idea that had oc-
curred to him.

On we went, making slower and slower progress
over that dark wasteland, taking shelter at night—
scarcely distinguishable though it was from
day!—under half-fallen walls or outcrops of rock.
Strange, livid beasts prowled that plain; peculiar
cries like the voices of lost souls; queer distur-
bances that we felt rather than heard or saw.

It was like that for another two weeks until the
looming crags of Argzoon became visible through
the dim, misty light of the Wastes of Doom.

The Mountains of Argzoon were tall and jagged,
black and forbidding.

"Seeing their environment," I said to Darnad, "I
can understand why the Argzoon are what they
are, for such landscapes are not conducive to in-
stilling a sense of sweetness and light into one."

"I agree," he replied. Then a little later: "We
should reach the Gates of Gor Delpus before night-
fall."

"What are they?"

"The entrance to the Caves of Darkness. They
are, I've been told, never guarded, for few have

ever dared venture into the Argzoon's own under-
ground land—they let our normal fear of dark, en-
closed spaces do their work for them."

"Are the Caves very dangerous?"

"I do not know," he said. "No one has ever re-
turned to tell..."

By nightfall we made out the Gates by means of
Deimos's very dim moonlight. They were mainly
natural cave-mouths widened and made taller by
crude workmanship. They were dark and gloomy
and I could understand what Darnad had told me.

Only my mission—to rescue the woman I loved
but would never be able to make mine—would in-
duce me to enter.

We left our faithful dahara outside to fend for
himself until we returned—if ever we should.

And then we entered the Caves of Darkness.

Chapter Eleven

QUEEN OF THE ARGZOON

THEY were cold, those caves. A chill pervaded
them greater than anything we had experienced on
the Wastes of Doom.

Down and down we went, along a smooth,
broad, winding track that had torches lighting it at
wide intervals. We caught glimpses of vast grottos
and caverns, as it were within the great caverns; of
stalactites and stalagmites; of jumbled, black rock
and rivulets of ice-cold water; of a bitter-smelling
slime that clung to the rocks; of small, pallid ani-
mals that scuttled away at our approach.

And deeper down the sides of the path had been
decorated with trophies of war—here a skeleton of
an Argzoon in full armor, with sword, shield, spear
and axe, grinning down at us from its great height;

there several human skulls piled into a rough pyra-
mid. Dark trophies, brought alive sometimes by the
flickering torchlight, but fitting decoration for this
strange place.

Then at length we felt the path turn sharply to
the left. Following it round, we suddenly came
upon a monstrous cave, its walls so far away they
were invisible. We stood above it, looking down.
The path led to it, we could see, twisting down for
perhaps two miles. Huge fires flared at intervals on
the floor of the cave and there were complete vil-
lages dotted across it. Fairly close to our side of
the cave there was a stone city—a city that seemed
piled on blocks of stone heaped almost haphaz-
ardly one upon the other. A heavy city, a cold,
strong, bleak city. A city to suit the Argzoon.

Moving about in the city and the surrounding
villages, we saw Argzoon men, women and chil-
dren going about their business. There were also
pens of dahara and some sort of small creature that
seemed to be a domestic version of the heela.

"How can we get in there?" I whispered to Dar-
nad. "They will realize who we are immediately!"

Just then I heard a noise behind us and pulled
him into the shadows of the rock.

A few moments later a group of some thirty
Argzoon warriors stumbled past. They looked as if
they had been through an ordeal. Many bore un-
treated wounds, others had had their armor almost
completely cut to shreds, and all were weary.

I realized that these were probably survivors of
the 'mopping up' operation instituted from Varnal
the day we had left.

That was another reason why we should not ex-
pose ourselves! The Argzoon would enjoy taking
vengeance on members of the race that had de-
feated them.

But these warriors were too tired even to notice
us. They just staggered on down the twisting path
towards the cavern world, where the great bonfires

crackled and attempted to heat and light the place
with little success.

We could not wait for nightfall here, for it was
perpetual night! How could we reach the city and
discover where Shizala was imprisoned?

There was nothing for it but to begin creeping
down the path, keeping to the shadows as best we
could, hoping that the Argzoon would be too busy
with their own affairs, treating their wounded, as-
sessing their strength and so on, to notice us.

Not once did either of us think of returning to
find help. It seemed too late for that. We must res-
cue Shizala ourselves.
But then it occurred to me!
Who else knew where Shizala was held? Who
else   had   all   the   information   concerning   the
Argzoon that we had?
The answer was plain—none.
When we had gone a little distance I turned to
Darnad and said bluntly:
"You must go back."
"Go back? Are you mad?"

"No—I'm perfectly sane for once. Don't you real-
ize that if we are both killed in this attempt, then
there can be no further attempts to save Shizala—
for what we know will die with us!"

"I had not thought of that," he mused. "But why
should I go back? You go. I will try to ..."

"No. You know the geography of Vashu better
than I. I might easily get lost. Now you have led
me to the Mountains of Argzoon you must return
to the nearest friendly settlement, send messengers
to tell where I am, where Shizala is—get the news
out as fast as you can. Then a big force of warriors
can come here while the Argzoon are still depleted
and recovering and wipe out the threat of the Blue
Giants once and for all!"

"But it will take me weeks to get back to civili-
zation of any sort. If you get into trouble here you
will be dead long before I can bring help."

"If personal safety were our first consideration,"
I reminded him, "neither of us would be here now.
You must see the logic of what I say. Go!"

He thought deeply for a moment, then clapped
me on the shoulder, turned and began to make his
way rapidly back in the direction we had come.

Once made up, Darnad's mind made him act
swiftly.

Now I crept on, feeling somehow even smaller
and weaker in the face of monstrous nature now
that Darnad had gone.

Somehow I managed to get to the base of the
path without being seen.

Somehow I managed to dash from cliff-wall to
the shadow of the city and hug myself close to the
rough-hewn stone.

And then, all of a sudden, it became darker!
I could not at first understand the cause of my
good luck. Then I saw that they were damping
down the big fires!
Why?

Then I realized what must be happening. Fuel
itself must be scarce so, for a period corresponding
to night-time on the surface, the fires were damped
while the Argzoon slept. In the almost pitch-black
darkness I decided that this was my chance to ex-
plore the city and try to find out where Shizala was
imprisoned.

Perhaps, if luck continued to stay on my side, I
would even have a chance to rescue her, and to-
gether we could leave the gloomy cavern-world of
the Argzoon and ride back to Varnal.

I hardly dared consider this as I began slowly to
climb the rough sides of the city wall.

It was a stiff climb, but not too difficult. Both my

hands and my feet had been hardened over the

long weeks of our quest and so I found I could

grip the rock like a Gibraltar monkey.

The darkness brought its own dangers, of course,

and I was forced to climb largely by touch, but
soon I was on top of the wall.

Crouching, sword in hand just in case I should
be surprised, I sidled along the wall, peering down
into the city, trying to make out the likeliest place
where Shizala might be held.

Then I saw it!

One building was fairly well illuminated by
torches from within and brands on the ramparts.
But this is not what I noticed so much as the great,
brooding banner that flew from a mast on the cen-
tral keep of the building.

It was the N'aal Banner that adorned Horguhl's
tent oh the battlefield outside—a larger version, but
the same design.

It was little to go on—but it was something. I
would make for the building with the banner.

I resheathed my sword and clambered over the
other side of the wall, beginning to climb slowly
down towards the ground.

I was nearly at the bottom with perhaps only a
dozen feet to go when a detachment of Argzoon
warriors suddenly rounded a building near the wall
and marched towards me. I wondered if I had
been seen—whether they had been sent to deal
with me. But then they began to pass beneath me.
I was only a couple of feet above the head of the
tallest as he passed. I clung like a fly to the wall,
praying that I would not slip and betray myself.

As soon as they were out of sight, I climbed the
remaining distance to the ground and dashed
across to the cover of a building, fashioned from
the same roughly-heaped stone as the wall.

Knowing that the Argzoon warriors had not had
many mounts, I guessed that only a few had re-
turned as yet, which explained why the city
seemed virtually deserted.

This was another thing that I welcomed and
which was to my advantage.

Soon I had reached the building I was headed
for.

The sides of this were somewhat smoother, but I
thought I could tackle it. The only problem here
was that the walls were fairly well illuminated and
I might be seen.

There was nothing for it but to risk it, for no
other time would be better. I would try to reach a
window and swing myself in. Once inside the
building I might be able to hide myself better and
at least discover something, by watching and lis-
tening, of where Shizala was being kept.

I got a hold on a piece of projecting stone and
hauled myself up, inch by inch. It was slow going
and increasingly difficult. All the windows—little
more than holes in the rock—were some distance
above the ground, none less than twenty feet, and
the one I had decided to try was probably higher.
I deduced that fear of attack was the reason why
the windows were positioned so high.

But at last I managed to make the window and
peered over the sill to see if the room beyond was
occupied. It did not appear to be.

I entered quickly.

It appeared that I was in a store-room of some
kind, for there were wicker baskets of dried fruit
and meat, herbs and vegetables. I decided to make
use of some of the food stuff, obviously looted in
an earlier raiding expedition. I selected the most
palatable items and ate them. I was thirsty, too,
but there was no readily available source of water.
I would have to wait for a drink.

Feeling refreshed, I explored the room. It was
fairly large and very draughty. Perhaps because of
the draughts, it had not been used as a living ac-
commodation for a long while—judging by the old
and near-rotted pieces of basket that littered the
floor.

I found the door and tried it.

To my  great  disappointment it was  locked—

barred from the outside, probably as a precaution
against thieves!

I was very weary and my eyes kept closing in-
voluntarily as I fought sleep. The pursuit had been
long and arduous; we had allowed ourselves little
time for rest. I decided that I would be more use
to Shizala if I were rested.

I clambered over the baskets and made myself a
kind of nest in the centre by removing some bas-
kets and piling them around me. That way I would
be warmer, and if anyone entered the room they
would not see me. Feeling fairly secure, I lay down
to sleep.

An increase in the glow of firelight entering the
window told me that it was a new Argzoon 'day'.
But, I realized immediately, that was not what had
awakened me.

There was someone else in the room.

Very cautiously, I stretched my cramped limbs
and began to stand up, peering through a crack in
my barricade.

I was astonished.

The man collecting food from the baskets was
not an Argzoon. He was a man similar in build to
myself, but with a pale complexion—perhaps
caused by living in the sunless vaults of the Blue
Giants.

His face had a strange, dead appearance. His
eyes were dull, his features frozen as he mechani-
cally transferred meat and vegetables from the bas-
kets to a smaller basket he held in his left hand.

He was unarmed. His shoulders were bowed, his
hair lank and uncared for.

There was no questioning his situation and func-
tion in the cavern-world of the Argzoon.

The man was a slave and seemed to have been
one for a long time.

Being a slave he would, of course, have no love
for his masters. On the other hand, how much had
he been cowed by them? Could I reveal myself in

the hope of receiving help from him, or would he
be frightened and shout for help?

I had taken many risks to get this far. I must
take a further risk now.

As silently as I could I climbed from cover and
crept across the tops of the baskets towards him.
He was half turned away from me and only
seemed to notice me when I was almost on top of
him.

When he saw me, his eyes widened and his
mouth dropped, but he made no sound.

"I am a friend," I whispered.

"F-friend . . . ?" He repeated the word dully as
if it meant nothing to him.

"An enemy of the Argzoon—a slayer of many of
the Blue Giants."

"Aah!" He backed away in fear, dropping his
basket.

I leapt to the ground and dashed towards the
door, closing it. He turned to face me, his mouth
trembling now, his eyes still wide in ghastly fear.
It was evidently not me he feared so much as
something that I represented to him.

"Y-you must go to the Queen—y-you must sur-
render yourself. D-do that and y-you may escape
the N'aal Beast!"

"The Queen? The N'all Beast? I've heard the
name—what is it?"

"O-oh, d-do not ask me!"

"Who are you? How long have you been here?" I
tried a different line of questioning.

"I—I think my name was Ornak Dia . . . Y-yes,
that was it, that was my name ... I d-do not
know h-how long . . . s-since w-we f-followed the
Argzoon h-here and w-were led into ambush. Th-
they had only sent half their strength against the
lands of the south—we did n-not r-realize . . ."
With these memories he seemed to remember
something of the man he must have been previ-

ously, for his shoulders straightened a little and he
held his mouth better.

"You were part of the force led by the Bradhi of
the Karnala—is that right?" I asked him. I won-
dered what kind of hardships could have turned a
warrior into this servile thing in such a compara-
tively short space of time.

"Th-that is right."

"They lured you down here where the rest of
their army was waiting—it had been a calculated
tactic—and when you reached the floor of the cav-
ern-world they attacked you and wiped out your
army. Isn't that what happened?" I had already
guessed most of this, of course.

"Y-yes. They took prisoners. I am amongst the
last of them left alive."

"How many prisoners?"

"Several hundreds."

I was horrified. Now it was plain that, as I had
surmised, this move of the Argzoon had been care-
fully planned for years. The first force had been
badly defeated, but it had severely weakened the
strength of the southern nations. Secondly, the
southern army's punitive force that had followed
the Argzoon here had been led into a carefully laid
trap and the weary warriors must have been fairly
easy game for a force of fresh Argzoon warriors
waiting in ambush. Then the Argzoon had put the
second half of their strategy into operation, going
secretly south in small numbers with the object of
taking the south by surprise, beginning with Var-
nal. Something had disrupted this strategy—per-
haps my slaying of their master-mind—and the plan
had broken down. But much damage had been
done. The south would take years recovering from
the blow and while recovering would face constant
danger from other, stronger would-be aggressors.
The Vladnyar, for instance.

Now I asked the slave the leading question:

"Tell me—have two women been brought here
recently? A dark one and a fair one."

There h-has been a woman prisoner..."

Only one! I prayed that Shizala had not been
killed on the way.

"What does she look like?"

"She is very beautiful—fair-haired—a Karnala
woman, I think..."

I sighed with relief. "But what of Horguhl the
Vladnyar—the dark-haired woman?"

"Ah!" His voice was a muted scream. "Do not
mention th-that name. Do not mention it!"

"What is wrong?" I could see that he was in an
even worse state now than when I had originally
confronted him. Spittle ran down his chin and his
eyes flickered crazily. He was trembling in every
part of his body. He hugged himself, hunched and
twitching. He began to moan slowly.

I seized his shoulder, trying to shake some self-
control into him, but he fell to the floor and contin-
ued to moan and tremble.

I knelt beside him. "Tell me—who is Horguhl—
what is her part in this?"

"Ah! P-please—leave me. I will not tell them you
are here ... Y-you must go. L-leave!"

I continued to shake him. 'Tell me!"

Suddenly a new voice spoke from behind me. A
cool, mocking voice full of controlled, malicious
humor...

"Leave the poor wretch alone, Michael Kane. I
can answer your question better than he. My
guards mentioned a disturbance in the store-room
so I came to investigate myself. I have been half-
expecting you."

I whirled, still in a crouching position, and
looked up to stare into the deep, evil eyes of the
dark-haired woman whose role had been such a
mystery. It was to be a mystery no longer.

"Horguhl! Who are you?"

"I am Queen of the Argzoon, Michael Kane. It

was I who commanded the army you defeated, not
poor Ranak Mard. My army dispersed before I
could recall it because that bitch-dahara Shizala at-
tacked me soon after you had left. In the struggle
she knocked me unconscious but she was then cap-
tured by some of my men. When I awoke, my
army was in confusion, so I decided to take ven-
geance on her instead of her city ..."

"You! All this was your doing! But how are you
Queen of those giant savages—what power can one
woman wield over them?"

"It is my power over something else that they
fear," she smiled.

"What is that?"

"You will learn soon enough." Blue Giants were
beginning to swarm into the room behind her.
"Seize him!"

I tried to stand up but stumbled against the
prone and shaking body of the slave. Before I
could recover my position half-a-dozen Argzoon
were piling on top of me.

I fought back with fists and feet, but soon they
had bound my arms behind me and Horguhl was
laughing in my face, her white, sharp teeth flashing
in the gloom.

"And now," she said, "you will learn the punish-
ment meted out to the man responsible for disrupt-
ing the plans of the Queen of the Argzoon!"

Chapter Twelve

THE PIT
OF THE N'AAL BEAST

"BRING him to my chambers," Horguhl ordered the
guards. "I will question him first."

I was forced to walk behind her, following her
through a maze of bleak and draughty corridors lit

by guttering torches, until we came to a large door
apparently made of heavy wood covered with sil-
ver hammered into some crude semblance of a
design.

This door was opened and the big room we en-
tered was warmed by a huge fire roaring in a grate
at one side. The room itself was rich with rugs of
fur and heavy cloth. Covering the walls were tap-
estries, obviously booty from raided cities, for the
workmanship was exquisite. Even the windows
were covered, and this explained the warmth of
the room.

A heavy chest, about the height of my waist,
stood near the fire. On this stood jugs of wine and
bowls of fruit and meat. A large, fur-strewn couch
was on the other side of the room opposite the fire,
and there were a few benches and carved wooden
chairs dotted about.

Though not particularly lavish by the standards
of the civilized south, the Queen's chambers were
luxurious compared with what I had witnessed of
the living standards of the Argzoon peoples.

Over the fireplace hung a tapestry much less
well executed than the others. It depicted the crea-
ture I had already seen on the Queen's banner—the
mysterious N'aal Beast. It looked menacing and I
noticed the guards avert their eyes from it as if
afraid of it.

I was still tightly bound, of course, and when
Horguhl dismissed the guards she was in no danger
from me. I stood straight-backed, staring over her
head as she paced before me, darting me strange,
curious looks. This went on for some time, but I
kept my expression blank and my eyes fixedly
ahead.

Suddenly she faced me, swept back her right
hand and slapped me stingingly across the mouth.
I kept my features rigid as before.

"Who are you, Michael Kane?"

I did not answer.

"There is something about you. Something I
have never sensed in any other man. Something I
could learn to—to like." Her voice became softer
and she took a step closer to me. "I mean it,
Michael Kane," she said. "Your fate will not be
pleasant if I order it to be carried out. But you
could avert it..."

I still remained silent.

"Michael Kane—I am a woman. A—a sensitive
woman." She laughed lightly, somewhat self-mock-
ingly, I thought. "I am what I am through no cir-
cumstances of my own making. Would you like to
hear why I am Queen of the Argzoon?"

"I would like to know where Shizala is, that is
all," I said at length. "Where is she?"

"No harm has come to her yet. Perhaps none
will. I have thought out an interesting fate for her.
It will not kill her, but it will help me turn her into
a willing handmaiden, I think. I.would rather keep
the ruler of Varnal as my cringing slave than have
her dead..."

My mind raced. So Shizala was not to die—yet,
at any rate. I was relieved, for that would give
time for Darnad to come and try to rescue her. I
relaxed a little—perhaps I even smiled.

"You seem in good humor. Do you not feel any-
thing for the woman, then?" Horguhl sounded al-
most eager.

"Why should I?" I lied.

"That is good," she said, almost to herself. She
strode panther-like to the couch and spread her
beautiful body upon it. I continued to stand where
I was, but looked directly into those smouldering
eyes. After a while she dropped her gaze.

Staring at the floor, she said: "I was only a child
of eleven when the Argzoon attacked the caravan
in which I and my parents were travelling through
the northern borders of Vladnyar. They killed
many—including my mother and father—but took
slaves as well. I was one of those slaves ..."

I knew she was trying to touch me in some way,
and if her story were true I felt sorry for the child
she had been. But I could not, considering her
later crimes, justify them.

"In those days, the Argzoon were divided
amongst themselves. Often the cavern was a battle-
field between warring factions. They could not
unite. The Argzoon were split into scores of family
clans and blood-feuds were normal, day-to-day
happenings. The only thing that could unite them
for a short while was the common fear of the N'aal
Beast which haunted the subterranean passages be-
low the floor of the Great Cavern. It fed on the
Argzoon, who were its natural prey. It would
slither up and attack then slither away again. The
Argzoon believe that the N'aal Beast is an incarna-
tion of Raharumara, their chief deity. They dared
not make any attempt to kill it. Whenever possible
they would sacrifice slaves to it.

"When I was sixteen years old, I was chosen as
one of those who would feed the N'aal Beast. But
already I had felt this power in me—some ability to
make others do my will. Oh, not in large ways—I
was still a slave—but in ways that made my lot a
little easier. Strangely, it was the N'aal Beast which
brought this power out of me in strength.

"When news came that the N'aal was slithering
up into the Great Cavern, I and a number of oth-
ers—folk like myself and Argzoon criminals—were
bound and placed in its supposed path. Soon it ap-
peared and I watched in horrified dread as it be-
gan to seize my companions and swallow them. I
started to stare into its eyes. Some instinct made
me croon at it. I—I don't know what it was, but it
responded to me. Through my mind, I was able to
communicate with it, give it orders."

She paused and looked up at me. I did not react.

"I returned to this city—the Black City—with the
N'aal Beast following me like a pet. I ordered a
deep hole to be made, in which the beast was im-

prisoned. The Argzoon regarded me with supersti-
tious awe—they still do. By controlling the N'aal
Beast, I control them. Later I decided to make up
for my years of misery and hardship and planned
conquest of this entire continent. By several
methods I got news of the south and her defences.
Then I put the first stage of my plan into oper-
ation. I was prepared to wait years for victory—but
instead..."

"Defeat," I said. "A well-deserved defeat. Your
years with the Argzoon have warped you, Hor-
guhl—warped you beyond hope of salvation!"

"Fool!" She was off the couch and pressing her
voluptuous body against me, stroking my chest.
"Fool! I have other plans—I am not defeated. I
know many secrets; I have much power that you
do not dream of. Michael Kane, you can share
all this. I told you I have never known a man
like you—brave, handsome, strong-willed. But you
also have something else—some mysterious quality
that makes you as different from the ordinary riff-
raff of Vashu as I am. Become my King, Michael
Kane ..."

She was speaking softly, her hypnotic eyes star-
ing into mine, and something seemed to be hap-
pening to my brain. I felt warm, euphoric. I began
to think her proposal was attractive.

"Michael Kane—I love you!"

Somehow that statement saved me—though I will
never know why. It jerked my mind back to sanity.
Bound as I was, I shrugged her clinging hands
away.

"I do not love you, Horguhl," I said firmly. "Nei-
ther could I feel anything but loathing for someone
who has done what you have done. Now I realize
how Shizala was so easily brought here—that hyp-
notic power of yours! Well, it will not get the bet-
ter of me!"

She released me and when she spoke again her
voice was low, vibrant. "Somehow I knew that.

Perhaps that is what attracts me to you—the fact
that you can resist my power. Few others can—not
even that primordial beast, the N'aal."

I took several steps backwards. I was still look-
ing around for some means of escape. She seemed
to realize this and looked up suddenly.

Her face was now a mask of hatred!

"Very well, Michael Kane—by refusing me you
are accepting the fate I had planned for you.
Guards!"

The huge Argzoon warriors entered.

"Take him! Send messengers to all the Argzoon
who have returned. There are not many as yet—but
tell them all to come. Tell them they are going to
witness a sacrifice to Raharumara!"

With that, I was led away.

I spent a short time with my guards when they
paused in a chamber near the exit of the castle.
Then they led me out through the smoky, evil-
smelling streets of the Black City. Behind us, in
twos and threes at first, then in increasing num-
bers, there began to follow a procession of
Argzoon. One blue warrior who strode beside my
guards, keeping pace with me, darted me a strange
glance which I could not interpret. The warrior did
not wear armor—I assumed he had lost it during
the flight back to the Black City—and he had the
signs of a recent wound on his breast. Then we
were passing from the city and I forgot about him.

The scene beyond the city was like a mediaeval
painting representing Hell. The great bonfires
roared, sending flickering, smoky light across the
rocky plain that was the cavern floor. The giant
Argzoon looked like demons as they escorted me
over the plain. The fires were the fires on which
the damned were roasted. And I was soon to meet
a creature very like an ancient representation of
Satan!

Horguhl was already there, standing on a dais
that was reached by a flight of about sixty steps.

Her back was turned to us and her arms were out-
stretched. On either side of her were braziers, flar-
ing brightly to show her to all. The Argzoon began
to form a semi-circle at the bottom of the steps,
and spread out along the sides of what was plainly
a pit, now that we were closer. The steps termi-
nated at the dais and the dais looked down on the
pit.

My guards halted and waited expectantly just
before the first step. We all looked up at Horguhl.
She was crooning something. The words—sounds,
rather, for I did not recognize them—sent a shud-
der through me and I noticed that many of the
Argzoon were similarly affected.

There came a peculiar, slithering sound from the
pit and from it, just to one side of the dais, I saw a
great flat serpent head rise up and begin to sway in
rhythm to Horguhl's crooning.

The Argzoon muttered in superstitious fear and
began to chant and sway in time to the movement
of the serpent head. It was of a sickly yellowish
color, with long fangs curving out of its mouth
from the upper jaw. There was a stale, un-
wholesome smell about it, and once it opened its
great jaws and gave forth a horrid hissing, re-
vealing a gaping red maw and a huge forked
tongue.

Then Horguhl's crooning became softer and
softer, the swaying more gentle, the humming of
the spectators almost inaudible, and then—it came
almost as a shock to me—absolute silence.

Suddenly this silence was broken as from behind
me there came a cry.

"No! No!"

I turned my head and saw who it was that had
cried out.

"Shizala!" I shouted involuntarily. The fiends had
brought her here to witness my death—that was
obvious. Even from that distance I could see her
cheeks were streaked with tears and she struggled

in the grasp of two massive blue warriors. I tried to
break away and run towards her, but my bonds
and my guards stopped me.

"Stay alive!" I shouted to her. "Stay alive! Do not
fear!" I could not tell her that Darnad was even
now riding for civilization, bent on bringing help
to rescue her. But perhaps my cry would mean
something to her. "Stay alive!"

Her voice answered faintly: "Oh, Michael Kane,
I-I-"

"Silence!" Horguhl had turned and was ad-
dressing her subjects as much as myself and
Shizala. "Take the prisoner to the pit's edge!"

I was hustled forward and stared down to where
the N'aal Beast was coiled. Its oddly intelligent
eyes stared up at me—and I shuddered at this—al-
most with malicious humor!

"The N'aal Beast is in a playful mood today,"
Horguhl said from above me. "He will play with
you for some time before devouring you."

I resolved to show no sign of the horror within
me.

"Throw him down!" Horguhl ordered.

Bound and helpless, I was thrown into the Pit of
the N'aal Beast!

I managed to land on my feet some yards away
from where the huge snake-creature still lay coiled,
looking at me with those terrible eyes.

And then, suddenly, from above I heard a cry
and looked up. An Argzoon warrior was staring
down at me—the one I had seen earlier who had
looked at me so strangely. He had a sword in one
hand and a battleaxe in the other. What was he
doing?

I heard Horguhl shriek to her guards: "Stop
him!"

And then the Argzoon was leaping into the pit to
stand beside me. He raised his sword and I sud-
denly realized the truth of what was happening.

Chapter Thirteen

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

AT FIRST I had thought that the warrior was going
to slay me himself for some obscure reason. But
this was not the case. Swiftly he slashed my bonds.

"I know you," I said in surprise. "You are the
warrior I fought near Varnal."

"I am the warrior whose life you refused to
take—whom you spared from the insults and
swords of his comrades. I have thought much on
what you did, Michael Kane. I admired what you
did. It meant something to me. And now—I can at
least help you to fight for your life against this
creature."

"But I thought your folk feared it because of its
supposed supernatural character."

"True. But I begin to doubt that this is true.
Quickly—take this sword, I have always been a
better axe-man than a swordsman."

With this unexpected—and welcome—ally, I
turned to face the N'aal Beast.

The Beast seemed put out by this turn of events.
Its gaze went from one to the other of us as though
uncertain which one to attack first, for we had
spaced out now—both crouching, waiting.

The Beast's great head suddenly whipped
towards me. I stumbled backwards until I stood
against the wall, desperately hacking at its snout
with the great Argzoon blade.

It was evidently unused to its victims retaliating
and it hissed in apparently puzzled anger as my
sword gashed a wound in its snout.
It drew back its head and began to uncoil, so

that soon the head had risen high above me and I
was in its shadow. Down came the gaping maw
and I thought it would take me in one gulp. I
raised the sword point-first and as the mouth was
almost upon me, the fetid breath almost overpow-
ering, I dug the sword-point into the beast's soft
palate.

It screamed and threshed backwards. Mean-
while, the Argzoon warrior had come in and
hacked at the beast's head with his axe. It turned
on him and the sweeping head caught him off bal-
ance.

He fell and the N'aal Beast opened its mouth,
about to snap off his head.

Then I saw my chance. I leapt on to the N'aal
Beast's back—on to its upper head and, running
over that flat head, straddled it just above the eyes.
 All this took only a few seconds, as the Argzoon
below tried desperately to fend off the snapping
jaws.

I raised my sword in both hands over the crea-
ture's right eye.

I plunged the blade downwards.

The steel sank in. The head jerked backwards
and I was flung—swordless now—from my perch.

The N'aal Beast turned again towards me. The
sword still protruded from its eye so that it made
an even more grotesque sight as it came at me.

The Argzoon axe-man leapt up again and came
to stand by me, evidently intending to protect me
now that I was unarmed.

The beast let out a chilling, reverberating
scream, and the gaping mouth, forked tongue flick-
ering rapidly, flashed down on us.

Only inches before it reached us, the head sud-
denly turned and flung itself upwards. The beast
uncoiled its whole length and began to shoot up so
that I felt it would leave the pit altogether. I
caught a glimpse of spectators scattering—and then

it flopped down, almost striking us and finishing us
by crushing us beneath its weight.

My sword had done the trick. I had killed it. It
had clung on to life longer than anything should
have. I half-credited its supernatural origin then!

I bent towards the great head and removed my
sword. It slid out easily.

Then I realized that nothing was really saved. I
was still imprisoned and, though armed, there were
some two hundred Argzoon above us, ready to
destroy us at a word from Horguhl.

"What do we do?" I asked my new friend.

"I know," he said, after some thought. "There is
a small opening—look there, at the base of the pit
on the other side." I followed his pointing finger.
He was right. There was an opening large enough
to take a man but not large enough for the head of
the N'aal Beast.

"What is it?" I asked.

"A tunnel that leads to the slave pens. Sometimes
slaves are forced down it from the other side to
feed the beast." My new friend chuckled grimly.
"It will feast no more on human flesh! Come, fol-
low me. We have slain the N'aal Beast—that will
impress them. They will be even more impressed
when they see we have vanished from the pens.
With luck, we shall escape in the confusion."

I followed him into the tunnel.

As we moved along it, he told me his name.
Movat Jard of the Clan Movat-Tyk—one of the
great Argzoon clans in the old days, before Hor-
guhl had reorganized the Argzoon nation. He told
me that though the Argzoon feared Horguhl's
power, they were now muttering against her. Her
ambitious schemes of large-scale conquest had
come to nothing—and Argzoon was decimated.

After some time, the dark runnel became a little
lighter and ahead I saw some sort of slatted
grating. It was of wood. Peering through it I saw a
cavern lighted by a single torch.

Lying about on the floor, in attitudes of the ut-
most dejection, closely packed like cattle, naked
and dirty, bearded and pale, were the remains of
the great army that had been ambushed here ear-
lier. Some hundred and fifty undernourished, spirit-
less slaves. I felt pity for them.

Movat Jard was hacking at the wooden grille
with his axe. It soon fell and some of the slaves
looked up in surprise as we entered. The smell of
humanity was almost too much to bear, but I knew
it was not their fault.

One fellow, who held himself straighter than the
rest and was as tall as I, stepped forward. He had
a heavy beard which he had endeavoured to keep
clean, and his body rippled with muscle as if he
had been deliberately keeping himself in training.

When he spoke his voice was deep and manly-
even dignified.

"I am Carnak," he said simply. "What means
this? Who are you and how came you here? How
did you evade the N'aal Beast?"

I did not only address him. I addressed them all,
since they were all looking at us with something
akin to hope in their eyes.

"The N'aal Beast is dead!" I announced. "We
slew it—this is Movat Jard, my friend."

"An Argzoon your friend? Impossible!"

"Possible—and my life is witness to that!" I
smiled at Movat Jard, who made an attempt to
smile back, though when he bared his teeth he still
looked menacing!

"Who are you?" asked the bearded man, Carnak.

"I am a stranger here—a stranger to your planet,
but I am here to help you. Would you be free?"

"Of course," he said. A murmur of excitement
ran round the cavern. Men began to get up, a new
liveliness in their manner.

"You must be prepared to win such freedom
dearly," I told them. "From somewhere we must
get weapons."

"We cannot fight the whole Argzoon nation,"
Carnak said in a low voice.

1 know," I said. "But the whole Argzoon nation
is not here. There are perhaps two hundred war-
riors in all—and they are demoralized."

"Is this true? Really true?" Carnak was grinning
excitedly.

"It is true," I said, "but you are outnumbered as
well as unarmed. We must think carefully—but first
we must escape from here."

"That should not be difficult in our present
mood," replied Carnak. "There are usually more
guards, but at present there are only two." He
pointed to the other entrance to the cave. It was
made of wickerwork, that was all. "Normally the
cave beyond is thick with guards and all who have
tried to escape that way have been cut down or
forced back and sacrificed to the N'aal Beast. But
now..."

With Movat Jard close at my heels, I strode to
the door and immediately began hacking at it with
my sword.

Movat Jard joined me, using his axe. The prison-
ers crowded eagerly behind us, Carnak well to the
fore.

From the other side of the door we heard a
grunt of surprise. Then an Argzoon yelled:

"Cease—or you'll be food for the N'aal!"
    "The N'aal is dead," I replied. "You address the
two who slew it."

We forced the door down. It fell outwards and
crashed to the floor, revealing two baffled-looking
guards, their swords in their hands.

Movat Jard and I rushed at them instantly and
had soon despatched them in as swift a series of
strokes as I shall ever witness.

Carnak bent down and took one of the swords
from the fallen guard. Another man also took a
sword and two others helped themselves to a mace
and an axe respectively.

"We must go to the Weapon Chambers of
Argzoon," Movat Jard said. "Once there, we can
equip ourselves properly."

"Where lie these dungeons?" I asked.

"Why, under the Black City. There are several
entrances."

"And where lie the Weapon Chambers?"

"In the castle—Horguhl's castle. If we are quick
we can get there before they return to the city.
They must be in some confusion."

"Movat Jard, why do you help us against your
own folk?" Carnak asked. He seemed just a little
suspicious, for he had already experienced one
clever Argzoon trap.

"I have learned much from a little that Michael
Kane here said, and what he did, once, for me. I
have learned that ideas can sometimes rise above
blood loyalties. And besides, it is Horguhl whom I
fight, not the Argzoon. If we beat her, then I shall
have to decide again what my attitude is—but not
until she no longer rules the Argzoon!"

Carnak seemed convinced by this. We rushed up
the slopes leading away from the dungeons and
had soon reached an iron gate kept by a single
watchman. When he saw us and noted, perhaps,
the desperate looks in our eyes, he did not draw
his weapons but flung out his hands before him.

"Take my keys—do not take my Me."

"A fair bargain," I said, accepting his keys and
unlocking the iron gate. "We will also borrow your
weapons." Two more men were armed with a
sword and an axe—making eight in all. We bound
the Blue Giant and passed on into the streets.

Beyond the walls of the Black City we heard the
confused babble of voices, but the Argzoon had
not yet reached the gates. We headed towards the
nearby castle, pouring through the streets towards
the Weapon Chambers, with Movat Jard, Carnak
and myself in the lead.

We swarmed into the castle, cutting down the
few guards who attempted to stop us.

Just as we were breaking into the Weapon
Chambers, the first of the Argzoon returned and
shouted the alarm.

We burst into the Weapon Chambers, less well
laid-out but not unlike the Weapon Room of Var-
nal in appearance, though the weapons were, of
course, more barbaric.

While the joyful prisoners went to arm them-
selves with the best weapons of the Argzoon—not
to mention the heaps of captured weapons they
found lying therein—we eight, who were already
armed, met the initial wave of Argzoon warriors.

We must have made a strange sight, the three of
us who led—a blue man of the Argzoon nearly ten
feet in height; a wild-eyed, naked man covered in
hair; and a tanned swordsman who was not even of
that planet. But one thing we all had in common—
we could use swords.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, fending off our
attackers while our comrades armed themselves. It
seemed that I faced a veritable wall of swords rain-
ing down upon me from the Blue Giants.

Somehow we held them off—and succeeded in
depleting our enemies.

Then, from behind us, came a great roar!

The prisoners were all armed and ready to fight.
The slaves had become warriors again—warriors
with a lust for vengeance for the years of servitude
and fear, revenge for the treacherous ambush
which had wiped out a great percentage of the
flower of southern manhood.

We pressed forward now, driving the Argzoon
before us!

Along the corridors of the castle we fought. In
halls and rooms we fought. In Horguhl's deserted
throne room we fought, and in her private rooms,
too. At one stage I took the opportunity to tear
down the N'aal tapestry hanging there.

Out into the streets until the whole of the Black
City seethed with fighting men.

Our numbers were few. Our men had all but for-
gotten their old training. But our hearts were full
of exultant battle-lust, for at long last we were able
to strike back at our old enemies.

By the time all our force was in the streets, the
Argzoon had cut down more than a third of our
men—but we had taken more of them!

And the longer we fought, the more of their old
skills the ex-slaves remembered. The fighting in the
city became more sporadic as the Argzoon attempt-
ed to re-form.

We used the pause to check our own strength
and discuss strategy. We held a large area around
the castle, but the Argzoon still held most of the
city.

Somewhere were Horguhl and Shizala. I prayed
that Horguhl would not order Shizala slain in the
pique of defeat; that the Queen still had confi-
dence in her warriors' ability to win.

The Argzoon attacked first, but we were ready
for them, with warriors deployed in every street.

For a time neither side gained any advantage.
We held our position and the Argzoon held theirs.

"It is deadlock," said Movat Jard as he, Carnak
and I conferred.

"How can we break it?" I asked.

"We must get a fairly large party of warriors
into position behind them," Carnak said. "Then we
can attack them from two sides and drive a wedge
through their ranks."

"A good plan," I agreed. "But how can we move
that party of warriors? We cannot fly."

"True," Movat Jard said, "but we can go under
them. Remember the slave-pens? Remember that I
said there were several entrances and exits?"

"Yes," I replied. "Could we go through one of
these and emerge behind the enemy?"

"Unless they are ready for that trick," he said,

"we could. But if they have blocked the entrances,
we stand to lose more—since we will have a force
of good warriors stranded down there unable to
help defend the area we have gained. Is it worth
the risk?"

"Yes," I said. "For if we do not gain an ad-
vantage soon our men will tire. They are already
weak from the sojourn. We cannot afford to waste
any more time."

"Who will lead them?" Carnak stepped forward,
evidently thinking of himself.

"I will," I said. "You are both needed here to
rally the defenders."

They understood the necessity of this.

Within a shati, I was leading a force of some
thirty warriors towards the slave-pen entrance
Movat Jard had indicated.

Down the winding ramps we went at a loping
run.

And we ran straight into a detachment of
Argzoon coming the other way!

Almost before we knew it we were wasting time
and men in a battle for the underground passage.

The Argzoon seemed to be fighting with little
will, and I had killed two myself and disarmed
several more before the rest lay down their arms,
holding out their hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Why do you give up so easily?" I asked one of
them.

He answered in the coarse, guttural accent of his
people.

"We are tired of fighting battles for Horguhl," he
said. "And she does not lead us even—she disap-
peared after you killed the N'aal Beast. We only
followed her because we thought Raharumara
dwelt in the N'aal Beast and she was stronger than
Raharumara. But now we know that Raharumara
does not dwell in the N'aal Beast, else you could
not have killed it. We do not wish to lose our lives
for her schemes any longer—too many of our broth-

ers have died over the years to satisfy her ambi-
tions. Now it has all come to this—a few warriors
fighting in the streets of the Black City, defending
themselves against slaves! We wish a truce!"

"How many others feel as you do?" I asked.

"I do not know," he admitted. "We have not
talked—too much has happened too swiftly."

"You know the fair-haired girl Horguhl brought
here and who was at the ceremony of the N'aal
Beast earlier?" I questioned him.

"I saw her, yes."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I think she is in the Tower of Vulse."

"Where is that?"

"Near the main gate—it is the tallest tower in the
city."

We took their arms from them and continued on
through the slave-pens emerging at last in a part of
the city almost immediately behind the rear lines
of the battling Argzoon.

We attacked at once.

With cries of surprise the Argzoon turned. Then
we were locked in combat, driving through their
midst in an effort to link up with our comrades on
the other side.

I myself was engaged with one of the largest
Argzoon I had encountered. He was almost twelve
feet high and fought with a long lance and a
sword.

At one stage he flung the lance at me. By
chance, I grabbed it in mid-air, turned it and flung
it back at him. It caught him in the belly. I fin-
ished him with my sword. If it had not been for
that lucky catch, I doubt if I should have survived
the encounter.

Now I could see that we were almost linked with
our fellows on the other side.

Certain that the tactic had succeeded, I left my
men in charge of a dark-skinned warrior who had

shown skill and intelligence in the fighting, and left
the fray, sheathing my sword.

I was running for the Tower of Vulse near the
main gate. Here I hoped that I would at least find
Shizala and make myself responsible for her safety,
if I could do nothing else.

I saw the Tower soon and noted that its entrance
seemed unguarded.

But I saw something else. Something that sent a
shock of surprise thrilling through me.

What I saw I thought impossible—some trick of
the light, some illusion.

What I saw was an aircraft tethered near the top
of the tower—an aircraft similar to the one in
which Shizala and I had flown when we went to
the camp of the Argzoon!

How did it come to be there?

I reached the entrance of the tower and ran in-
side. There I found a set of winding, stone steps
leading up and up. There seemed to be no rooms
in the lower part of the tower. I began to run up
the steps.

Near the top of the tower I found a door. It was
unbarred and I flung it open.

I felt shock as I saw the two within the room.

One of them was Shizala.

The other—? The other was Telem Fas Ogdai,
Bradhinak of Mishim Tep, Shizala's betrothed.

He had one arm around Shizala and his other
hand held a sword as he looked warily towards the
door through which I had burst.

Chapter Fourteen

SWEET JOY
AND BITTER SORROW

FOR a moment I confess that my emotion was one
of dreadful disappointment rather than joy that
Shizala was safe in the arms of a protector.

I dropped my guard and smiled at Telem Fas
Ogdai.

"Greetings, Bradhinak. I am glad to see that you
have managed to keep the Bradhinaka from dan-
ger. How did you get here? Did you hear some-
thing of where we had gone in Narlet, perhaps? Or
was Darnad able to get word to you more swiftly
than I had supposed?"

Telem Fas Ogdai smiled and shrugged. "Does it
matter? I am here and Shizala is safe. That is the
important thing."

I felt the answer rather unnecessarily oblique
but accepted it.

"Michael Kane," Shizala said, "I was sure you
had been killed by now."

"Providence is on my side, it seems," I said, try-
ing to hide the expression in my eyes, which must
have added—'save in the most important matter of
my life'.

"I hear you've performed miracles of daring."
Telem Fas Ogdai spoke somewhat ironically. My
dislike for him increased in spite of my effort to
take an objective attitude to bin. He was not help-
ing me.

"Providence again," I said.

"Perhaps you will leave us for a moment," Telem
Fas Ogdai said. "I would like to have some words
with Shizala in private."

I would not be boorish a second time. I bowed
slightly and went out of the room.

As the door closed I heard Shizala's voice sud-
denly scream loudly.

It was too much. In spite of my earlier encounter
at the palace of Varnal, I could not control myself.
I sprang back into the room.

Shizala was struggling in the grasp of a scowling
Telem Fas Ogdai. He was trying to drag her
towards the window to where his aircraft waited.

"Stop!" I ordered levelly.

She was sobbing. "Michael Kane—he—"

"I am sorry, Shizala, but no matter what you
think of me for it, I will not stand by and see a
brute handle a lady so!"

Telem Fas Ogdai laughed. He had sheathed his
sword, but now he released Shizala in order to
draw it.

To my surprise she ran immediately to me!

"He is a traitor!" she shouted. "Telem Fas Ogdai
was in league with Horguhl—they planned to rule
the continent together!"

I could hardly believe my ears. I drew my own
blade.

"He threatened to kill you unless I remained
silent just now," she went on. "I—I did not want
that."

Telem Fas Ogdai chuckled. "Remember your
bond, Shizala. You must still marry me."

"When the world learns that you are a traitor," I
said, "she will not."

She shook her head. "No, a bond of the kind we
made goes higher than ordinary law. He is right.
He will be exiled and I with him!'

"But that is a cruel law!"

"It is tradition," she said simply. "It is a custom
of our folk. If tradition is ignored society will
crumble, we know that. Therefore the individual
must sometimes suffer unjustly, for the sake of the
Great Law."

It was hard for me to argue against this. I may
be old-fashioned, but I have great respect for tradi-
tion and custom as pillars of society.

Suddenly Telem Fas Ogdai laughed again, a
somewhat unhinged chuckle, and lunged towards
me.

I thrust Shizala behind me and met his lunge
with a swift parry.

Back and forth across the room we fought. I had
never encountered such a skilled swordsman. We
were evenly matched, save that I had earlier exert-
ed myself a great deal. I began to feel that he
must win and Shizala would be condemned to
spending her life with a traitor she hated!

Soon I was actually retreating before a whirl-
wind of steel and found myself with my back not
against the wall—but worse—my back was to the
window. A drop of a hundred feet was behind me!

I saw Telem Fas Ogdai grin as he forced me fur-
ther back. I became desperate. From somewhere I
called on extra reserves of energy. In a last final,
desperate bid I hurled myself forward, straight into
that network of flashing steel!

I took him by surprise. It saved my life and cost
him his.

He stumbled backward for a moment.

I thrust rapidly at his throat. The point met flesh
and he fell with a great roar of baffled rage.

I knelt beside him as the life bubbled from him.
I could not save him. We both knew he was going
to die. Shizala came and knelt by him, too.

"Why, Telem," she said, "why did you do such a
despicable thing?"

He turned his eyes towards her, speaking with
difficulty.

"It was an expedition I undertook in secret more
than a year ago. I thought I would try to discover
what had happened to your father. Instead, I was
captured and brought to Horguhl."

"You were brave to attempt such a thing," I said
softly.

"She—she seduced me somehow," he said. "She
told me secrets—dark secrets. I became completely
in her power. I helped her plan the final stages of
the attack on Varnal. I deliberately went to Varnal
at the time of the attack, knowing that I would be
asked to carry a message for help to Mishim Tep
and your other allies." He began to cough horribly,
then rallied himself.

"I—I could not help myself. I expected you to be
defeated, but you were not. Your folk learned that
I had not taken the message to Mishim Tep—m-my
father asked why I had not. I—I could not reply.
People talked—soon it was common knowledge that
I had betrayed Varnal, though—though none knew
why. It was that woman—it is like a dream—I—I am
a traitor and a fool—she—she—"

He raised himself up then, his eyes staring
blankly out at nothing.

"She is evil!" he cried. "She must be found and
killed. Until she is, all that we love and hold valu-
able on Vashu will be in danger of corruption. Her
secrets are terrible—they give her an awful power!
She must die!"

And then he fell back—dead.

"Where is Horguhl?" Shizala asked me.

"I do not know. I think she has escaped—but to
where is a mystery. This cavern-world is not fully
known even to the Argzoon!"

"Do you think he exaggerated—that his mind
was clouded?"

"I think it possible," I said.

And then, quite suddenly, she was in my arms,
sobbing and sobbing.

I held her close, whispering words of comfort
into her ear. She had been through incredible
hardships and terrors and had borne them all
bravely. I did not blame her for crying then.

"Oh, Michael Kane—oh—my love!" she sobbed.

I could scarcely believe my ears. I felt that the
day's trials had turned my brain!

"Wh-what did you say?" I asked softly, bewil-
dered.

She controlled her sobbing and looked up at me,
smiling through her tears. "I said, 'my love'," she
repeated. "Michael Kane, I have loved you ever
since we first met. Remember, when the mizip
chased you?" I laughed and she joined in.

"But that is when I fell in love with you," I
gasped. "And—I thought you loved Telem Fas
Ogdai!"

"I admired him—then," she said, "but I could not
love him—particularly after I had seen you. But
what could I do? Tradition had bound me to him
and I could not break with tradition—"

"Nor would I expect you to," I said. "But now—"

She put her arms around me and I drew her
close. "Now," she breathed, "we are free to marry
as soon as the betrothal day can be arranged!"

I bent to kiss her and then realized that I was
not yet sure how the battle had gone.

"We must see how our men are dealing with the
Argzoon," I said.

She knew nothing of what had happened—or at
least little. Quickly I told her. She smiled again
and slipped her hand in mine. "I will not be parted
from you again," she said. I knew I should have
left her in the tower—or better still in the aircraft,
where she would be safest—but I could not bear
the thought of something else separating us. The
aircraft reminded me of the time we had flown to-
gether over the Argzoon camp and I asked her
why she had left the security of the ship.

"Did you not realize?" she asked as we moved
down the steps, hand in hand. "I wished to help
you—or die with you, if that was to be. But when I
got there you had already done your work and
gone!"

I squeezed her hand affectionately and with
gratitude. I knew the rest from Horguhl.

In the street we discovered that the Argzoon
were laying down their arms, evidently losing all
stomach for fighting now that they had learned
their Queen had fled.

Towards us, marching in excited triumph, came
a detachment of warriors headed by Movat Jard
and Carnak, the ex-slave.

We waited to meet them and I felt suddenly
weary as I realized that we had won and that I
need do no more fighting that day.

Tired as I felt, my heart was bounding with
gladness. We had won—and Shizala had promised
to be mine. I wished nothing else!

Then, suddenly, Carnak came rushing forward, a
smile on his lips and his hands outstretched.

"Shizala!" he cried. "Shizala-is it really you?
What are you doing here?"

She looked puzzled, not recognizing the bearded
man. I wondered if it was an old friend and hoped
it might not be some previous fiance or someone
who would shatter my happiness!

"Carnak—you know Shizala?" I said in surprise.

"Know her!" Carnak laughed heartily. "I should
think I do!"

"Carnak!" It was Shizala's turn to laugh. Is that
your name? Is it?"

"Of course!"

I watched with some jealousy, I don't mind tell-
ing you, as the older man took my Shizala in his
arms. And then all was revealed in a single word.

"Father!" she cried. "Oh, father, I thought you
were dead!"

"So I would have been in a very short time had
it not been for this young man with the strange-
sounding name—and this fierce savage, his friend."
Carnak cocked a thumb at Movat Jard.

Shizala turned to me.

"You saved my father's life?" She hugged my

arm. "Oh,  Michael  Kane—the House  of Varnal
owes its very existence to you!"

I smiled. "Thank you—if it did not exist I would
be a very sad man."

Carnak patted my shoulder. "What a cham-
pion—I've known none like him in all my days—and
I've known some good warriors, too."

"You are a fine warrior yourself, sir," I said.

"I'm not so bad, young man—but I was never so
good as you." Then he looked regretfully at his
daughter and me. "I can see that you feel—um-
some emotion for one another. But you realize,
Shizala, that there is nothing you can do about it?"

"What?" I was almost beside myself with horror
at this. What new factor had arisen to become a
barrier between my love and me?

Carnak shook his head. "There is the matter of
the Bradhinak Telem Fas Ogdai. He—"

"He is dead," I said. I felt relief. Of course, Car-
nak knew nothing of what had happened recently.
Quickly I told him.

He frowned as he listened. "I knew the lad was
headstrong—and I knew Horguhl could use those
eyes and that voice of hers to put anyone in her
power—but I never thought that the son of my
oldest friend could . . ." He cleared his throat . . .
"It was, in a sense, my fault—for he came to see if I
still lived, a prisoner, with the intention of saving
me." Carnak—or the Bradhi of Varnal, as he was—
shook his head. "We shall tell his father that he
died on our behalf," he decided. "As, in an indirect
sense, he did."

He looked at us and smiled. "Then you can an-
nounce your betrothal as soon as we return to Var-
nal, if that is what you wish."

"It is what we wish," we replied in unison,
smiling at one another.

It took only a short time to round up the rest of
the demoralized Argzoon and it was decided that
we three—Carnak, Shizala and myself—should

leave the Black City in the charge of Movat Jard,
thus making the Argzoon's defeat less bitter. We
announced that Movat Jard was temporary ruler of
the Argzoon until some vote could be taken after a
treaty had been drawn up.

Realizing that the Argzoon had been led to this
situation by Horguhl's schemings, we were not as
hard on them as we might have been.

Soon we were entering the aircraft, bidding fare-
well for the moment to Movat Jard.

Carnak took the controls of the ship and guided
it through the difficult twists and turns of the tun-
nel leading to the open air.

Soon we were passing over the Wastes of Doom,
over the stunted forests, the wide river, the wilder-
ness and the Crimson Plain.

The journey took many days, but we spent it
making plans for the future, discussing all that had
passed while we had been parted.

Then soon we were hovering over Varnal.
When the city discovered who we were, it went
mad with joy and we were received with great cer-
emony. The betrothal was fixed for the following
day and I went to my old room that night in a
state of tremendous happiness.

But after all this came the bitterest blow of all.
It was as if Fate had decided to make me go
through all those trials simply to snatch away my
reward at the final moment—for, in the night, I felt
a strange, familiar sensation come over me.

I felt my body seeming to break apart, felt as if,
once again, I was drawn across space and time at
fantastic speed. Then it was over and I was lying
down again. I smiled, thinking that it had been a
dream. I felt a light on my eyes and thought it
must be morning—the morning of my betrothal.

I opened my eyes and looked into the smiling
face of Doctor Logan—my chief assistant at the
laboratories!

"Logan!" I gasped. "Where am I—what has hap-
pened?"

"I don't know, professor," he said. "Your body is
a mass of scars—but you've put on extra muscle
from somewhere. How do you feel?"

"What has happened!" I repeated loudly.

"You mean this end? Well, it took us about seven
hours, but we finally picked you up again on some
funny wavelength—we thought we'd lost you alto-
gether. Something went wrong with the transmit-
ter. Some jamming, perhaps—I don't know."

I got up and seized him by his lab coat.

"You've got to send me back! You've got to send
me back!"

"Hey—your experiences haven't done you any
good, prof," one of the technicians said. "You're
lucky to be alive at all. We've been working for
seven hours—you were as good as dead!"

"I still am," I said, my shoulders sagging. I let go
of Logan's coat and stood there looking at the
equipment. It had taken me to a place of high ad-
venture and a lovely woman—and it had brought
me back to this drab world.

I was hustled away to the sick bay and they
wouldn't let me out for weeks what with the doc-
tors and psychologists trying to discover what had
'really' happened to me. I was judged unfit for
work and they'd never let me get near the trans-
mitter, of course—though I tried several times. Fi-
nally they sent me to Europe—on extended leave.

And here I am.

Epilogue

AND that, substantially, was the testament of Pro-
fessor Michael Kane, physicist and swordsman-
scientist on Earth, warrior on Mars.

Believe it, as I believed it, if you will. Do not be-
lieve it if you can.

After hearing Kane's story I asked his permission
to do two things.

He wanted to know what they were.

"Let me publish this remarkable story of yours,"
I said, "so that the whole world might judge your
sanity and truthfulness."

He shrugged. "I suspect few will make the cor-
rect judgment."

"At least those few will be right."

"Very well—and the other request?"

"That you let me finance a privately built matter
transmitter. Can it be done?"

"Yes. I am, after all, the inventor of the machine.
It would require a great deal of money, however."

I asked how much. He told me. It would make a
large hold in my income—really rather more than I
could afford, but I did not tell him that. I was
ready to back my faith in his story with a great
deal of money.

Now the transmitter is almost finished. Kane says
he thinks he can tune it to the correct frequency.
We have worked like dogs for weeks to complete
it, and I hope he is right.

This machine is in some ways more sophisticated
than the first one, in that it is really a type of
'transceiver' being permanently tuned on this
special wave.

Kane's idea is that if he can return to Mars—
however many centuries in the past it lies-he will
be able to build another machine there and thus
travel back and forth at will. That side of it seems,
perhaps, a little too ambitious, but I have de-
veloped a great respect for his scientific mind.

Will it work?

I do not yet know. As this manuscript goes to
press, we still have a week or so in which to test
the machine.

Perhaps, soon, I will have more to write about
the Warriors of Mars?

I hope so.