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- Written November 1952 - Published
June 2005 in
Tumithak of the Corridors (Book)
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Tumithak and the Ancient Word
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By Charles R. Tanner
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FORWARD
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Out of the pits of and corridors
into which they had burrowed generations before,
mankind emerged some three thousand years ago to
challenge the dominion of the savage Shelks of
Venus, who had for long been the lords of the
Surface. The long war between the two species that
followed this emergence wrecked what little
civilization humans had, as well as the weird,
unearthly culture of the Shelks.
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Today, however, after long, dark ages,
science has again risen to a high state, and we can
read rightly the story that archeology and legend
have combined to tell us of the days when humans
first struggled against those who had been for long
their savage masters.
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Already, many of the readers have read the
author’s version of the old legend of “Tumithak of
the Corridors,” the first man known to have
challenged the dominion of the Shelks. Of his first
journey, of his
leading
his tribe forth onto the Surface, and of the
conquest of Kaymak, the writer has already told.
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Now a hiatus comes into the story. After
the events of the conquest of the great Shelk city
of Kaymak, the legends become so full of magic and
wonder that the author has thought
it
best that he omit entirely the story of the conquest
of the
Six
Cities. The early Loorians and their allies did
conquer those Six Cities, but as to the how—we can
only say that we do not know. More than likely,
it
was due to their use of the same weapon that enabled
them to wipe out Kayrnak, coupled with the natural
element of surprise, a most valuable “weapon” in
those early days. Certainly, it was not due to any
means remotely like the absurdities of the legends.
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But following the story of this campaign
against the Six Cities, the events in the legends
again become conceivably possible. Therefore, let
the reader imagine that five years have passed since
the conquest of Kaymak, and that Tumithak is now
lord of an empire on the Surface about the size of,
and not remotely removed from, the ancient land of
Minnesota.
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CHAPTER ONE ~ Kidnapped
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As far as the eye could see, the strange
buildings of a novel city stretched away in all
directions. These buildings were not the great stone
structures of the Golden Age, not the weird metal
towers of the Shelks, nor even the mighty plastic
edifices of our present world. No, these buildings
were a curious hybrid sort that had never existed
before and were doomed to be destroyed and forgotten
before the generation that dwelled in them was to
pass away.
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They were the homes of people, built and
adapted from the wrecked and fallen Shelk towers of
the city that those people had conquered and
destroyed. For centuries, these humans had dwelled
in the long, underground corridors, and what was
more natural, when they came to live upon the
Surface, than that they should simulate, as closely
as possible, the way of life that was most familiar
to them? So the fallen Shelk towers had been
dismantled, their huge, metal walls cut up into
plates and rebuilt into long, low buildings, about
fifteen feet high and as many wide, and anywhere
from a hundred yards to half a mile long, the
interiors of which resembled closely the corridors
with their attendant side apartments.
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Some of the largest even had side branches,
and the general tendency of orienting the buildings
to secure the best possible lighting had brought
back what was practically the equivalent of ancient
streets.
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The people that walked these streets were
far different from the ones who, ten years before,
had cowered trembling in their corridors, miles
below the Surface. Most of these folk were under
forty, for the older people found it hard to endure
the vast changes in their way of life that Surface
living entailed; most of them still lived in the
corridors, though not so far below the surface as
they once had. But the younger folk, living in this
age of new hopes, and possessing the disrupter, that
mighty weapon that made human beings once more
superior to the savage things that had for so long
been their masters, these younger folk trod
confidently about in their city and looked forward
with neither fear nor anxiety toward each new
campaign against the Shelks.
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Now, on a certain day in late winter, one
man, heavily clad in gaily colored, quilted jacket
and leggings ran wildly down one of the streets
toward the center of the town, evidently in the last
stages of hysterical fright. Twice he was stopped by
pedestrians, who tried to find out what ailed him,
but each time he gabbled something unintelligible,
pointing as he did so to a flyer that was rising and
sailing away into the west, its huge wings flapping
faster and faster as it rose. Each time, he broke
away from his questioners and continued his headlong
flight into the city.
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He came at last to the huge building that
housed the administrative bureaus of the city, and
at the entrance he was stopped by a guard. He
gabbled wildly and tried to push his way past the
guard, but the soldier forced him sternly against a
wall and bellowed for his superior. By the time the
officer arrived, the winded messenger had gained
some control of himself, had managed to explain at
least part of his message to the guard, who now
became as excited as the messenger. Both guard and
messenger now broke into rapid talk, but the officer
silenced the guard and listened to the still excited
messenger.
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A moment later, all three were speeding
down the building’s central corridor toward the main
office.
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They came to a door with a symbol on it—a
Shelk’s head, with a gold band on the brow. The
officer knocked, a secretary answered, and after a
moment’s delay, they entered.
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In the inner room a man sat at a desk
littered with the thin, wooden paddles that were the
closest humans had come to paper since his
emergence. He was a tail, vigorous young man of
about thirty, but already there were quite a few
gray hairs mingled with the red about his temples.
He wore a thin gold band around his head; his
quilted jacket was tossed over the back of a chair,
showing the blouse of the blue tunic he wore
underneath. Vertical lines of worry were just
beginning to show in his forehead above his nose,
for the responsibilities that he bore were heavy,
and he bore them almost alone.
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But the messenger, the guard, and the
officer paid little attention to his appearance. The
officer opened his mouth to speak, but the messenger
threw himself across the desk, crying out wildly:
“Yofric has fled! Yofric the Stranger has fled
in the Thirty-Seven, and has taken our lady!
And the lord’s son! Even now he flies into the
west!”
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The man behind the desk looked
questioningly at the officer. The messenger had
poured out his statements in one breath, almost as
one word, and his listener had grasped the purport
of little of it. The officer, almost as excited as
the other, attempted to elucidate.
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“Yofric the Stranger has stolen a flyer, my
lord Tumithak, and has kidnapped Tholura and your
son! Even now he is fleeing into the west in the
flyer that he stole.”
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For a moment, Tumithak of Loor, whom two
hundred thousand men called Lord, stood
uncomprehending and dazed. Then, white-faced and
trembling with anger and anxiety, he exploded into
action. He turned and began barking orders.
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“Prepare Flyer number Twenty-One for
immediate action, Luramo,” he snapped at the
officer. “Mount a disruptor and a long-range fire
hose with a needle beam. Find Nikadur and Datto and
tell them to come at once. You!” he snapped at the
guard, “find me Kiletlok the Mog and bring him
here.” And lastly, “You, messenger! Return at
once to my home and bring here Domnik, the lady’s
servant. He’ll know most of the wherefore of this.”
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The three flew out of the door as if
on the wings of the wind, and Tumithak paced the
floor impatiently for a minute of two. Then he
picked up a hell and rang it vigorously. By the time
a guard answered it, the Loorian leader had already
donned his quilted jacket and was buckling it.
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“Get me my arms,” he demanded. “A short
sword and my fire hose. Pack three or four knapsacks
with pit food and a hospital kit. And send a
message to Luramo that the Twenty-One must have
extra power rods aboard.”
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The man darted away, and Tumithak was left
to resume his frenzied pacing.
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Kiletlok the Mog was the first of the men
Tumithak had called for to arrive. A tall, lean
man—so tall and lean, indeed, as to suggest that he
was of another race. And this was the truth, for
Kiletlok had been born into that race of humans whom
the Shelks had bred from ancient traitors at the
time of the Invasion. These men had been trained to
hunt their fellows in the pits and corridors, and
two thousand years of intensive breeding had turned
them into the equivalent of human greyhounds.
Kiletlok himself had been born in Kaymak and was a
grown man before events had caused him to cast his
lot with Tumithak.
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The Loorian glanced up as Kiletlok entered,
but he wasted no word of greeting.
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“Yofric has kidnapped Tholura and my son,”
he barked out. “You were right in your suspicions, I
am afraid. My desire to weld all men into one union
swayed my judgment.”
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Kiletlok shook his head, and a frown
puckered his brow.
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“He was too tall,” he growled. “I suspected
him of being a Mog from the first, you remember.”
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“I admit it,” said Tumithak. “His hair
fooled me, but it was obviously dyed. It is easy to
realize that, now that we know him guilty. But no
man ever looked more grateful and loyal than he did,
on that day when I found him, apparently, freezing
to death in the snow.”
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“He was sent,” the Mog stated, positively.
“No Mog would take an adventure like that on his own
shoulders. They sent him here to do the very deed
that he has succeeded in doing.”
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You’re right, certainly. My wife and son
are probably to be held by the Shelks as hostages.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, last fall. But
that’s past,” Tumithak said. “He flew west. Where
to, think you, Kiletlok?”
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Kiletlok considered.
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“Kuchklak, maybe, Lord Tumithak,” he said.
“Possibly Knekhept, but more likely Kuchklak,”
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He turned as he spoke, for Tumithak’s
lieutenants, Nikadur and Datto, had entered. Their
attitudes made it plain that they had already heard
the news.
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“You two will have to take over the work
here,” Tumithak began, without giving them a chance
to start the formal phrases with which they usually
greeted him. “I’m preparing to leave at once to
pursue Yofric. By the High One, I’ll slay that
traitor and bring back Tholura and my son if I have
to blast half of Shelkdom to do it!”
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The soldier who had been sent for
Tumithak’s arms returned as he spoke, and the
Loorian was silent as he buckled on fire hose and
sword. Then he turned to his two lieutenants.
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“As usual, my friends,” he ordered, “You,
Nikadur, are supreme in civil matters; you, Datto,
in war or defense. I know not how long I shall be
gone, but return I shall, some day, and my wife and
son with me. I swear it by this band I wear on my
brow.”
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He strode to the door.
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“You, Kiletlok, attend me. I will need your
aid and your knowledge of Shelk ways.”
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The two hastened out of the building and
off in the direction of the airdrome. They had gone
but a short distance when they met the messenger who
had originally brought Tumithak the fateful message.
Now he was bringing the servant whom Tumithak had
called for.
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This servant was a queer little fellow, a
good foot smaller than his tall master, and he was
slender almost to the point of emaciation. His skin
was a curious slaty blue; and his head was swathed
in layer after layer of bandages. For Domnik had
been one of the savages of the Dark Corridors, and
his ancestors, dwelling in eternal darkness, had
gone centuries without seeing the light of day. So
sensitive were their eyes that the light of the
Surface, either sunlight or moonlight, was
intolerable to them. So, though Domnik lived on the
Surface and wore his bandages constantly, yet his
bat-like sense of hearing and his sensitivity to
temperature change made him almost the equal of one
who could use his eyes.
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Tumithak ordered Domnik to follow him, and
at once hurried on to the airport. The Twenty-One
was awaiting them when they arrived, and they
boarded it immediately. A moment later, with
Kiletlok at the controls, it took off, flapping
swiftly into the west.
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For over an hour they flew, and while
Tumithak quizzed Domnik about the events leading up
to the flight of the stranger, Kiletlok’s sharp eyes
constantly scoured the horizon for signs of the
flyer that the traitorous Mog had escaped in. The
possibility that Yofric had altered his direction
once he was out of sight came to Kiletlok, and he
spoke of it to Tumithak. The Lord of Cities and
Corridors pointed out that he would have to traverse
at least three times as much territory to arrive at
a Shelk city if he flew in another direction, while
a short hundred miles would bring him to Kuchklak if
he continued due west. So they flew on, and finally
Kiletlok gave a savage shout, and pointed to a tiny
speck on the horizon ahead.
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“It is certainly the Thirty-Seven!”
exploded Tumithak. “No other flyer in all the land
would dare to be flying west at that speed now.
After it, Kiletlok!”
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There was little need to try to spur the
Mog on, though. Already the flyer was being driven
to the utmost; already its nose was pointed directly
at the kidnapper. And slowly, inexorably, the
distance between the two machines was being
lessened.
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Tumithak’s and Kiletlok’s eyes were intent
on the distant flyer, which would soon be in range
of their fire. So intent were they that they failed
to notice a rising unrest in little Domnik. Twice
the blind little fellow made attempts to speak, but
some remark or ejaculation from one of the others
would interrupt him, and he would apparently think
better of it. At last, however, he overcame his
backwardness and spoke up anxiously.
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“Look behind, Lord Tumithak, and to the
right. I feel the approach of another flyer.”
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Tumithak whirled instantly, but his eyes
had no sooner fallen on the approaching Shelk flyer
than he realized that Domnik’s warning had come too
late. Already the flyer was practically in fire hose
range, and although the Loorian chief sprang
instantly to the controls of the mounted disruptor,
he was not soon enough.
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A beam from the fire hose of the enemy
flyer struck the barrel of the disruptor and the
resulting blast of heat radiating from the suddenly
heated metal made Tumithak draw instinctively away
from it, even as he reached for the controls of his
weapon!
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CHAPTER TWO ~ Another Race
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Undaunted, Tumithak unlimbered his own fire
hose and sent a stabbing, vicious beam into the nose
of the enemy’s flyer. He had the satisfaction of
seeing the motor explode instantly in the face of
its savage driver, but the act came a second too
late; for even as his own beam struck, the beam from
the Shelk’s fire hose, sweeping away from the
damaged disruptor, caught the near wing at the point
where it joined the body of the flyer; and,
hesitating there for a single second, it welded the
wing firmly to the body.
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These flyers were ornithopters, which flew,
not by the use of propellers, but by the flapping
of their wings. With its left wing unable to
operate, the Thirty-Seven began to fly in an
erratic, descending circle; and Kiletlok was hard
put to keep it from crashing into the failing Shelk
flyer.
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Fortunately, there was not a better aviator
in all of Tumithak’s domain than the Mog, Kiletlok.
Somehow, he managed to coax his flyer to remain in
the air until he found a spot clear of trees. Then
he brought it down in an almost graceful glide to
what might be described as a reasonably safe
landing. All three were shaken up and a little
bruised, but there were no sprains or broken bones;
and in no time they were out of the flyer and
wondering what to do next.
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They were in Shelk territory, of that they
were certain. Therefore, the destruction of the
disruptor must he their first concern. For the
disruptor was a human-made weapon, the discovery of
the martyred Zar-Emo, priest of the Tains; and it
possessed the power of shooting a beam of radiation
that caused the instant release of all the power
contained in the white and shining rods which Shelks
and humans alike used as an energy source. As long
as humans alone possessed this secret weapon, he
stood superior to the Shelks. But if people let the
Shelks capture it, their future would become as
dreadful as the past.
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So Tumithak saw to it first that the
disruptor was taken apart as completely as possible.
He intended to fuse the parts into masses of
shapeless metal with his fire hose, but at Domnik’s
suggestion, he buried them instead, in spots some
dozens of yards apart. There was practically no
chance that any Shelk would ever find all the parts
and reassemble them, yet Tumithak might be able to
recover and repair them at some future date.
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Then, after dismantling the semi-portable
fire hose which had been mounted on the flyer and
assembling it into a portable one for Kiletlok to
carry, they set Out for the fallen Shelk flyer to
see if it contained anything of value to them.
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It was not far away. They located it almost
immediately and drew near it cautiously, uncertain
whether its occupants were all dead or not. There
was no sign of life around it, and they drew quite
near without a challenge from the machine.
Presently, Tumithak said, “Listen, Domnik! Do those
sharp ears of yours hear aught from the wreck?”
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Domnik made a sign for silence, and while
the other two held their breath, he cocked his head
to one side and stood there, a comical little gray
figure, his whole mind concentrated on his ears.
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“One breathes,” he announced, presently. “A
heavy, wheezing sort of breathing. It is not the
breathing like that of a Shelk. It breathes like a
frightened man.”
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Tumithak eyed Kiletlok with uncertainty.
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“A prisoner, do you suppose?” he asked.
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Kiletlok shrugged. “Perhaps it was best if
I looked,” he answered, and before Tumithak could
order otherwise, he boldly pushed open the door of
the flyer’s cabin and stepped inside.
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Tumithak backed him up immediately, half
expecting a blast of heat to burst from the interior
of the ship. But they entered the cabin unopposed,
and started in surprise at what they found there.
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The Shelk who had been handling the
controls of the flyer had been literally shattered
when Tumithak’s beam struck the motor. There had
been two more Shelks, farther back in the cabin, and
they, too, were dead, burned and crushed, slain
either by the heat beam or in the resulting crash.
But still alive, and cowering in the far end of the
cabin, bruised and scratched but apparently unhurt
otherwise, was a man.
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He was a huge, fat fellow, so big and so
round that Tumithak knew him at once for an Esthett.
His size betrayed his race even before the Loorian
noticed his sparse golden hair and beard and his now
torn and disheveled robes of silken gauze.
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Tumithak had first seen members of the
curious race of Esthetts when he had been on that
first historic journey from his home corridors of
Loor to the Surface, ten years before. Fat and
stupid, all their intelligence directed into a
useless and decadent art, and lured with
hypocritical lies by their savage masters, the
Esthetts were nothing more than cattle to the
Shelks. The Beasts of Venus bred them for size and
full-bloodedness, lulling them into a sense of false
security with an absurd belief of great appreciation
for their art until the day arrived for their
slaughter. Usually they were kept in deserted
human-pits, although one or two towns which Tumithak
had conquered had had Esthett yards on the Surface.
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This Esthett cowered in the far end of the
cabin, whimpering to himself in an excess of agony.
When he saw Tumithak, he hid his face in his robes
and increased his hysterical sobs. Tumithak gave him
a scornful kick in the rump and ordered him to
arise. His command was unheeded, so Kiletlok seized
the fat one by an obese shoulder and, not too
gently, assisted him to his feet.
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“Where was this flyer going?” demanded
Tumithak, tersely. The fat one gave no answer. He
was quite obviously in the grip of a powerful
hysteria. Tumithak let drive a couple more
questions, hut the creature was quite unable to
answer. With a gesture of disgust, the Lord of Shawm
and Kaymak turned to leave the flyer, beckoning
Kiletlok to follow him. The Mog gave the Esthett a
shove that almost knocked him from his feet, and
strode after his master. The effect on the Esthett
was rather surprising. With a squeal of frantic
fear, he waddled after them, whining shrilly: “Don’t
leave me! Oh, don’t leave me!”
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Tumithak snarled his disgust, as much at
the delay as at the Esthett’s character, but already
his keen mind was analyzing this creature, wondering
if, by befriending him, he couldn’t make him of some
use. Kiletlok, one of Tumithak’s most trusted
warriors, was a Mog, one of the foulest race of
humans that had ever existed. Yet he had been a
loyal and valued aid of the Loorian for over five
years. And many another had been won to the Shelk
slayer’s cause who had first been his enemy or
scorned as worthless. So he turned to Domnik.
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“Bring that creature along,” he said. “Lead
him, and see if you can’t silence his whimperings.”
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The little man took the Esthett by the arm
and, as Tumithak and Kiletlok strode away, he
followed after them. Tumithak had been chafing at
the delay that the wrecking of his flyer had caused,
and now the only thought in his mind was to follow
the trail of his wife and son as fast as his legs
would carry him. Unmindful of anything behind him,
he was only dimly aware of the droning, soothing
voice of Domnik as the blind one tried to calm the
hysterical Esthett.
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The flyer had gone down in late afternoon,
and darkness overtook them in a wood several miles
west of the crash site. The evening was cold, and
the Esthett, in particular, was shivering in his
gauzes, and his teeth were chattering before they
stopped for the night. Tumithak would have pushed
on, had the incident occurred a few years earlier,
but his experience as a leader had, by this time,
taught him to consider his men’s comfort. Though his
own men likely were chilled as well, they would
never say anything. Regretfully he ordered a halt
for the night. They gathered together a pile of
sticks and set fire to them with their fire hose and
sat down to eat a few biscuits of the dry, tasteless
food concentrate that they had brought with them.
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Domnik’s droning sympathetic voice had
worked wonders with the Esthett. His attitude was
still fearful, and he did a lousy job of disguising
the disgust with which all Esthetts habitually
regarded the “wild men,” as they called the pit-men,
but his hysteria had waned. Only occasionally did he
choke back a sob.
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“My name is Lornathusia,” he said in answer
to Tumithak’s questioning. But when Tumithak tried
to find out from whence he came, he found himself up
against a wall of ignorance. To the Esthett, the
corridors in which he had been born were the whole
world for him, and only the legend of the wondrous
Surface where the Holy Shelk dwelled made him
understand that there could be anywhere else.
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“All my life,” he whined, “was but a rite
of worship of our Holy Masters. I was the son of a
sculptor, and he taught me to follow in his
footsteps. When the Holy Shelks called him to the
Surface, some eight years ago, I vowed that my work
should be so fine that I would follow him as soon as
possible.”
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He looked around him fearfully.
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“This!” he whispered. “This I don’t
understand. I was taught, like all the children of
my people, that the cities of the Shelks were vast
dream palaces of heavenly loveliness. When word came
yesterday that I, with six of my companions, was to
be taken to the Surface, I was in a transport of
happiness. When we emerged from the halls onto the
Surface, and saw the strange metal towers of the
city, we wondered, but we did not doubt.
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“And then—ah!” he almost screamed, and for
several moments, Domnik was busy calming him. When
he was ready to speak again, Tumithak forestalled
him.
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We know well enough what happened, fat on,”
he said. “The tale has been told before. The Shelk
slew your companions and drew off their blood to
prepare it for Shelk food. It’s an old story. But
why did they spare you?”
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Lornathusia almost became hysterical again.
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“Yes, why?” he moaned. “I do not know. I
know nothing, nothing! Where are the glorious
palaces of the Surface that I was taught to believe
in? Where are my brothers and my father and my
ancestors, whom I thought dwelling in happiness in
those palaces? Where are the Holy Shelks who honor
the works that my brothers toil to prepare for them?
Who are these evil Shelk that slay and devour men?
And who, who are you, strange, wild, little men that
fight with Shelk and slay them? Oh—my world is gone
and destroyed entirely, and I am lost in a corridor
of demons and wild men!”
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He buried his face in his arms, but
Tumithak, with a gesture that was almost gentle,
raised his head and commanded his attention.
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“Listen,” ordered the Loorian. “I may not
be a painter of pictures or a builder of statues,
but I am a man and the friend of all humans. And the
Shelks who slew your friends lie dead in a wrecked
flyer. So listen to me!”
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He stood up, his eyes looking not at
Lornathusia, nor at his two comrades, but off into
the dark, as though he saw there a vision.
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“I am Tumithak,” he said. “Tumithak, Lord
of Loor, of Nonone, of Yakra and all the Lower
Corridors. I am the whelmer of Shawm and the
protector of the Tains, and the conqueror of Kaymak
and the Six Cities. And eight cities on the Surface,
inhabited by men, how to me and call me master.”
Domnik was sitting cross legged on the cold ground,
his head cocked intently as he drank in his master’s
words. Kiletlok, who had heard Tumithak’s
frantically intense story at least a dozen times
before, and almost knew it by heart, nevertheless
listened respectfully.
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And Tumithak talked. He told of his
childhood, cowering deep in the hidden pits and
corridors of Loor; and he told of his finding of the
ancient book that gave him his first inkling of the
fact that humans had once ruled the Surface and
fought with the Shelks. He told of his fanatic
ambition to slay a Shelk as his ancestors had done
and of his long journey up the corridors to the
Surface to accomplish that ambition. And he told of
how his people had made him their chief, and how he
had led them in raid after raid on the savage Lords
of the Surface, ever extending his own domain as
Shelk town after Shelk town fell before him.
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-
And he boasted of his great weapon, the
disruptor, that tore apart by their own energy the
white and shining rods that the Shelks used for
power, thus making the Shelk’s own weapons the
medium by which he slew them.
-
-
It is doubtful if Lornathusia grasped much
of what the great pit-man said. The language that
the two men spoke was the same, but their idea
patterns were entirely different. Dimly, the Esthett
did grasp Tumithak’s central idea. And, dimly, too,
he felt that Tumithak was right. His beliefs had
received such a terrific wrench that he was left
with no faith or belief in anything, and he grasped
at Tumithak’s exposition of the state of affairs.
-
-
And when Tumithak offered to take the
Esthett with him, Lornathusia gladly consented to
follow the Loorian, if need be, to death. The great
fanatic had gained as a follower the representative
of one more race.
-
-
-
CHAPTER THREE ~ Creature in the Night
-
-
Tumithak realized that his friends needed
rest, and, being too keyed up by his tragic loss to
sleep, he ordered the others to lie down and rest
while he stood watch. He sat brooding in the dark,
thinking of his wife and son, of the treason of
Yofric, whom he was certain, by now, could be
nothing but a Mog, and wondering if he was acting
for the best in continuing in this fashion—making
this journey to the Shelk city.
-
-
It must have been early dawn when he began
to doze. It was not like Tumithak to sleep on watch,
but he had gone through much during the preceding
twenty-four hours, and he had expended much energy
in useless anger and anxiety, so perhaps he may be
excused for his nodding. However, the fact remains
that he did doze for a few minutes, and that he was
awakened with a start.
-
-
Something had pulled gently at the pack on
his back, either at the fire hose case or at the
bundle of food and medicaments strapped below it.
With a sharp exclamation, he snapped to his feet,
his hand darting to the fire hose’s scabbard. The
creature that had touched him he could see as a mere
shadow, a four-legged shadow that leaped back into
the denser shadows immediately, with a sharp,
animal yelp of fear.
-
-
Tumithak’s cry, combined with the yelp from
the animal, was sufficient to bring Kiletlok
instantly to his feet. It woke Domnik, too, and
caused the little fellow to act most peculiarly.
Tumithak was standing, peering into the shadows in
an attempt to pierce the darkness so he might blast
the unknown attacker with his fire hose. Kiletlok,
too, drew the long nozzle of his own fire hose and
held it at the ready. But Domnik sniffed the air
eagerly, listened and then sniffed again. He sat
for a moment, tense, and, it seemed, a little bit
puzzled.
-
-
Then he began to whine and make queer
barking noises. Tumithak had lowered his weapon to
stare at him in uncertainty, when the little fellow
sprang to his feet and leaped into the shadows in
the direction taken by the mysterious creature when
it fled.
-
-
Kiletlok looked at his master in
perplexity.
-
-
“Is he bewitched?” he asked. “What has
possessed him to flee after that unknown danger?”
-
-
Tumithak motioned him to silence and
strained his ears in an attempt to hear what was
going on in the woods. And Tumithak was
remembering—
-
-
Long ago, when first he had led his
Loorians and Yakrans out of the deepest pits and
corridors that had so long been their home, they had
found, on their way to the Surface, the blind savage
four-legged creatures who were the allies of those
savages—dogs they were called—and they had fought
with such ferocity that it had been necessary to
kill every one before the blind savages could be
conquered. And when Tumithak remembered that, he
realized that the animal that had approached him in
the night might well have been just such an animal.
-
-
“They are returning,” said Kiletlok,
suddenly.
-
-
“They?” Tumithak looked sharply at the Mog.
He had heard distant movement in the forest, but the
Mog’s ears were evidently sharper than his. Kiletlok
was right. An instant or so later, Domnik appeared
in the clearing, with his hand on the head of a
huge, tawny beast, scrawny and lean and apparently
not a little frightened.
-
-
“It is a dog, master,” he said, evidently
anticipating Tumithak’s question. “It is a dog such
as my people once possessed, the kind of creature
that for ages lived in partnership with us in the
dark. He is starving, and only his hunger made him
dare to brave our fire in a desperate attempt to
gain a meal.
-
-
Tumithak looked at the cowering creature
contemptuously. It was a sorry looking thing, with
tattered ears and a sore on one flank from some
recent battle or accident, and ribs that seemed to
be almost ready to break through its skin. But when
the Loorian lord looked into its eyes, his contempt
withered and dwindled away into nothing. The
creature’s eyes were big, and dark, and expressive,
and he seemed to be pleading, not for life, not for
food, but almost—almost he seemed to be pleading for
a chance to prove himself worthy of his hire.
-
-
Tumithak jerked his eyes away from the
dog’s and spoke to Domnik.
-
-
“This creature speaks with his eyes instead
of his tongue,” he said, awkwardly. “Think you he
would be of any value, Domnik?”
-
-
“Take him with us, lord,” answered the
little gray man. “And I will promise you that he
will willingly die for you in exchange for his food
and an occasional word of praise. Take him with us,
and you will never regret it.”
-
-
He looked eagerly at the Lord of Loor. It
was quite evident that this was the biggest event
that had occurred in the life of Domnik for many a
year. And when Tumithak gave his consent, the little
man fell on his knees and flung his arms about the
creature’s neck, whining and cooing to it until
Tumithak would have almost sworn that he was talking
to the beast in its own language.
-
-
Then Domnik began fumbling in the pack on
his back, and before Tumithak’s amazed eyes, he
began to feed the creature the food that he had
brought with him. He would have given the greater
part to the animal, then and there, had not the
Loorian stopped, and given up a share of his own and
Kiletlok’s rations, that Domnik might keep some for
himself.
-
-
They sat for several hours now, discussing
this new addition to the party. Domnik related story
after story to illustrate the rare loyalty and
intelligence of the creatures. When dawn’s first
traces appeared, Tumithak started them off, and they
again took up their journey into the west.
-
-
By mid-afternoon they had traveled some ten
miles and were growing very cautious, for they knew
that they could not be very far from the Shelk town.
But no amount of caution would have availed them,
had they known it, for already the Shelks, warned by
Yofric on his arrival the day before, had set their
trap.
-
-
That traitorous Mog, as soon as he arrived
in Kuchklak, had reported the battle which he had
seen in the distance. Practically the entire avail’
able armed forces of the town, Shelk and Mog alike,
had set out at once to prepare an ambush several
miles east of the town. And when Tumithak and his
party, advancing westward, were still several
hundred yards from the line of concealed Shelks, the
Shelks to their right and left moved stealthily
forward and surrounded them. The first intimation
that the Loorian had of his enemies was when, at a
given signal, the ring began to close in, and
whistling, clacking Shelks and howling Mogs began to
pour down on them from all directions.
-
-
Tumithak and Kiletlok drew their fire hoses
at once and began a seemingly hopeless defense. The
Esthett, as might have been expected, squealed and
threw himself to the ground, where he lay cowering
and shivering like a huge mass of jelly all during
the battle that followed. The dog growled menacingly
and started forward, bristling with anger. Without a
doubt, he would have hurled himself on the enemy and
died uselessly beneath the fire hose’s ray, had not
Domnik put his hand on his neck and spoken softly to
him, keeping up a constant mumble of cautioning,
remonstrative words.
-
-
The action of the Shelks was most peculiar,
Tumithak thought. He was quite familiar with the
Shelks’ usual method of attack—the creatures hanging
behind and urging their Mogs forward with clacking
cries and threats until, if the Mogs were defeated
and killed, they would rush their enemy and either
die themselves or gain victory at once.
-
-
Now, however, for the first time, he saw
Shelks, and even Mogs, fighting cautiously. They
were not hurling themselves forward, in spite of the
fact that they were far superior in numbers to
Tumithak’s little group. Instead, they were all
seeking the protection of the trees and rocks. Still
odder, they were apparently seeking to avoid hurting
their opponents
-
-
But the Shelks’ “courtesy,” if such it
were, availed them little if they expected Tumithak
to respond in kind. He and Kiletlok defended
themselves and their companions as valiantly as
they had ever done in their lives. His old
trick—that of picking a tree that a Shelk was hiding
behind and playing the fire hose on it until its
moisture burst into steam, shattering the tree and
often the Shelk behind it—this trick he used time
and again. The Mog and he divided their work, as
they so often did—while Tumithak took the offensive,
seeking Out and attacking individual enemies,
Kiletlok kept turning, his eyes alert and his weapon
ready to burn down any Shelk or Mog who exposed
themselves in an attempt to attack.
-
-
“They do not attempt to slay us, lord,”
Kiletlok muttered, presently in a puzzled tone.
“They plan some weird treachery, I fear.”
-
-
“It is a weird treachery, indeed, that lets
us live when they might slay us,” the Loorian
answered, smiling. But he was as puzzled as the Mog
until presently, turning suddenly in the hope of
catching some Shelk by surprise; he caught one in
the act of swinging about his head a curious weapon
that consisted, apparently, of a ball of metal at
the end of a long cord.
-
-
He sent a blast of heat at the creature,
and had the satisfaction of seeing it fail, charred
and smoking, before it could accomplish its purpose,
whatever that had been. But before he could lower
his hose to see just what that purpose had been, he
heard a cry from Kiletlok and, swinging about, saw
the Mog entangled in a long cord, the end of which,
weighted with a heavy ball, was winding itself
around and around him.
-
-
And then dozens of Shelks were moving in
toward them, all swinging the cords and hurling them
at the humans. In the time that it takes to tell of
it, Kiletlok was down, and Tumithak, himself, was
struggling, with a half dozen cords wrapping
themselves about his body.
-
-
In vain he tried to sever the bindings with
the heat of the fire hose; the cords seemed to be
made of some fiber that resisted the heat as though
it were stone. And, indeed, it was, had Tumithak but
known it; for these warbolas of the Shelks were
woven of asbestos. The creatures knew full well that
no ordinary fiber could withstand the heat of a fire
hose. So, once entangled in them, the entire group
soon found themselves helpless and in the hands of
the Shelks.
-
-
Then the spider-like beasts lost no time in
binding the humans in their usual thorough way. Cord
after cord was wrapped round and round each of them
until they resembled more a quartet of fat cocoons
than a group of humans. They bound the dog too,
although several Mogs were bitten in the process,
and, from the care which they exercised to avoid
hurting anyone seriously, it became quite evident
that the creatures were acting under orders. Someone
had commanded that Tumithak and his companions be
brought back unharmed, and those orders were being
carried out to the letter.
-
-
When they had been bound until it seemed
that there were no more cords left among the Shelks
to bind them, the Mogs were ordered to take them up
and carry them. Then on through the woods the
strange party went, into the west and into Kuchklak.
-
-
The town of Kuchklak was a medium-sized
city, probably having a population of thirty or
forty thousand Shelks. Like most towns of its size
or smaller, it rose suddenly out of the forest, a
few square miles of metal towers from thirty to two
hundred feet high, rising at crazy angles, their
tops netted together with innumerable strands and
ropes, and the ground beneath them destitute of any
signs of vegetation. In the center, rising well
above the others, was the tower of the King-Shelk,
the governor of the city, and this tower served as a
sort of administration building.
-
-
To this building, Tumithak and his
companions were carried. The governor had been
informed of the arrival of the captives and had
dropped down from the maze of ropes and cords in
which he usually rested and now stood on the dirt
floor with certain of his captains around him.
Tumithak and the others were brought in and laid
down before him.
-
-
He gave the orders to unbind them in his
clattering Shelk speech, and even waited for a few
moments after they were unbound, evidently to allow
time for the blood to be restored to their cramped
limbs. Tumithak lay for a moment or two,
recuperating; then he rose slowly to his feet. At a
motion from the Shelk governor, a group of Mogs
jerked the others to their feet also.
-
-
Then the Shelk chief spoke, and spoke in a
clattering attempt at human speech which Tumithak,
without much difficulty, understood. “You are
Tumithak, the conqueror of Kaymak?” he asked. “You
are the human who has overcome the Six Cities?”
-
-
Tumithak nodded, curtly. His eyes were
sweeping about the room, missing nothing. His body
was alert and tense, ready at a moment’s notice to
take advantage of the least thing that would offer
him a possibility of escape.
-
-
“I am the leader of men,” he admitted. “It
has been given to me by the High One to lead the
resurgence of humanity. But it is all humanity that
rises against you, foul spider, not merely Tumithak
of the Corridors.”
-
-
The Shelk chief shrugged. “If you are the
chief, I am satisfied,” he clacked. “Have you heard
what has become of your mate and offspring?”
-
-
Tumithak’s face paled slightly. “It will be
well for Shelkdom if little has happened,” he said,
tensely. “But if it pleases you, tell me what you
have done.”
-
-
The Shelk chief grinned a tight-lipped grin
at Tumithak’s obvious anxiety. “Fear not, wild man,
they have not been hurt—yet.” he said. “They were
merely brought here to be bait, to lure you into our
little ambush. We are not interested in your wife
and child. You are the hostage we desired to secure.
And—well, here you are. It has been told to me by
one Yofric, whom I sent to spy on you, that your
people worship you as a living God. So, we will hold
you here and threaten your death unless your people
give up the domain that they have taken on the
Surface and retire again into the corridors from
which they came!”
-
-
Tumithak snorted. “I have taught my people
that the race is all that counts,” he exclaimed,
“They will tell you to slay me and be damned. They
will elect another chief and come here and wipe out
this stinking Shelk-hole until no sign of it will
tell where it ever was. Do you think humans are
Shelks that they should give up because their chief
has died?”
-
-
He looked at the Shelk chief boldly, but in
his heart his boldness was spotted with doubt. He
was not sure that his people would do as he had
often commanded them; he had never been sure that
his people would continue to battle with the Shelks
without him there to command them. Yet it would
never do to let this creature know that he had those
doubts.
-
-
So, he faced the Shelk chief, unflinchingly
and a little scornfully, in spite of the misgivings
in his heart. But the wily old creature was not
deceived. He chuckled a clattering Shelk chuckle
and, turning, spoke a few words to his group of
sycophants. They answered him, and after some
moments he evidently reached some conclusion. He
addressed Tumithak again. “These strange ones whom
my people captured with you,” he said. “Are they
important ones among your people?”
-
-
Tumithak made no answer. Not knowing what
the creature intended, he offered no information
which might lend any sort of aid or comfort to the
enemy.
-
-
The Shelk chief shrugged. “It makes little
difference,” he said. “There is room for all in the
prison we have prepared.”
-
-
He called a couple of his lieutenants
forward and spoke to them in human speech, evidently
so that the humans could understand him. “Take this
group,” he said, “and put them in the pit we have
prepared. As for the female wild one and her cub—she
will be of no more use to us now. Send her to the
kennel of Yofric. He deserves some sort of reward,
and he’ll probably find some use for both of them.”
-
-
This last remark, so characteristically
Shelk-like in its cruelty, drove all thoughts of
restraint from Tumithak’s mind. He broke suddenly
away from the two Mogs that were holding him, struck
savagely at the one which had held him the more
firmly, and leaped forward to strike at the savage
Shelk chief. Unarmed as he was, he might have
inflicted serious damage on the brute in a moment,
but the odds were too great. A dozen Mogs and half
as many Shelks swarmed over him, and he was trussed
up again in thorough Shelk fashion.
-
-
They made Kiletlok and Domnik carry him.
And with the tall, black-haired Mog carrying his
head and the little, bandaged man at his feet,
followed closely by the big dog, they made a queer
group, indeed. Lornathusia, too, waddled close to
the blind savage, and, surrounded by Shelks and
Mogs, they left the administration tower. The group
wound their way through the streetless maze of the
city, and some half mile away, came to the place
that had been prepared for their prison.
-
-
It was a pit, some fifty feet in diameter
and as many deep. Quite obviously it had been
prepared for some time, for though its sheer,
polished sides bore evidence of the fact that it had
been dug with a disintegrator, the clayey soil of
the bottom had had time to support the growth of
several thorn bushes about five feet high. These
thorn bushes, apparently, were going to be all the
shelter they would have, as well as their only
chance for privacy.
-
-
The Mogs unbound Tumithak, fastened a rope
under his arms and lowered him into the pit. They
tossed the rope in after him and then, one after
another, they lowered the other three men and the
dog, tossing their ropes in after them, too. A Shelk
then ordered them to throw the ropes in a pile. When
they had done so, a fire hose in the hands of one of
the Shelks quickly reduced the ropes to feathery
ashes. Quite obviously, these ropes were not made of
asbestos, as the others had been.
-
-
And now with the entire group of prisoners
safely placed in their pit, the crowd of Shelks and
Mogs gradually dwindled away, and they were left
alone.
-
-
-
CHAPTER FOUR ~ Prison Pit
-
-
Tumithak had no sooner made sure that the
last Shelk had disappeared than he arose from the
listless, reclining pose that he had taken, and
began a careful survey of the pit that was his
prison. With Kiletlok, he discussed their
predicament and the possibilities of escape. He even
drew Domnik and Lornathusia into the conversation in
the hope that one of them might be inspired to offer
some suggestion.
-
-
They had talked for no more than ten
minutes when a Shelk stuck his head over the edge of
the pit and eyed them critically. His gaze took in
the whole pit bottom. He must have stood there for
three or four minutes before he was convinced that
all was well in the pit. He left at last—but in
another twenty minutes he was back, giving the pit
another searching inspection. Obviously, they had
been assigned a guard.
-
-
There seemed little chance, then, for
carrying into execution any plan for escape. Indeed,
no plan suggested itself, for the prison was a most
efficient one, indeed, without bars or roof. The
very simplicity of the place precluded escape.
-
-
And so days passed.
-
-
Tumithak’s anger turned to anxiety, his
anxiety to worry and his worry to nervousness. He
snapped at his companions when they spoke to him,
brooded in silence and once broke into a long
harangue against Shelkdom that was as inane as it
was useless. But the others, with rare judgment,
realized the position he was in, and commiserated
with him, refraining from anything that would add to
his troubles.
-
-
On the sixth day their break came. They had
racked their brains in vain to find some way out of
the pit, and they had reluctantly given up, at last,
the idea that they could ever scale the sheer fifty
foot wall. Suddenly they were given with the idea
that, if they couldn’t get up out of the prison,
there might be a possibility of getting down out of
it!
-
-
It was the dog that showed them how this
could be a possibility. They had been fed
exceedingly well, considering their status, and at
this particular time, the dog had been given more
food than he evidently desired. In characteristic,
canine fashion, he had carried his surplus to a far
corner of the pit and was proceeding to bury it. He
had dug a small hole when suddenly he became wildly
excited and began to scrabble enthusiastically at
the soil, whining and barking alternately, and
stopping once or twice to turn to the men as if
calling to them to help him.
-
-
Tumithak and Kiletlok were engaged in
conversation at the time, and paid little attention
to the beast, but Domnik had been listening to him,
and the little fellow, with Lornathusia behind him,
hastened over to find what the clog had discovered.
-
-
In less than a minute, Domnik was back, as
excited as his pet had been. He stood before
Tumithak, obviously awaiting permission to speak.
Tumithak nodded to him and: “A hole, lord!” he
stammered, “Our dog has discovered a deep hole
leading down into the ground. I cannot feel any
bottom.”
-
-
Tumithak stood up, excitement rising within
him. Was it possible that a mode of escape had been
given them? He was about to rush over to where the
dog was still working, when he realized that it was
almost time for the frequent inspection to occur.
-
-
“Get that beast away from the hole at once,
Domnik!” he commanded. “If the Shelk guard sees him
there, he’ll get suspicious at once.”
-
-
Domnik turned and called, “Kuzco!” The dog
recognizing this name as his, raised his head and
whined in complaint, but when Domnik called the name
commandingly a second time, he responded, leaving
the hole and coming to Domnik’s side. The blind
savage placed a hand on its head, and when the Shelk
guard arrived and looked down into the pit, the
whole group was lounging about in their usual
listless attitudes.
-
-
But no sooner were they sure that his
inspection was over and the guard gone than they
rushed over to the corner to inspect the hole.
-
-
It was a small hole, about six or seven
inches in diameter, and by good fortune it was under
one of the scraggly thorn bushes that were
scattered about, and, therefore, more than likely
invisible from the top of the pit. Tumithak stuck an
arm into the hole and felt about. The hole was
wider, farther down. He dropped a stone down, and
failed to hear it hit bottom. A second, larger stone
sent back a thud after a second or so. Tumithak
frowned.
-
-
“It’s not very far to the bottom,” he said,
with some regret. “Let’s see if we can widen the
opening till one of us can be lowered into it.”
-
-
They proceeded to work on this idea at
once. After taking out a few handfuls of dirt, they
found that it was easier to let it slide down into
the hole. Evidently there was plenty of empty space
down there. They had almost finished enlarging the
hole when Tumithak called a halt.
-
-
“It’s almost time for another inspection,”
he announced. “We’ve got to use the utmost care to
avoid being caught.”
-
-
He demanded that Lornathusia, the most
elaborately dressed of them, give him a part of the
outer robe of his voluminous garments, and tearing
this, he made a square cloth covering for the hole.
He pegged this down quickly with twigs from the
thorn bush, and scattered dirt over it. Then they
all hurried back to their usual sitting place, and
when the Shelk guard came to inspect them, they were
once more engaged in the interminable and innocuous
conversation that the Shelk was fast becoming used
to.
-
-
They finished enlarging the hole during the
next interim between inspections. When the guard had
come again, and gone, they removed the cover from
their hole a final time.
-
-
“We shall lower you down by your feet,
Kiletlok,” announced Tumithak. “You are the tallest
and slenderest among us. Feel about, and, if
possible, look about, and get all the information
you possibly can. I think,” and he spoke doubtfully,
and yet hopefully, “I think we are breaking into a
corridor or a man-pit.”
-
-
They lowered Kiletlok down, and in less
than a minute, he signaled them to draw him back.
They pulled him up at once, replaced the cloth, and
hurried back to their sitting place.
-
-
“It’s a corridor, all right,” Kiletlok
assured them. “It was probably well underground
until this pit was dug. What incredible luck that
this pit was dug so deep and no deeper!”
-
-
“Not luck!” said Tumithak, softly. “Have I
not told you of the High One who has called me?”
-
-
Kiletlok said nothing. There was little or
no religion among the Mogs, and he had never been
able to understand the references to the “High One,”
which he heard in Tumithak’s realm. Besides, his
mind was now concerned with how they were going to
get out, now that the means had apparently been
given them.
-
-
“We could make our garments into ropes to
lower ourselves into the corridor,” he said,
thoughtfully. “We might even find that this corridor
leads to the Surface somewhere. But how, lord
Tumithak, will we prevent the Shelks from following
us? Every twenty minutes they come to look at us,
and if we leave, it will certainly be but a very few
minutes before they are in pursuit, with lights and
fire hoses.”
-
-
The Shelk slayer scowled. This was a
serious objection, indeed. With neither weapons nor
light, they certainly could not expect to get far in
these corridors, when pursued by large numbers of
foes who had both.
-
-
“We will have to devise some means to give
us a longer start,” he admitted. “If there was some
way to deceive the Shelks into believing we were
still here, after we had left…”
-
-
They sat and thought for several minutes.
Then, from the most unexpected source, came a plan.
-
-
“I think I can help you out, lord of men,”
said Lornathusia.
-
-
The other three looked at him in surprise.
It was so seldom that he offered any opinion or made
any suggestion that they frequently forgot that he
was there.
-
-
“You mean you think that you can deceive
the Shelks?” asked Tumithak, doubtfully.
-
-
“I—I hope so,” answered the Esthett, and
Tumithak noticed that the doubt which he had
half-way expressed had communicated itself to the
fat one already. So he simulated a look of interest
and hope as the other went
-
-
“All art, lord of men, is, in a way, a
deception. The realists attempt to imitate nature
artificially; the impressionists try to simulate
emotions and moods by artificial means. I—I have
some little skill in the carving and molding of
dead matter into the shape and appearance of living
things. And perhaps I could build from the dirt
around here, certain forms that might deceive a
Shelk into believing that he saw us lying asleep.”
-
-
At first, Tumithak was dubious. In the long
centuries in which his ancestors had lived in their
pits and corridors, all concept of art had been
forgotten, and at first the idea seemed so strange
to him as to be absurd. But then he remembered
certain statues that he had seen in the Halls of the
Esthetts in the upper part of his own corridors, and
he became more interested.
-
-
“This evening, after the sun has set,” he
announced, “we will put your plan into execution,
Lornathusia. And we shall all be indebted to your
art, if we manage to escape.”
-
-
There was little to do then, except to
wait. The afternoon seemed interminable, but it
ended at last, and night fell. As they had done on
the other nights, the four men and the dog huddled
together for warmth and pretended to sleep.
Presently the Shelk guard came to the pit, with a
huge light whose beams carried far into the night.
He flashed the light about the pit; then, satisfied
at last, he turned and left them in the dark.
-
-
“Who shall enter the hole first, lord?”
queried Lornathusia, and after some little talk,
they decided to lower Domnik. Tumithak was fairly
sure there was no danger in the corridor, and the
blind one was the smallest of the three and
therefore could slip through the hole the easiest.
-
-
He informed the Esthett of his decision and
the fat one told them to attend to the lowering of
the little man while he worked on the dummy that was
to take his place.
-
-
“But it will be necessary to leave at least
his outer garments to clothe the dummy with,”
insisted Lornathusia.
-
-
Tumithak and Kiletlok had already begun to
tie some of their own garments together to make a
line to lower Domnik with. They left the Esthett
scrabbling together a pile of dirt from the pit’s
floor and hastened to the hole. A few minutes and
they were back, looking in amazement at the
remarkable image that was taking place under
Lornathusia’s pudgy hands. By the time the Shelk
guard flashed his light down into the pit, the four
men and the dog were, to all appearances, still
slumbering soundly where he had seen them before.
-
-
They lowered the dog next. Kuzco was
decidedly nervous since Domnik had disappeared, and
they feared that some unexpected action of his might
betray them if they didn’t let him go to the little
man as quickly as possible. Kiletlok followed the
dog, leaving Lornathusia and Tumithak as the only
ones in the pit, although to the eyes of the Shelk
the entire group would still be intact.
-
-
And then Lornathusia began to work like a
demon. It was necessary that both he and Tumithak
leave during the next twenty minute period, and so
it was necessary for two images to be made. He did
finish them, and finished them in time for Tumithak
to lower him into the corridor; but before the lord
of Loor could drop down himself, he saw the beam
from the Shelk’s huge light sweeping along the edge
of the pit. He flung himself under the thorn bush,
flattened himself to the ground, and prayed silently
that the creature wouldn’t see him.
-
-
The light swept down the side of the wall
opposite him, swung back and forth across the floor
of the pit a couple of times and settled on the
group of images that Lornathusia had molded. For a
moment it hesitated—the Shelk was making sure that
they were all there—then the light swept on.
Carelessly it swung about the pit a few more times,
and then it was gone. It had not even struck the
thorn bush under which Tumithak crouched.
Nevertheless it was a huge sigh of relief that
Tumithak gave when the pit was again dark. And he
wasted no more time in lowering himself into the
hole and joining his companions.
-
-
The corridor they were in was entirely
dark. Kiletlok and Lornathusia were seated quietly
on the floor and called to Tumithak when they heard
him drop down, to let him know where they were.
-
-
“Where is Domnik?” asked the Loorian,
trying vainly to focus his eyes on something in the
dense dark.
-
-
Kiletlok barked out a sharp laugh.
-
-
“Where is he not?” he answered. “He is
here, he is there, he is everywhere. He has cast
aside his eye-coverings and is sniffing and
squinting about and chuckling and talking to his dog
like a very madman.”
-
-
“He is at home here,” Tumithak explained.
“In such a dark corridor as this, he was born and
raised. I think he is probably at ease entirely for
the first time in many years.”
-
-
Just then there was a slight sound to one
side of the group, and as Tumithak swung around
nervously, the voice of Domnik spoke up.
-
-
“This is a wonderful corridor, lord,” he
announced. “There are many apartments farther down,
and, I think, they are all deserted. I imagine there
is light down there, too, although it must be
several miles from here. The strangest thing is
that the entrance seems to be down the corridor from
here!”
-
-
“Are you sure of this?” queried Tumithak.
-
-
“Indeed, yes, lord. There are many signs
that tell me these things are so. Can’t you notice
the faint current of air that blows up from the
lower part of the corridor, for instance?”
-
-
Tumithak, after a moment, had to admit that
he could notice no current of air blowing from the
lower corridor. The little savage shrugged.
-
-
“I am at home here, lord,” he said.
-
-
Tumithak stood for a moment or two,
uncertain. Then, yielding to the obviously greater
knowledge and instinct of the sightless one, he gave
the order to start down the corridor. Domnik
suggested that they hold hands so that he might lead
them, and acting on this suggestion, they succeeded
in making better time than they would have, had the
others been alone.
-
-
Yet the darkness pressed down on the three
whose sight had been taken from them and gave them a
curious feeling of futility and depression. Indeed,
so rapidly did their spirits fall that it soon
became obvious that unless they did discover lights
further down the corridor, the little man might
before long assume the leadership of the group.
-
-
But the possibility of discovering lights
farther down the corridor had been suggested by
Domnik, and the three peered constantly into the
black in the hope of seeing some break in the
oppressive darkness, and that Domnik had not
abandoned the possibility was made plain by the fact
that he still carried his eye bandage over his arm.
-
-
And at last, after hours of slow walking,
they did behold a glow far down the corridor.
-
-
Kiletlok cried out, joyfully: “We’re out! I
see daylight!” But the others, knowing how uncannily
like daylight the light from the great glowing
plates that lighted up the corridors was, had none
of the hopes that the Mog expressed. They knew that
they had merely come, as they had hoped, to a
portion of the corridor where the lights still
glowed. Domnik regretfully replaced his bandages,
and the others hurried forward with a new boldness,
their confidence increasing in direct ratio with the
increase in the light.
-
-
They expected to find people of some kind
before long; but, surprisingly, they were
disappointed. They walked a mile or more along the
lighted corridor without seeing a soul, and then
Tumithak began to look in the apartments that lined
the hall. He found the apartments lighted, too, and
furniture there, furniture that was whole and
serviceable, yet that had over it a vague indefinite
patina of age that seemed to hint that it had been
ages since this furniture had been of use to anyone.
-
-
An uneasy feeling took hold of the Loorian,
a memory of that feeling that had held him, years
before, when first he had set out along the long
corridor route that was to lead him to the Surface
and to his first Shelk. This feeling increased as he
went on, and even communicated itself to the others.
-
-
Presently Tumithak noticed an odd fact. In
many of the apartments little piles of dust and
calcite fragments lay, and after noticing them
uneasily for a while, his suspicions regarding them
were confirmed. One of the piles disclosed a half
dozen human teeth!
-
-
“Those piles of dust,” he said, pointing.
“They are all that remains of the inhabitants of
this corridor. Something killed them long ago, so
long ago that their bones have crumbled to dust.
Something—is it something that is still here?”
-
-
It was a cautious group that moved forward,
after that discovery. These people had no knowledge
of science at that time, in spite of the fact that
they had learned to handle Shelk flyers and fire
hoses and had even accidentally discovered the
secret of the disruptor. Being ignorant, they were
superstitious and believed in magic and in spirits.
To them, it was none so strange that some inimical,
intelligent force had invaded this corridor and
slain all the inhabitants at some indefinite time in
the past. The only question in their minds was that
inimical force, still present, even now lying in
wait for them?
-
-
They came to a cross corridor after a
while, and Tumithak started in surprise at a sign he
saw fastened to the wall. To the others it was
merely an odd ornament of some kind, but Tumithak
could read, and to him it was a sign that said, “The
Food Machines.”
-
-
“This is writing,” he cried, astonished.
“Writing such as my own people write! How could my
people’s writing be found in this strange and
distant corridor?”
-
-
It was a wonder to him, but, after all, it
need not have been. For nearly two hundred years
before the coming of the Shelks, the human race had
had but a single language and a single form of
writing. There was no more cause for wonder over the
writing than there was over the fact that every
corridor Tumithak had ever explored had had people
that spoke the same tongue.
-
-
But a real wonder awaited them when they
turned up that corridor and came to the rooms where
the great food machines stood. For cluttered in
front of the machines were literally dozens of the
piles of dust that were all that were left of the
people that had once inhabited this corridor. Large
numbers had evidently come here to die, that was
certain. Disregarding the piles of dust for the time
being, Tumithak set to work at once to inspect the
food machines, for they were already beginning to
feel hungry, and they knew not how long they might
remain in this corridor. Food was certainly going to
be a necessity, and now that the means of providing
it had been supplied, the sooner they produced it,
the better.
-
-
He found the machines well supplied with
the fuel they used, he tested the fans that sucked
the air into the chambers, and inspected the
pulverizers that ground the rock into minerals
necessary in the food’s preparation. Then he started
the machine and clapped his hands in satisfaction
when the throb of the motor started, built up, and
speeded into the steady pulsation that indicated
that the machine was in working order.
-
-
But a moment later, the pulsation slowed
down and stopped.
-
-
Tumithak frowned and began a more thorough
examination than he had first given the machine. He
thanked his stars that his father had been a food
man in his old home, and that he had insisted that
Tumithak learn the same profession. He was quite
familiar with the construction of these machines
(although he was totally ignorant of the chemical
theory on which they worked), yet it was some time
before he found out what was wrong. In fact, he
overlooked the trouble because of its very
simplicity.
-
-
The machine had stopped because it was
unable to get any sulfur. The rocks before it were
mostly phosphates, and for some reason, the machine
had not been moved from its place, but still stood,
trying vainly whenever it was started, to extract
sulfur from the phosphate rocks.
-
-
The people of that corridor had probably
lost entirely the art of reading. The production of
food had become more of a religious rite than an art
or a science. Little by little the true scientific
facts of food production had been forgotten, until
at last people depended entirely on this machine and
forgot that the machine depended on them. As long as
the machines could get all the elements necessary
for the building of food, they ran on and fed the
people that worshiped them.
-
-
But there came a day when the machines had
bored entirely through the sulfide and sulfate rocks
and came to a vein of phosphates. Then they slowed
and stopped, waiting for the people to move them to
a more suitable area. The food supply ran slowly
out, and the people died, praying, around a machine
that seemingly had betrayed them.
-
-
Of this, of course, Tumithak was ignorant.
He wondered at the death of those people, even as
the machine slowed and stopped. He wondered as he
and his companions searched about and found the
sulfate rocks in the sides of the corridor and while
they dug out the rock and fed it to the machines. He
was still wondering when the food cubes began to
collect in the discharge chute on the side of the
machine.
-
-
When the group was well supplied with food,
they made bundles of it, and proceeded to start
again on their journey in search of the entrance
which Domnik still insisted was farther down the
corridor. They walked on for several hours, and
then the light plates in the ceiling began to dim
again. Every now and then, they would run across one
that was out entirely. After an hour or two of
walking, the dark ones had become so common that
they moved in a continual gloom. Then, finally, the
gloom became darkness and they were forced to join
hands and trust to the leadership of Domnik once
again.
-
-
They had walked on silently in the dark for
some time, when Domnik suddenly tensed and squeezed
the Tumithak’s hand. He stopped and whispered his
mouth close to Tumithak’s ear.
-
-
“There is someone or something near us,
lord,” he said softly. “I can hear breathing just
down the corridor.”
-
-
“What is it?” asked Tumithak. “What can you
tell me of it?”
-
-
“It huddles closely to the wall,” answered
the blind one. “And it moves toward us cautiously.
It’s footsteps—eh! That is odd. It moves on two
feet, lord, yet I hear the sound of two breathings.”
-
-
The group stopped, silent save for a faint
whimper of fear from Lornathusia. Their
superstitions were aroused again, for certainly this
thing that approached them could not be human. And
what wonder, what horror would it turn out to be,
that walked on two feet and breathed with two
mouths? They all listened but it was only Domnik who
heard enough to be able to interpret the motions of
the thing.
-
-
“It has stopped moving toward us,” he
whispered. “It is aware of us, I think. It has heard
us and is taking refuge in one of the apartments.”
-
-
They stood for a while, uncertain whether to proceed
or not. Minutes passed, and to Domnik’s straining
ears came only the sound of muffled, labored
breathing.
-
-
“This creature fears us,” Tumithak decided
at last. “It has fled into that apartment for
safety, and it is concealing its breathing in the
hope that we will not hear it.”
-
-
“Let—let us leave it alone and go on,”
suggested Lornathusia, timorously. And although the
others showed their contempt of his cowardice by
silently ignoring him, yet they started forward,
with the evident intent of following his advice.
-
-
They reached the doorway where the
mysterious creature was hidden, giving it a wide
berth, for they had no intention of letting some
weird monster leap out and catch them unawares. But
as they passed, no weird creature of the dark came
forth from the doorway, but instead the distinct
sound of a sob!
-
-
Tumithak stopped, frozen in his tracks,
Kiletlok, behind him, stopped, too, uncertain,
puzzled by some vague familiarity in the sound.
Domnik, whose life was based on sounds as much as
the other’s was based on sight, gave a joyful,
incredible cry and wheeled toward the apartment’s
door. Only Lornathusia was unaffected by the sound,
but he stopped as the others did and crouched
whimpering against the far wall of the corridor.
-
-
Then Domnik and Tumithak were rushing
through the door and into the apartment, and a light
was suddenly flashed in their faces, while a scream,
a very feminine scream, came from the apartment’s
occupant.
-
-
And Domnik was crying, “Lady! Lady!” and
Tumithak was rushing forward to seize his wife in
his arms, and Tholura was laughing and crying at the
same time, still clinging tightly to the form of her
little son, who, waking from the noise, was looking
about him and wondering what all the excitement was
about.
-
-
-
CHAPTER FIVE ~ Legacy of the Ancients
-
-
A scrambled, tear-fear conversation ensued
during the next fifteen minutes. Gradually, Tholura
learned of the adventures that had befallen Tumithak
since Yofric had kidnapped her, and, gradually, she
informed him of the events that had brought her, so
incredibly, to this deep corridor.
-
-
Briefly, her tale was as follows: She had
been held by the Shelks until the capture of
Tumithak, and then she had been sent, as the Shelk
chief had ordered, to the kennel of the Mog, Yofric.
This Mog was a mongrel of sorts, He was not of the
pure Mog race, but had, somehow, the blood of some
other race coursing through his veins. It was
because of this that he had been able to deceive
Tumithak into thinking him a pit-man and because of
this, too, he was scorned by the average Mog, for if
the Mogs had one virtue, it was pride in their race
and their trade. But Yofric had none of this pride
nor of any other virtue. He brought Tholura and her
son into his kennel and announced to the cringing
creature that was his wife that, hereafter; she was
to share his favors with Tholura.
-
-
At first, of course, this female was filled
with hate toward the Shelk slayer’s wife, and
Tholura might have been slain in her sleep had she
not acquainted the shrewish creature with the true
state of affairs at the first opportunity.
-
-
When Yofric’s mate realized that Tholura’s
only desire was to escape, she assumed what was at
least an apparent friendliness and offered to help
her get away. The very next night (Yofric being away
on some business for his master) this creature
brought a light and a packet of food, and led
Tholura to a cavern in a hill, a mile or so beyond
the town.
-
-
“I must leave you here,” she said. “For I
must not be missed when Yofric returns in the
morning. This is the entrance to a corridor, and it
is reputed that there is another entrance at the
other end. It will not be safe for you to try to
travel these woods, for they are usually full of
Shelks and Mogs. Go down into this corridor and seek
for the other entrance. If you find it, you can
surely make your escape. If not—” She shrugged.
“After all, you told me that death was preferable to
slavery with Yofric.”
-
-
So Tholura had taken the light and the
pitifully small packet of food and had entered the
cavern. It was a short one. In less than a quarter
of a mile, she came to a pit with a flight of stairs
cut around its sides. She started down these stairs
and—
-
-
“Never have I seen such an incredible
flight of stairs,” she told Tumithak. “They wound
round and round, dropping down and down. I must have
been nearly an hour in descending them. At last I
came out into a corridor that was not greatly
unlike the corridors of my own home. There were
apartments along this corridor, too; but instead of
being the homes of people, as I hoped, they were
filled with shelves, shelves that covered every
wall; and these shelves were filled with books. I
could have counted books by the hundreds, Tumithak,
yes, by the hundreds of hundreds. But of living
people, I found no more than you did, my lord.”
-
-
Tholura had been eating as she spoke, as
had Tumithak’s little son. At the mention of books,
Tumithak stood up, the light of interest glowing in
his eyes.
-
-
“Could you lead me to the place where you
saw these books?” he asked. “It may be that we can
find books of great value. A book is a wonderful
thing. It was a book that led me to my great
adventure and to the idea that men might slay
Shelks.”
-
-
Tholura assured him that the place where
she had found the books was not far away.
-
-
“I feared to leave the steps, once I found
myself at the bottom of them,” she confessed. “They
were the only exit I knew. I gradually explored
around them, but I have never let myself get very
far away. I knew that if I ever got lost down here,
I might easily starve to death before I found a way
out.”
-
-
She rose as she spoke, and the rest of the
group did also. Lornathusia accompanied his rising
with the usual grunts and groans that were
characteristic of him. A few minutes later they
entered a long hall whose apartments were, as
Tholura had said, lined with books.
-
-
It took but a glance for Tumithak to
realize that these books were old, incredibly old,
and the sort that were used before the Invasion.
Their pages were of thin sheets of some durable
metal, metal that was made to last for centuries and
that, even so, were beginning to corrode on the
edges. Such pages as these had never been made by
pitmen. No, they had been printed by those wise
ancestors who had lived on the Surface and fought
with the Shelks, when first the invaders came from
Venus.
-
-
The irony was that the original dwellers in
that corridor, neglecting their books for what was
probably some vague, religious reason, had
forgotten the art of reading and writing.
Eventually, they had gone to their death from
starvation with the secret of their salvation
literally being stored on the walls around them.
-
-
These works, Tumithak was to find out, had
been carefully picked by the ancient one who had
brought them there. They were works of science,
nooks of knowledge, a careful ground-work in all the
stupendous accumulation of facts that had been
available to the giant minds of the Golden Age of
the Thirtieth century of the pre-invasion era!
-
-
Of course, Tumithak did not realize this at
once. Indeed, after an hour or more of haphazard
investigations, he was almost ready to give up his
attempt to find any book that would add to his
knowledge. This was due to the fact that he had,
unfortunately, run across a shelf of books on higher
mathematics, and he was far from able to deal with
these yet.
-
-
After a while, he heard of cry of pleasure
from, of all people, Lornathusia. The Esthett had
exclaimed with pleasure once or twice over a few of
the more exquisite bindings and had at last begun to
listlessly glance through the rest of the books. And
now he had found one with illustrations, colored
illustrations that had brought his startled gasp of
appreciation.
-
-
He held up the book to Tumithak, and the
latter glanced at the picture and then, interested,
began to read the caption. For some moments, he
perused the book, looking at the other illustrations
and growing more and more interested. The book was a
text of the fundamentals of astronomy, and the
illustrations were of nebulas and planets and
satellites, as seen through the marvelous telescopes
of the Golden Age.
-
-
Tumithak must have read a third of the book
before the increasing complexity of the ideas caused
him to stop in wonder of it all. He raised his head
to find Tholura and his son asleep, with Domnik and
Kiletlok seated cross-legged on guard at the door
and Lornathusia pouring over the illustrations in
another book. The Loorian’s head was buzzing with
immense thoughts, the magnitude of which he could
hardly conceive. He had read of galaxies, and he had
read of atoms, and of neither of them had he ever
suspected. His mind was filled with awe and, more
important, with a vast desire to learn more of the
fundamentals of the universe.
-
-
So the group remained in the corridor of
the books for several days, while Tumithak searched
and sorted and gradually accumulated a collection of
volumes that represented to him the most basic facts
available. Then, making a series of bundles, he
packed them on the backs of himself and his fellows,
and they started out up the almost interminable
flight of steps to what they hoped might be freedom.
-
-
They rested frequently. The dog was uneasy,
and had to be coaxed up the stairs. Lornathusia,
with his immense weight, tired easily and had to
stop often, and even the leader with his weight of
books and his son in his arms found a frequent rest
not undesirable.
-
-
But they reached the top at last. Reached
it with the dog’s uneasiness approaching a frenzy
and with Domnik himself whispering warnings. The
little fellow was certain that Shelks were either in
the corridor or recently had been. So the group
hesitantly left the steps, moved into the corridor,
and down it, their light flashing about to warn them
of any danger. They had almost decided that any
danger that had been there had withdrawn, when it
swooped down on them. Concealed in a short passage
beyond the steps, a group of Mogs and Shelks emerged
and rushed toward them with howls and clackings,
while from closer to the entrance, another group
came sweeping down.
-
-
The unarmed, laden group could offer little
or no resistance. It was Kuzco, the dog, that
presented the greatest problem to the enemy, but
even he, snarling and snapping, was at last beaten
down, smothered with Mogs, and bound in the usual
thorough Shelk fashion.
-
-
There were but two Shelks, and these, in
the usual Shelk style, held back during the fight
and encouraged the Mogs with cries and whistles.
Tumithak paid little attention to them, even after
he had been captured and bound. His attention was
attracted by the Mog that was apparently in charge
of the others, for this Mog was Yofric! And it would
he hard to say what emotion was uppermost in
Tumithak’s breast, as he struggled between despair
at being again captured and hatred for the creature
that had been instrumental in twice leading him into
the hands of the Shelks.
-
-
The precious books that the group was
carrying were carelessly cast aside as the Mogs
picked up their opponents and started for the
entrance to the cavern, leading up towards the
Surface.
-
-
Yofric, in an excess of spite that could
only have come from the jealousy engendered by his
overpowering inferiority complex, walked along
beside Tumithak, boasting and threatening as though
he, himself, was the supreme Lord of Kuchklak.
-
-
“So, the wild one considered himself wise
enough to escape from Yofric of Kuchklak, eh?” he
sneered. “He thought ‘I am Tumithak of the Wild Men
and everyone must bow before me.’ But I - I, Yofric,
brought you out of your hole, I captured you once,
and now I have captured you again. I have taken your
mate from you once, and I will take her away again.
And I shall make her my mate in the end—not from any
love I have for her, Tumithak of Loor—but from the
hate I have for you!”
-
-
He carried on in this vein as they wended
their way down the corridor, his eyes seeing nothing
but the smoldering glow of anger in Tumithak’s eyes.
He did not notice the contempt with which even the
Shelks watched him, for Yofric had reached a high
point in his life, and he was enjoying it to the
fullest.
-
-
They came to the mouth of the cavern and
passed through into daylight. From somewhere off in
the trees, Tumithak heard a cry, the cry of a human.
He thought little of it at first, then he noticed
that the Shelks were uneasy. The full import of
their uneasiness was slow in dawning; but he
finally realized that it meant that there must be
humans in the wood of whom the Shelks were ignorant.
The Shelks were made aware of those humans in no
small way.
-
-
The cry was repeated and answered from an
opposite part of the forest. Someone shouted, “They
came from the cave. Concentrate on the cave!”
-
-
The Mogs dropped their prisoners and drew
from their belts the whips and javelins that were
their traditional weapons. The Shelks were drawing
their fire hoses and—and the Shelks were failing,
smoking, victims of fire hoses in the hands of the
humans who suddenly materialized from behind rocks
and trees by the dozens.
-
-
They were black warriors, Tumithak saw with
delight, men from the great corridors of the
Kraylings, who, under Mutassa and Otaro, swore
allegiance to Tumithak and were among his best
warriors.
-
-
It must be said that the Mogs fought
valiantly. One of them even seized the fire hose
from the hand of his dead master and attempted to
use it. But he had never held a weapon such as that
before, and he did little with it. Within ten
minutes after the fight had begun, the Shelks were
dead, and such Mogs as were not, had been seized by
the big, black warriors and were now securely bound.
-
-
The Kraylings who picked up Tumithak and
his group were lesser officers who did not know the
great Loorian nor any of his companions. In their
fear of making a mistake, they left them bound until
they took them before the leader of the group, the
lord Mutassa. Mutassa, of course, unbound Tumithak
and the others at once, with elaborate apologies.
Tumithak laughingly silenced him.
-
-
“All will be forgiven if you will but
answer my questions,” he assured the other. “What
are you doing here, and how many have you here, and
what are your plans? How did you come to rescue me
so fortunately?”
-
-
“Lord, it was the last thought in our minds
that we were going to rescue you. When you left us,
in Shawm, we waited for days without news from you.
Then came a Mog, unarmed and carrying a white cloth,
tied to a stick. This white cloth, he told us, meant
that he was not there to fight, but to talk. He told
us that the Shelks had captured you, and that they
would surely slay you unless we gave up all our land
on the Surface and retired to our corridors again.
And he told us that they also held your son, and
that they would slay him, too, unless we gave them
the secret of the disruptor.”
-
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“And what answer did you give them, Mutassa?”
-
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“The Mog started back to Kuchklak the next day. I
went along to see that no harm befell him, and my
men came along to see that no harm befell me!”
-
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Tumithak stared at him, unbelieving.
-
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“Mutassa!” he cried. “You mean that you marched on
Kuchklak to defy them?”
-
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The Krayling chief looked uncomfortable. “Forgive
me, lord,” he prayed. “If I had known that you were
really alive still, I might have acted otherwise.
But when could one believe a Shelk or a Mog? I
thought they had slain you, and I was thinking only
of revenge.”
-
-
Tumithak laughed a laugh of pure joy. For ten years,
yes for many more than that, he had carried a
burden, the burden of humankind’s salvation. He had
thought—no, he had known—that his people’s destiny
rested on his shoulders. He had hoped—yes, he had
prayed—that others might, before he died, learn to
believe in themselves and to trust to their own
might instead of in their faith in him. And
here—here was an army, an efficient, well ordered
army of men, marching against Shelks; in spite of
the fact that they believed that Tumithak of the
Corridors was dead.
-
-
The lord of Loor laughed again.
-
-
“Mutassa,” he said. “List me the men that you have
with you and their arms. Dispatch a detail to the
corridors to bring back some bundles of books they
find there. Give an order to advance on Kuchklak,
disruptors to the fore. And bring before me the Mog,
Yofric. He and I have a little score to settle. We
are going to conquer Kuchklak, Mutassa, but first I
am going to slay Yofric with my bare hands.”
-
-
And he did. With the information in the books of the
library Tholura had discovered, he was able to
devise more weapons and begin the restoration of
human knowledge, science, and, yes, art.
-
-
THE END
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