-
Death prowled the land
with a hungry tread, and
the Venus fire was the
only law, as Tumithak of
the Corridors
-
came out of the pits of
darkness to make his
last great fight to
reclaim the earth for
his people.
Tumithak of the
Towers of Fire
By Charles R.
Tanner
Foreword
FIVE thousand years
ago, the savage shelks of Venus
invaded this planet and drove
Man from his proud place as
master of the earth's Surface
into the pits and corridors,
where he was to skulk in fear
and terror for twenty long
centuries.
Three thousand years ago,
the first pitmen emerged from
their hole and defied the
dominant race of shelks. From
that moment, the war between
sheik and man waged unrelenting
until, some eight hundred years
later, the last sheik was
killed. Today, after a period of
dark ages during which both
sheik wisdom and human science
almost died, Man is again
winning back his once proud
place upon the earth, and we can
even claim that some few
sciences have been established
on as firm a foundation as
before the Invasion.
Among these sciences (as a
natural result of our search for
the secrets of the ancients) are
the ones related to geology and
archeology. We know far more
today then we did a hundred
years ago of the life of mankind
in the golden days before the
coming of the shelks; and we
know far more, too, of the life
of those strange ancestors of
ours who spent their whole lives
in the pits and corridors under
the Surface, in those long-gone
days when the Beasts of Venus
were lords of all the earth.
And among the many legends
which have grown slowly through
the passing centuries, the
greatest has always been that of
Tumithak of Loor. It is little
wonder that this is so, for both
legend and verified history have
portrayed him as the first man
to brave the dangers of the
Surface after the long
generations of pit-dwelling
which our ancestors endured.
Now among all the tales of
wonder, magic and prophecy which
make up the saga of Tumithak,
some few, striped of their
incredibility, give us an
outline of events that might
well be historical and
reasonably accurate. The story
of Tumithak's first journey to
the Surface, for instance, or
the one which tells of his
arousing and leading his men to
capture the little city of
Shawn. . . And also, there is
the story of his adventures in
Kaymak.
The first two stories
appeared in print long ago. The
third the author presents here,
in the hope that readers have
not forgotten "Tumithak of the
Corridors."
CHAPTER ONE
~ Incredible Rescue
THE
room in which the workers toiled
was about a hundred feet square,
and windowless. The fact that
the floor, walls and high
ceiling were all of the same
glassy brown composition
suggested that the room was
underground, as indeed it was.
And on the far right, a flight
of stairs running up the side of
the wall, a broad flight with an
ornate, carved balustrade, added
any necessary proof to the fact.
There must have been
thirty of to machines at which
the workers busied themselves.
On the side of the machines
nearest the workers, a
complicated series of
thermometer-like tubes appeared,
a half-dozen levers, and a small
hopper. Each worker was engaged
in slowly pouring into the
hopper a substance that had the
appearance of powdered iron,
meanwhile watching carefully the
gauges, his free hand hovering
over the levers.
Most of the workers were
old men, weak old men with looks
of hopeless despair on their
faces. Others, a few, were
younger looking, but the same
look of almost resigned
hopelessness covered their
faces. Indeed, there were but
four in the entire company whose
faces showed any signs of vigor
or of hope. And these four sat
close to the platform and the
bottom of the steps, where their
masters might keep a sharp eye
on them and be ready at a
moment's notice to whip back any
signs of rebellion.
Their masters! There were
two of them, standing on
untiring limbs on the low
dais-like platform at the foot
of the stairs, with their
assistants squatting at their
feet. Strange as those
assistants would seem to men of
today, their strangeness was
nothing compared to that of
their masters.
For their masters were not
men at all, but shelks, savage
but intelligent beasts from
another world, who had ruled
over the Surface from time
immemorial. They were
crustacean-like creatures;
indeed, they might have been
mistaken for gigantic lobsters
at a distance. They had ten
limbs, hairless and not at all
unlike greatly elongated
fingers.
Their bodies, reddish in
hue, were shaped a good deal
like a wasp's abdomen, and
seated directly upon that body,
with no sign of a neck, was a
head that was startling in its
resemblance to a human one.
Save for the fact that it
was hairless and had a grim
thinness to the lips that no man
had ever had, a sheik's head
might have been that of a man.
Their assistants were men.
At least, they had the form of
men. But none of the toiling
slaves considered them as such.
To them they were mogs--fawning,
dog-like descendants of the men
who had surrendered to the
shelks in that ancient day when
the beasts of Venus had
conquered earth and driven the
most of the race into the pits
and corridors where they still
lived.
Time and breeding had
changed the mogs considerably.
Few of them were less than six
and a half feet tall, and most
of them were closer to seven.
Their hair was black and they
wore full black beards, and all
were as lean and supple as
greyhounds. And like greyhounds,
their chests were developed out
of all proportions to the rest
of their bodies, which were bony
and gaunt.
So the workers toiled at
their machines, and the shelks
and mogs sat and watched,
drowsily; and the mogs even
dozed. For they knew well that
no man would dare to raise his
hand against their masters.
Besides, the masters were armed
with the terrible fire-hoses,
curious weapons consisting of a
small box which was strapped on
each sheik's back, from which
emerged a hose that ended in a
long tube thrust in a scabbard.
Deadly weapons these were
indeed, for they could throw a
searing beam of heat that, even
at a hundred yards, was fatal.
Of the
four younger toilers, the
mightiest was Otaro. He had been
a slave of the shelks but a few
weeks. Before that he had been
the chief of the Kraylings, a
powerful tribe of pit dwellers
who lived in a man-pit many
miles from where he now toiled.
Like all the Kraylings--indeed,
like all the toilers in this
room, who had once been
Kraylings, too--he was
black-skinned and woolly-haired.
Unlike the others, however, the
look of nobility on his face had
not yet been erased by the
knowledge of his servitude.
His mind was dwelling on
the events of the past as he
worked, and on the probabilities
of the present. All of his life
he had dwelled with the fear of
the shelks upon him, for ever
and anon, as long as the records
of his tribe told of, the shelks
had made periodic raids on his
pit and carried off living
prisoners to some unknown
destiny. He and his people had
always looked upon these raids
as inevitable, and had come to
accept them as part of the
scheme of things. When it came
Otaro's turn, there had been a
fight. Yet the end was the
same--when the battle was over,
a living but unconscious Otaro
had been picked up by the shelks
and taken from his pit, to live
and learn what the shelks
required of living Krayling
prisoners.
He was wondering now what
might be going on back in the
pit of the Kraylings. Had his
brother Mutassa acceded to the
chieftainship? If so, he might
almost be content, for Mutassa
would certainly make a great
chief. But there was one
Koudok--
Otaro gasped suddenly, his
hand half raised to his mouth in
an uncontrollable gesture of
surprise. Then, instantly, a
mask of immobility had swept
across his face and he turned to
face his machine again. But his
heart was pounding, and ever and
anon he stole a look, out of the
corner of his eye, at the
doorway high up at the top of
the stairs.
For a man had appeared
there, and Otaro had been
looking straight at the doorway
when he appeared. The man had
withdrawn immediately, but not
before Otaro had seen him
plainly. Never had Otaro seen
such a man--indeed, it was only
in the oldest legends of his
tribe that such a man had even
been told of.
He was a white man,
tall and well-built, clad in a
loose-sleeved tunic with a
wide-pocketed belt. Around his
head was a simple gold band such
as the governors of shelk cities
wore, and in his hand was a
fire-hose, the weapon of the
shelks!
In the legends of the
Kraylings were stories of the
miztas, mighty men of old
who had once battled with the
shelks and ruled over the
Kraylings. And legend said that
the miztas had gone away,
long ago, promising some day to
return and set free the
Kraylings from their fear of the
savage beasts that ruled the
Surface!
So Otaro the Krayling bent
to his work, trembling a little,
and stole glances out of the
corner of his eye at the doorway
above.
And presently the man
appeared again, stooping,
cautious, so that the shelks
would not see him. He moved
toward the steps. Behind him
another man appeared. Otaro's
heart skipped a beat, for this
second man was a mog! And the
mog stepped forward cautiously
and spoke softly to the first
man. Quite certainly these two
were friends, but what could a
mizta, a free man, have
in common with a mog? Otaro had
no time to answer this question,
however, for just then a third
man appeared, and his
identity caused Otaro to lose
all control of himself and to
gasp audibly.
He hastily turned the gasp
into a cough as one of the
shelks raised his head, and bent
to his work more busily than
ever. For several moments he
dared not look up again; yet
every fiber of his being
shrieked with curiosity.
For the third man had been
his brother Mutassa, whom he had
believed to be back in the
Krayling pit, ruling in his
place!
Thoughts
sped through Otaro's brain like
the shadows of dancers about a
fire. Who was this white man, so
like the miztas of
legend? Why was the mog
seemingly his friend? What,
above all, was Mutassa doing
with them? And what--he stole a
look at the stairs again--what
were they about to do, as they
stole silently down toward the
shelks? Was it possible that
they meant to attack them?
Yes, it must be that, for
the foremost man, the mizta,
had raised his fire-hose.
At just that moment one of
the mogs raised his eyes. He saw
the three, and, giving a
startled yelp, flung himself at
them. The fire-hose in the hand
of the mizta spat flame
and fury, and the mog, smoking
and screeching, flung himself,
dying, in front of the man.
The white one stumbled,
almost fell, and to save
himself, dropped his fire-hose
nozzle and flung himself back.
He was on his feet instantly,
but before he could recover his
hose, he saw that the shelks,
aroused by the mog's cry, had
leaped up and were raising their
own hoses to burn the white one
down.
And then Otaro saw a sight
that in his wildest dreams he
had never conceived. The
mizta screamed, a
disconcerting scream that seemed
almost a madman's yelp of panic.
Leaping from his place, some six
steps from the bottom of the
flight, he flung himself
directly upon the shelks, legs
kicking and arms flailing, a
very embodiment of a whirlwind.
The mog and Mutassa, who seemed
a little uncertain what to do,
waited but the slightest part of
a second and then followed the
white man's example. By this
time the shelks' second mog had
joined the fray, and Mutassa and
the strange mog devoted their
attention to him.
For the mizta was
handling the two shelks alone,
and a very good job he was
making of it. With a god-like
consistency, he had paid no
attention to the shelks
themselves when he landed among
them. It was their fire-hoses
that were dangerous and it was
their fire-hoses to which he
directed his attention. He
grasped the nozzle of one even
as he kicked viciously at the
box on the back of the other.
His foot missed the box, but
landed on the jaw of the shelk
who wore it, and as he wrenched
the nozzle from the hose in the
first shelk's hand, he flung
himself at the other and crashed
a foot into its face.
The second shelk, almost
blinded by the vicious kick,
staggered back and raised his
fire-hose again. The white
mizta abandoned his attack
on the first shelk, whose weapon
was now useless, and leaped at
the other. In a moment, his
weapon, too, was useless and the
two shelks, unable to conceive a
man who could be victorious in a
battle with shelks, rushed in to
the attack unarmed.
And then, unarmed as he
was, the shelks learned what
ensuing generations of their
kind were to face from aroused
and infuriated mankind. With
feet and hands and even teeth,
the white man tore at them,
ignoring claws and snapping
fangs, gouging and tearing at
their limbs until he literally
tore them apart. One attempted
at last to flee, but the strange
mizta seized him by a
dragging limb and pulled him
back even as, with the other
hand, he choked that shelk's
companion into black
insensibility.
The
whole room was in an uproar. The
majority of the men, the
old-looking ones and the more
hopeless, were huddled at the
far end of the room, whimpering
and wailing piteously. But some
ten, the stronger ones, had
pushed forward, and, although
afraid to lend a hand, were
watching the battle with fanatic
eagerness. And when the strange
mog and Mutassa, Otaro's
brother, rose from slaying the
mog assistant, they broke into
involuntary cheers.
Otaro's brother raised a
hand.
"A mizta, my
comrades! A mizta come to
rescue you! See how he has slain
your savage masters? A mizta
truly, come to rescue you from
the shelks."
Otaro hastened forward
with him and Mutassa presented
him to the white man.
"This is my brother Otaro,
Lord," he said. "This is he of
whom I told you-- he who was
lord of the Place before the
shelks took him from us."
"And who is this great
one, Mutassa?" he asked.
Mutassa was about to
answer, but the white man
motioned him to silence. He
spoke himself.
"I am Tumithak," he said.
"Tumithak of the far-off pits of
Loor. Tumithak, the Lord of the
Lower Corridors and Protector of
the Tains!"
Standing there before
them, his voice rose in volume
and dropped in tone, and as he
grew in excitement, the words
fairly burst from his lips.
"Ten years ago, oh
Kraylings, while I was still a
child of fourteen, I lived,
skulking like any other pitman,
deep in the corridors of Loor.
But one day I found a book that
told of how once men were free,
lords of all the Surface. It
told of the coming of the shelks
from another world, and of how
men fought a losing battle with
those savage beasts, and of how
those men who still valued their
freedom were forced at last to
build the intricate pits and
corridors which became their
home.
"And when I learned from
that book that men had once
fought with shelks, I vowed that
it should be so again. So, when
I grew to be a man, I set forth
from Loor, on the long journey
up the corridors; for I was
determined to seek the Surface
and slay a shelk, to prove to my
people that it might still be
done.
"Many were my adventures
by the way, but at last I
reached the Surface and slew my
shelk, bringing its head back to
my people as I had vowed.
"Then my people made me
their ruler, and greatly daring,
I led them through the Dark
Corridors and the Halls where
lived those fat cattle of the
shelks, the Esthetts, until at
last we burst onto the Surface
and overwhelmed the shelk-town
of Shawm. With the help of the
Tains pitmen from another pit, I
taught my people the way to
operate the complicated weapons
of the shelks, and so we were
able to live in Shawm and defend
that city."
"And with the help of the
High One to whom the pitmen
pray, I shall conquer more
shelks, and more shelks, and
more shelks--until the time
comes when the last shelk,
surrounded by his servile group
of foul mogs, shall fall,
stinking and burning, to his
deserved death!"
CHAPTER TWO
~ Three Against the World
HIS
voice, which had risen to almost
a shout, ceased suddenly. His
gesturing hands dropped to his
side. His head was thrust back,
his eyes to the ceiling. And
even had they desired it, it
would have been impossible to
restrain the cheer that went up
from those black ones who so
short a time before had been
hopeless slaves.
But even as they cheered
there was one who detached
himself from the still wailing
group across the room and came
forward hesitantly. He whispered
something to one of the cheering
black men that caused that one
to cease his cheering and to
look toward Tumithak
uncertainly.
"One wonders, O mizta,
what that foul mog does who
follows you. Would a savior of
men consort with a mog?"
The strange mog bristled,
and a scowl spread across his
face. He raised his arm in a
threatening gesture and started
to speak, but Tumithak silenced
him for a moment.
"This mog," he said, "is
my mog. Twice now, has he proved
his loyalty to me. None who
would be the friend of Tumithak
can be the enemy of Kiletlok the
Mog. But that you may know him
to be loyal, I will tell you of
how I met him."
Tumithak directed a look
of half-affectionate pride at
Kiletlok, and went on:
"In Shawn, the fallen
shelk town where my people
dwell, we power our weapons with
the white and shining rods of
power which only the shelks know
the secret of making. When the
men of the Lower Corridors
seized Shawn, some two years
ago, they seized many of those
shining rods, and with them
powered the machines that they
seized.
"But as time passed, the
power rods were gradually used
up, and the time came when I saw
it would be necessary to make a
raid on some shelk town to
secure more rods of power. So
with seven men, I set out one
day to seek another shelk town.
And on the third day I beheld a
group of shelks and mogs
approaching in the distance, so,
concealing my men, we ambushed
the shelks and attacked them.
Now fierce was the battle, for
at its end all were dead save I
and one mog. And then that mog
flung himself on his knees
before me and called me master.
He was Kiletlok, and since then
he has served me faithfully and
well."
Kiletlok slapped his
chest, and in his rumbling bass
he growled assent.
"When a shelk slays
another," he said, "the slain
shelk's property goes to his
murderer. Thrice in my life I
have changed masters that way,
and if the last time, my master
was a man, should that change
all the teachings that I have
been taught? Nay. So I serve
Tumithak and serve him loyally
until he is slain by another."
This explanation seemed to
satisfy practically all of the
black men, and their looks of
distrust disappeared.
"But what of you, my
brother?" Otaro said. "How came
you to be with these great
heroes? And what goes on back at
home, in the pits of the
Kraylings?"
Mutassa's face clouded for
a moment.
"There were ill times at
the Place, after you left, Lord
of the Kraylings. Strife and
confusion and rebellion--"
Otaro's eyes flashed.
"What mean you? Did
Koudok--"
"Aye, Koudok!" Mutassa's
eyes matched Otaro's as he told
of the events that had followed
the capture of Otaro by the
shelks:
"Koudok must have planned
long and well, even before ever
the shelk raid that took you
off. For many of the captains
and doctors were on his side
when he staged his coup. And
though few of the people would
have followed him, they were too
afraid of the captains and the
doctors to disobey. So I, who
should have succeeded you to the
chieftainship, was deposed and
it was only through the kindness
and sympathy of the common ones
that I was able to conceal
myself and avoid the slaughter
that Koudok had planned for me."
Otaro swore angrily.
"If ever I again see the
Place," he swore, "Koudok shall
answer to me--"
"Wait," Mutassa
interrupted. "I have not told
you the half. For two weeks or
more, I skulked in the Place,
hiding now in this apartment,
now in that, cringing in
deserted corridors and abandoned
pits, and eating only when some
pitying Krayling shared his
rations with me. But at last a
patrol of searchers found me!"
He paused
and glanced at Tumithak, who
motioned him to continue.
"There were six of them
and they all attacked me at
once," Mutassa went on. "I tried
to defend myself, but though I
managed to avoid their swords, I
knew it could be but a matter of
time until they slew me, for I
was so busy defending myself
that I could not attack.
"At last I did manage to
pierce one of the most careless,
but the other five were pressing
me entirely too closely--when
suddenly I heard a cry from the
upper part of the corridor, and
a moment later, I found myself
defended by two strange men!"
Tumithak interrupted him
for a moment.
"Kiletlok and I had been
wandering on our way to Kaymak,
the city from which the mog
came. A storm had overtaken us
and we sought shelter in a cave.
Before I had been there long, I
realized that the cave was the
entrance to a man-pit, and I
determined to explore it and see
if any men still lived there. We
must have been several miles
from the entrance when we came
upon Mutassa attempting to
defend himself from his
enemies." He motioned to the
Krayling to continue his story.
"Never have I seen such
fighting as the mizta and
his mog did," averred Mutassa.
"The corridor was but dimly
lighted, and for a minute or
two, my enemies knew not whom
they were fighting. Two of them
fell before it dawned on them
that the men who fought with
them were other than common
mortals. But when they saw that
they fought with white
men--Ah, you should have seen
the remaining throng flee! We
pursued them, but they managed
to elude us, so we stopped for
awhile and Tumithak told me who
he was and I told him how I knew
that he was a mizta.
"I told him of that
long-forgotten day when men
lived upon the Surface, and of
how the mizta ruled over
all. I told him of the coming of
the shelks, and how the
miztas withdrew from the
Surface. I told him of how they
made the Place for the black
man, because of a legend that
the white man had, that the
black man must be kept in his
Place. And I told of how the
prophecy said that one day the
miztas would return to
lead us again to the Surface, to
conquer over the shelks.
"And he in turn told me of
his life and of the great work
to which he had dedicated
himself. So then I knew him to
be truly the great mizta
of the prophecy, and to him I
swore my fealty. And we went on
into the Place."
"And Koudok?" interrupted
Otaro.
"Patience a minute,
brother. I have told you that
the common people were all in
favor of me. Can you not imagine
what happened when I returned,
bringing a mizta out of
legend with me? The people
defied their leaders and rose up
against them. Koudok and his
leaders defended themselves in
one corridor for a bare two
days. Then we captured them.
They fought desperately, but
their cause was hopeless. Koudok
I slew with my bare hands."
Otaro breathed a sigh of
relief. But not allowing this to
interrupt him, Mutassa went on:
"When everything was at
peace again, and the disturbers
were slain, the people
unanimously acclaimed me as
chief. But I had sworn fealty to
Tumithak, and he was leaving to
continue his search for the rods
of power. So I appointed
lieutenants to rule for me in my
absence and followed my lord in
his quest."
The huge black man stole a
look at Tumithak that was almost
one of worship. Tumithak,
seemingly a little impatient at
the long synopsis, hastened to
conclude the story.
"Kiletlok had told me that
there were many power rods to be
found in Kaymak," he said. "So
toward Kaymak the three of us
directed our footsteps. We
entered the city at night, for
at night all shelks sleep
soundly. Kiletlok led us to a
place where, he said, the power
rods were stored. We found them,
but alas, daybreak occurred
before we could get out of the
building. In seeking a hiding
place, we found the entrance to
this pit, in the building; and a
long journey down the corridor
led us to this room."
He paused and looked about
him.
"Is there another way out
of here, except the way we came
down?"
Otaro shook his head. "I
have been here for weeks, and I
know that the shelks would not
let us roam about this room with
the freedom that we do if there
were any chance of escaping. For
well they know that an Arzan
would gladly die rather than
remain in this room."
"Arzan?" Tumithak caught at the
unfamiliar word. "What is an
Arzan, Otaro? And why die rather
than remain in this room?"
"We workers are called
Arzans by the sheiks," answered
the Krayling. "It is an ancient
word, a man-word, I believe. And
here in this room, far
underground, we labor to produce
the white and shining rods which
are the power by which the
shelks run their machines."
"You make the rods?
Here?"
"Aye. That is why they
store them in the building
above."
"Now here is fortune
indeed! But why die rather than
remain in this room, Otaro? The
work is none too hard, it
seems."
Otaro smiled sadly. "The
work is none too hard. And we
are fed, and have comfortable
quarters. But--" He turned and
indicated a gray-haired, bent,
old Krayling near him. "This, O
Mizta, is Mitobi. He is
twenty-nine years old, and has
been in this room no longer than
ten months."
Tumithak
felt a thrill of horror shoot
through him. "Is there poison in
this room, then?"
Otaro nodded. "Poison,
indeed! But not such poison as
man ever heard of. It is a
poison light, mizta
Tumithak, that glows from the
machines when we feed the iron
powder into it to make the rods
of power."
"The iron?"
"Yes, truly. For of iron
are the white and shining rods
of power constructed."
Tumithak rose dizzily.
"And you have made these
white and shining rods from
iron?"
"Yes. For over three
weeks."
"Know you how these
machines work?"
"Why, yes. If one has a
block of the metal called
hooramnon *, it
is not so hard to build a
destabilizer, as these machines
are called."
"Then--have each of these
machines got blocks of
hooramnon in them?"
"Certainly."
"Then tear them out!
Conceal the hooramnon on
your person. We must escape this
pit and win back to Shawn or die
in the attempt! Man needs this
secret, Otaro. And Man needs
you!"
For the first time in many
weeks, the dulled eyes of Otaro
broke into a glow. He turned to
the other Arzans and gave then
hurried orders. They had
listened to Tumithak and Otaro
as they talked and now they, or
at least the ones that were
strong enough, leaped hurriedly
to obey his orders. In a few
moments, they came forward with
half a dozen blocks of grayish
metal in their hands.
While they had been procuring
the metal, Tumithak's mind had
been racing madly, in an
endeavor to devise a means of
escape from the pit. Now he
turned to Kiletlok.
"Do you know aught
concerning these Arzans,
Kiletlok?" he asked. "Do the
shelks own them privately or are
they servants of all? Do they
remain always in one pit or are
they sometimes transferred?
Would they trust them to a mog
or would they only trust them to
a shelk? Tell me these things."
Kiletlok looked uncertain.
Not knowing Tumithak's plan, he
was unable to answer clearly.
Tumithak saw his uncertainty.
"Look, mog." he said. "If
you were to emerge from this
pit, leading a pack of Arzans,
would it look suspicious?"
Light dawned on Kiletlok.
A grin spread over his features.
"I think it could be done,
Master," he stated. "I think it
might work if no suspicious
shelk passed our way. For the
Arzans are owned by the
government and are often
transferred from one pit to
another. And sometimes from one
city to another. Perhaps,
therefore, we might even get
aboard a shelk flying machine
and capture it."
"Good!" ejaculated
Tumithak. "Thus will we escape,
then, as a group of Arzans being
taken from this pit. Kiletlok
will lead us, and see that you
wield your whip realistically,
mog."
Mutassa spoke up.
"That is well for the rest
of us, mizta," he
exclaimed. " But what of
yourself? With that red hair and
white skin, no shelk will
believe for a moment that you
are either Arzan or mog."
"Why then," said Tumithak,
"my hair and skin must be
changed."
He looked about the room.
Surely, somewhere, he could find
something that would darken his
skin. Mutassa looked too, and
presently the others took up the
search. After a while, Otaro
came forward with some grease
from one of the machines, but
upon trying it out, they were
disappointed, for though it
spread well, it changed Tumithak
into nothing more than a rather
dirty pitman. Then Otaro had a
thought and, borrowing
Tumithak's fire-hose, he
stripped the clothes from the
dead mogs, and in a moment had
reduced them to sooty ashes.
Mixing the soot with the grease,
he soon transferred the Loorian
into a fairly presentable
Krayling.
"And now," said Tumithak,
"who will volunteer to undertake
this hazardous escape with us?"
He had forgotten the
hopelessness of the Arzans'
position. Every man volunteered
at once and he was forced to
reverse his position and ask for
volunteers to stay. In the end,
they asked him to appoint the
ones who must remain, which he
did, picking those who seemed to
be the least affected by the
rays. "For," he said, "I leave
you here with hope. Before the
days of your servitude can be
ended by death, I promise to
come back to this city and free
you. By the High One whom we all
worship, I swear to conquer this
city or die, with my people, in
the attempt."
And then he and his little
party, armed with the secret
that was to place men again on
an equal footing with their
savage enemies, started up the
stairs.
*Uranium?
CHAPTER THREE
~ Flight from Kaymak
WHEN
they reached the door and
Kiletlok's hand was on the knob,
the mog turned and motioned the
other to silence.
"We are about to leave
this place of comparative
safety," he whispered softly to
the group. "We are about to go
out among the creatures who are
the enemies of all of us. It is
only by acting in such a way
that we do not arouse suspicion
that we may hope to win to
greater safety. The actions of
those whom we rescued from the
corridor I do not worry about.
"But master--" he paused
and turned to Tumithak, almost
pleading--"if ever you have
acted as a slave, act as one
now. I know well your hatred of
the shelks and your bravery, but
this is no time to display
either of them. Remember this as
you value your life--while you
are in Kaymak, you are less than
the lowest slave. Indeed, you
are but an animal."
He turned without saying
more, flung the door open, and
the group stepped out into the
open. Kiletlok took his whip
from his belt, and with a snarl
that was typically mog-like,
laid it across the back of the
nearest Arzan. They set off
through the maze of shelk towers
in the direction indicated by
the mog.
The way through the
streetless city was absolutely
incomprehensible to Tumithak. He
realized that Kiletlok evidently
recognized some of the
landmarks, but to the Loorian
all the clustered towers looked
alike and the way through them
seemed endless.
And the shelks! They were
clustered in the streets by the
thousands. Tumithak soon
realized that the safety of his
group lay in the very number of
his enemies. In a city so large
and busy as this one, there was
little time or desire on the
part of the citizens to question
anything a bit unusual.
Several of the shelks did
look curiously at the group, but
they paid more attention to
Kiletlok, it seemed, than they
did to Tumithak or the Arzans.
And what mogs they saw drowsed
sleepily in front of their
masters' towers or slouched
aimlessly along, bent on some
idle journey or other, paying no
attention whatever to the group.
One, indeed, did direct a casual
question to Kiletlok, but the
mog answered him curtly and he
wandered off.
And so, after a couple of
hours' walking, they drew near
to the eastern end of the city.
And here, for the first time,
they met with disaster.
For a shelk approached
them, at a point where the
neighborhood was comparatively
[sic] deserted. It was about to
pass them when it suddenly
halted and looked them over
curiously. Tumithak saw its
eyebrows raise in a peculiarly
human sign of interest, and then
it called sharply to Kiletlok.
The latter answered immediately
by saluting, dropping his whip
to the ground and bending over
on both knees to pick it up
again. The shelk spoke.
What do you with Arzans on
the Surface, mog?" it clacked.
"Is this not forbidden?"
Kiletlok looked up,
answered boldly. "These Arzans
go to Chutlak," he said. "My
master, Ket-1-ket the trader,
sent me all the way from that
town to bring them to him. He
plans a power factory in that
town."
The shelk's eyes narrowed
to the tiniest slits.
"I fear your master trusts
his mog too much," it sneered.
"Did he remain in Chutlak?"
"Yes, sir," answered
Kiletlok, a little weakly, and
Tumithak noticed the faintest
pallor beginning to touch his
cheek.
"You have your order with
you, I suppose," pursued the
shelk. Kiletlok shook his head.
"It was taken from me when
I was given charge of the
Arzans," he said stolidly.
The sheik gave forth a
clucking noise, but whether it
was expressing doubt or
annoyance or some other emotion,
Tumithak could not say. Then
suddenly it smiled, a
tight-lipped, dubious smile.
"Take your men to the
tower of Chukhoka-klekht, at
once," it said. "You must have
an order before you leave the
city."
Kiletlok saluted again,
and the shelk crawled off.
Tumithak gave a sigh of relief.
But the mog shook his head.
"That one is definitely
suspicious. Even now he is
probably on his way to report
his meeting with us to some one
in authority. It is a race
against time, now."
He turned and led the way, at a
dog-trot, through the maze of
towers. It was a severe pace he
set, for Kiletlok was a mog, and
what was to him an easy,
jaunting gait was a strain
indeed to the Arzans, and told
to some extent even on the
powerful Mutassa and the
Loorian. But the entire group
bore the pace without complaint,
their minds on their ultimate
goal, and even more on the
danger behind them. And at last,
the towers ended and they found
themselves standing on a broad
expanse at the east side of the
city.
Some distance away, a
group of shelk-flyers bore
witness to the fact that the
broad expanse was a flying
field. There were fewer than a
half-dozen shelks scattered
across the entire expanse and
Tumithak blessed the vagrant
fates. There was still a chance
to escape if--They advanced
boldly out onto the field and in
the direction of the largest of
the flying machines. They were
halfway to it when a clattering
screech sounded behind them.
Kiletlok paled and gave a queer
whining cry of despair.
"They've found out!" he
moaned. "We just missed making
it."
He slowed down his pace as
he spoke and Tumithak realized
that the leadership of the band
had once more been placed on his
shoulders. He reached into his
garment and drew out his hidden
fire-hose. And Mutassa, seeing
this, grimly bared his sword and
took his place at Tumithak's
side.
"Make for that flyer as
quickly as possible," ordered
Tumithak.
The group of Arzans needed
no second bidding. Already,
behind them, they could see the
group of pursuing shelks
unlimbering their fire-hoses and
starting off across the field.
One enthusiastic shelk sent a
beam from its weapon across the
field toward them, but the
distance was too great to cause
more than discomfort to the
group and to spur them to
greater effort to avoid the
blasting heat that would be
their portion if the shelks cut
down the distance between them.
They were near the flyer
now, and the group of shelks
which had gathered under it
milled about uncertainly. These
shelks were unarmed, but were
gathered around the door of the
big cabin in various attitudes
of pugnacity.
Tumithak saw that these
creatures failed to realize
their danger. He paused for the
smallest fraction of a second,
directed a blast from his
fire-hose into the group and
then continued running toward
them. There was a squawk as the
most exposed shelk felt the
beam, and the entire group
scrambled away from the door,
suddenly intent on finding a
shelter from the deadly ray.
For a moment, it looked as
if the little band of humans
would manage to take the flyer
without further trouble. The
shelks that were pursuing them
across the field were still too
far away to be a danger; the
shelks around the flyer had
scattered in panic before the
incredible sight of an armed
man, and the way to the door
of the flyer was clear. The
little group was no more than
thirty feet from the door when
an armed shelk suddenly appeared
in the doorway!
Tumithak gave a cry of warning
and instinctively threw himself
upon the ground. It was well for
him that he did so, but for the
Arzans following him it was not
so good. Tumithak's warning cry
was a command for them to follow
his example, but their reactions
were too slow. The Loorian heard
sudden cries of anguish and knew
that some of his companions had
been seared by the beam. Even as
he pressed the lever that
released his own beam, he
realized that he was not a
moment too soon.
Mutassa, at his right
side, yelled a hoarse warning,
and Tumithak felt a sharp bite
at the right side of his head
and smelled suddenly the
peculiar odor of burning hair.
But his own beam had caught the
shelk full in the face, and the
creature dropped its weapon
before its heat could do any
real damage.
Tumithak leaped to his
feet and raced toward the flyer,
calling to his companions to
follow him. Had he stopped to
look back he would have been
dismayed at the damage the shelk
had accomplished. Fully five of
the Arzans were injured too
badly to follow the Loorian;
several, indeed, were probably
dead. But here was no time for
false heroics. The human race
set a greater store by live
cowards than by dead heroes in
those critical days.
Regretfully, but without so much
as a backward look, Tumithak ran
to the shelk-flyer and boarded
it.
They
flew a good many miles before
they saw any signs of pursuit.
It was Mutassa, who had been
glancing back anxiously every
once in a while, who saw them
first. They were but little dots
above the horizon, but there was
no doubt that they were the
dreaded flying police.
"They come, Tumithak," he
said softly. "Four of them, I
think."
Tumithak glanced back
through the rear window and
grinned bleakly.
"They do draw near,
indeed," he said. "But we--we
draw near to Shawm. And when
those shelk-flyers reach Shawm,
they will find that man can be
more than a match for such
crawling beasts as they. There
are disintegrators at Shawm. And
they have orders to destroy
every shelk flyer that appears
near the sacred city."
Kiletlok's eyes widened.
"Master!" he ejaculated.
"Have you forgotten that we ride
a shelk-flyer?"
With a cry that might have
been an oath, Tumithak whirled
about to the controls and threw
the machine into a deep dive. He
straightened it out into a
zooming sweep, his face set and
white. He saw an open place in
the woodland where he might land
the flyer. A few moments later,
the entire group piled out of
the machine and looked wildly
about to see if the enemy were
within striking distance.
They were. Not much more
than a quarter of a mile away,
four shelk-flyers drew swiftly
near. There seemed to be little
hope for the grounded men, yet
Tumithak, now that he had
reached the ground, seemed
curiously unworried. And the
Arzans were soon to see why.
For suddenly the foremost
flyer disappeared incontinently,
with a sharp report. The
suddenness of it made them all
gasp, and one can only imagine
the effect it had on the shelks
in the flyers that were
following. One moment the flyer
was there--the next it was gone!
And then that sharp report like
a clap of thunder.
The other three flyers
checked their flight hastily.
Indeed the first went into a
sudden loop to avoid reaching
the spot where the leader had
met its face. But their tactics
were in vain. First one and then
another vanished; presently,
almost before the watchers on
the ground realized it, their
enemies had been reduced to the
primal atoms from which they had
been composed. And for the first
time in many a day, Tumithak
heaved a genuine sigh of relief.
"Come, now," he said. "We
are safe at last. Let us go on
our way to Shawm. I have no
doubt we will find a party
seeking us."
He strode off through the
trees to the north, the others
following, and sure enough,
before long they ran across a
band of warriors who had fared
forth from Shawm to attack the
supposed shelks in the grounded
flyer. When they found that
instead of the shelks, they had
come across their chief, their
joy knew no bounds.
And so, amid shouts and
singing and laughter, Tumithak
came again into his own city.
CHAPTER FOUR ~ The Great Weapon
THE
days after the arrival of
Tumithak at Shawm were busy
indeed. The priests of the
Tains, and especially old
Zar-Emo, the high priest,
welcomed Otaro with open arms
and eagerly studied the secrets
of the Arzans, aiding them to
build the machines from which
the white and shining rods might
be made from iron. Hardly a week
passed before the first machine
was completed, and its precious
block of hooramnon
installed in it, They carefully
avoided setting up the machine
in the village, fitting up a
cavern about a mile front the
town to be used as the factory.
There was some dispute
about who would operate the
dangerous machines, for the
Arzans certainly had had enough
of them, and none of the men of
Shawm cared to shorten their
lives by becoming the operators.
But Zar-Emo pointed out that
short exposures to the rays did
little permanent harm, and so it
was arranged that each man in
the village should take his turn
at it, thus forcing no man to
act as operator oftener than
once or twice a year. This, the
high priest felt sure, would
cause little inconvenience and
practically no danger.
Within a bare three weeks,
Zar-Emo and Otaro had managed to
start the actual production of
the power rods. Proud indeed
were the two, when they brought
to Tumithak the first bar
manufactured. It was decided to
hold a ceremony, to make a
holiday to celebrate what seemed
to be their release from the
last possibility of dependence
on the shelks. Now, with the
Tains' ability to produce and
multiply the weapons of their
wise ancestors and this new
ability to manufacture the power
that ran them, men began to feel
a freedom that they had not
known for thousands of years.
The holiday was a great
success. All over Shawm, and
down in the pits where many of
the people of Tumithak still
lived, the folk celebrated with
feasting and speeches. The
speeches were nothing new; the
pit dwellers, for centuries, had
had little or no means of
celebrating other than to boast
or make speeches about their
successes, but the feasting was
a novelty, a novelty that was
growing greater every day.
When the people of
Tumithak had come in contact
with the Tains, they had learned
for the first time that the
synthetic food-cubes which they
manufactured might have taste.
And now Kiletlok had come among
them, showing them that the very
plants and animals which were so
common on the surface might be
prepared to be used as food and
be made to reveal tastes so
delightful that even the Tains
were filled with gratified
wonder.
Old Zar-Emo outdid himself
at the speech-making in
Tumithak's banquet hall. Indeed,
so enthusiastic did he become
that his speech outshone and
outlasted even the speeches of
those leather-lunged orators,
Tumithak and Nennapuss of
Nonone. And for once, even those
masters made no attempt to out
speak him, for they were as
interested in what he had to say
as he was in saying it.
"The availability of large
quantities of power rods," he
said, "has given us the use of
several new machines. And the
knowledge of how the rods are
made has taught us several
things about the marvelous way
in which the High One
constructed the matter which
composes the earth in which we
live. Indeed, we have learned so
much that Otaro and I feel safe
in announcing that soon we may
be able to greatly improve the
weapons which we now have.
Perhaps in a few weeks we may be
able to construct fire-hoses and
disintegrators with ranges far
larger than those we have today.
"I do not want to raise
your hopes too high, but it
seems that there are things
about this matter that may
enable us to produce weapons
such as we--and perhaps even the
shelks themselves--are now
totally ignorant of."
After the banquet,
Tumithak questioned Zar-Emo
further about this statement,
but the priest was very vague.
Too little had been done in the
way of experiment for him to be
able to tell very much of his
hopes.
Had old Zar-Emo but known it, he
was dealing with forces far
beyond the poor knowledge which
he and Otaro possessed. Indeed,
the shelks themselves, because
of its danger, had long avoided
research along the very line
that the priest was now
pursuing. But the old Tain knew
nothing of that, and in the
little laboratory in the cavern
beyond the town, he and Otaro
pursued their investigations.
Until one day--
Tumithak stood outside the
fallen shelk tower that he had
fitted up as his home,
discussing probable campaigns
against Kaymak with Kiletlok,
and his lieutenant, Datto of
Yakra. Suddenly Datto pointed
behind Tumithak and barked a
wordless ejaculation of
surprise. Tumithak whirled and
saw, far beyond the town, a
mighty white column of smoke
shooting up into the air. No
sooner did he spy it than a
crash like all the thunderclaps
of history struck him with
almost physical force. He
staggered and threw up his hands
to cover his ears, and then,
from the direction of the power
bar factory, came a blast of
wind that truly did hurl him and
his companions from their feet
and send them rolling along the
ground for a dozen yards.
Tumithak fetched up
against a fallen shelk tower. He
had not lost consciousness, but
he was dazed and badly shaken.
First and foremost, he was
aware of a howling, shrieking,
whistling wind. And there were
frequent cracking and crashing
and screeching sounds, like
breaking branches and falling
trees, and the groaning of
girders in the shelk towers,
strained to their utmost. He
heard a woman's shrill scream,
and the gabble of a man's
shouted question, cut short
before it was finished. And then
more crashes, and above them all
the raging of the wind.
He shielded his eyes from
the buffeting of the gale and
tried to look around. The wind
eddied about his fingers and
filled his eyes with dust. He
rubbed them with his knuckles
and swore; and from somewhere,
not far away, came a
panic-stricken scream, the
scream that had sent his
forefathers scampering into the
maze of unoccupied
corridors--the scream of
"Shelk!"
Could Tumithak have seen
about him, could he have made
against that wind, it is likely
that he would have done what
many others of his people did
and fled to the corridors. But
he was temporarily blinded, so
he remained cowering where he
was, crouching against the
tower, and after a few minutes,
to his surprise, the wind
suddenly died down and, weakly,
the sun shone through the pall
of settling dust.
Tumithak rose to his feet,
blinking. He heard a man groan
and saw him, lying in a corner
between two buildings. He moved
forward with the vague idea of
somehow helping the fellow, and
turned as Kiletlok hastened up
to him. The mog seemed
unhurt--indeed, he seemed quite
in control of himself. He sighed
with relief as he realized that
Tumithak was comparatively
unharmed, too.
Kiletlok shook his head.
"It came from the
direction of the power bar
factory," he stated. "I do not
know what it was, but I think--"
he paused. "I think that Zar-Emo
has learned more than he hoped
about the making of matter."
"Zar-Emo!"
The name burst forth from
Tumithak's lips in something
like panic. Though still shaken,
he hurried off through the town
in the direction of the power
bar factory, followed by the
mog. They found Datto not far
away, cursing over an injured
wrist, and he joined them, and
the three hurried through the
town, followed by an increasing
band of pitmen.
As they drew near to the
power bar factory, it became
obvious that Kiletlok's surmise
had been correct. The increasing
signs of damage showed that the
plant was the center of the
explosion. But words fail
utterly to describe the scene
that met their eyes when they
finally came within sight of the
former location of the cavern.
For over a quarter of a mile
around it, not a tree remained
standing. And where the cave had
been, there was a crater, a
crater that was hundreds of
yards across and a full hundred
yards deep!
It took but a second
glance to convince the crowd
that there was little use in
searching for survivors among
the ruins. Plainly, there were
no survivors-- indeed, there
were not even ruins.
The silent little group of
men started solemnly back to
Shawm. Not one but realized that
the explosion had been a heavy
blow to their hopes. The day
before, they had looked
confidently forward to the time
when they would have sufficient
power to attack another shelk
town, perhaps even Kaymak,
itself. But now--now they were
no better off than they had been
when Tumithak had set out to
find more power bars and had
found instead, Kiletlok, Mutassa
and the Arzans. The progress of
man in his battle with the
shelks seemed to have been
halted--for how long, no man
dared to say.
They had almost reached
the outskirts of the stricken
town when Tumithak heard a cry
of excitement from some of the
men on the left of the group. He
turned, with the others, and saw
several Loorians gesticulating
eagerly.
"A man, Tumithak!" one of
them cried. "A man in that tree!
Hurled there by the explosion.
One of those who worked in the
factory, I think."
"It is Gastofac!"
volunteered another. "Gastofac,
the priest. He whom Zar-Emo was
training to be his successor."
Tumithak took charge at
once and superintended the
removal of the body from the
tree. To his surprise, when they
got him down to the ground, they
found that the man was alive.
And they were still more
surprised when he regained
consciousness on the way back to
the town.
The man was suffering from
extreme nervous shock, and it
was all of a week before the
doctors would allow him to be
questioned. Then Tumithak
visited his home and deluged him
with questions.
"Was it a shelk attack?" asked
Tumithak, still a little dazed.
"Was it--"
It was, of course, the
investigations of Zar-Emo and
Otaro that brought about the
explosion," said Gastofac. "They
thought they saw a way to
increase the release of power
from the power rods. If they
could control this, they might
build disintegrators and
fire-hoses with greater ranges
than those of the shelks. This
morning, they called me into the
laboratory to show me their
latest discovery.
"They had made a small
machine, powered only with a
small piece of power rod.
Somehow--it is hard to explain,
because there are no words in
our language that can describe
it--somehow, the power was
turned into a sort of invisible
fluid that flows in a wire. This
fluid, which ordinarily could
not flow in the air, was changed
somehow into a beam that was
projected into the air like a
beam from a fire-hose."
Gastofac paused, took a
drink of water and rested for a
moment. He went on:
"There were graduates on
the machine to vary the
intensity and the length of
the--'waves', Otaro called them.
And when these graduates were
set just so, the power in the
power rods was given off faster.
The speed could be regulated by
the settings on the graduates. I
saw Zar-Emo direct the beam from
the machine on a little piece of
power rod no bigger than my
finger nail. It glowed and
burned furiously and gave off
enough heat to warm the entire
cavern."
"But--the explosion,"
interrupted Tumithak. "That is
what I want to find out about."
Gastofac gave a petulant
exclamation.
"Wait a minute," he
snapped. The man's nerves were
badly frayed. "I'll be telling
you about it in a minute."
He settled himself into a
more comfortable position in his
bed and went on:
"The morning of the
explosion, Otaro had spent two
or three hours explaining the
whole process to me. Then they
decided that it would be best to
explain it to you, too. 'For,'
said Zar-Emo, 'we are about to
begin a very dangerous
experiment, suggested by our
recent success. And if we fail
in it, there must be others to
carry on our experiment where we
left off'. So I was about to
start off to get you when Otaro
halted me.
"'It is also well,' he
said, quietly; 'to acquaint you
with our intended experiment. If
we should fail, perhaps you will
succeed.' So they told me of
their intentions and then sent
me off after you. Apparently,
after I had gone, they decided
to continue with their work--and
apparently their fears were only
too well realized. Somehow or
other, they accomplished the
release of all the power in the
power bars at once."
Tumithak rose to his feet
in awe.
"You mean--all the power
bars that we had stored in the
factory went off at once?"
"Nothing else."
"And it was caused by a
beam of force, of some sort,
from a machine?"
Gastofac nodded.
"But if power bars can do
this--"
Tumithak was dumbfounded.
He was thinking of how, for
years, he had carried a
fire-hose on his back--a
fire-hose that at any moment
might have exploded and torn him
limb from limb, had only the
right force been directed upon
it. He wondered how the shelks
ever found them useful weapons.
And then he remembered the
battle of Shawm, and how they
had used the fire-hoses against
the shelks without any
opposition of that kind from the
shelks. Was it possible that the
shelks did not know of this
power of releasing all the force
in the power rods at once? And
suddenly it dawned on him that
this must be so.
He stood stunned by the
magnitude of the thing. A vision
of Kaymak swept before his
mind's eye--of Kaymak, city of a
hundred thousand towers, and in
every tower, no doubt, a power
rod performing some useful
purpose. And then he saw a fleet
of flyers sweeping over the
city, and beams of force lancing
down from them--
"Gastofac!" he barked. "We
have work to do. Mighty work. It
is for us to give men a
weapon--a real weapon, this
time, that will make us the
masters for all time!"
CHAPTER FIVE
~ City of Fear
DURING
the next few weeks, Tumithak's
enthusiasm rose to white heat.
As each new detail came into his
mind or was suggested by one of
his lieutenants, victory seemed
more certain. Of the four
hooramnon cubes which they
had brought from Kaymak, two had
been lost in the fire and now
but two remained. But with these
they built up two more machines
for producing power rods, and,
several miles from the new
factory, Gastofac set up a
laboratory where he attempted to
duplicate the explosion that had
killed Otaro and Zar-Emo. But he
worked with small pieces of
material.
And while he worked,
others worked, too. Many of the
Tains were taught by their
priests and the remaining Arzans
how to manufacture the power
rods. And hundreds of fire-hoses
were constructed too, and men
returning from the factories at
night often spent long hours
after supper making themselves
proficient in their use.
It was long before the
Krayling could convince Tumithak
that there was any advantage in
organized soldiering.
But after long arguments,
Tumithak began to see the sense
in an organization that kept the
captains informed at all times
of their armies' doings, and so
military discipline was
impressed upon and reluctantly
accepted by the pitmen.
And then came drills and
sham battles and fire-hose
practice, and a sort of manual
of arms developed, until, some
months after the explosion,
there came into being, in that
little village of Shawm, the
first army that Man had owned in
a good eighteen hundred years.
While the army drilled and
trained and gradually took form
as a real unit, men worked and
studied the intricacies of
flying. There were three of
these machines in the possession
of the pitmen, one which had
been captured in the fall of
Shawm, one which had been
salvaged from a short battle a
year before, and the wreck, now
carefully repaired, which had
brought Tumithak and his
companions from Kaymak.
These three machines were
continually making short
experimental flights designed to
teach the pitmen the advantages
and the limitations of flying,
and, strangely enough, it was
burly Datto of Yakra and the
Shelk-Slayer, himself, who were
[sic] the most interested and
most expert of the newly created
group of aviators. And they
learned much, as the days went
by, until they were able to fly
the machines as well as any
shelk. But by that time there
were only two machines. The
other was lost in the river that
flowed not far from Shawm, as
were the bodies of the two
promising young Tains who had
been flying it at the time.
Twice during those months,
Kiletlok, who also had come to
know quite a bit about aviation,
dared to take one of the
machines on scouting expeditions
to the very outskirts of Kaymak
itself. Actually there was
little danger. No shelk in his
wildest imaginings would have
dreamed that a mog would dare to
manipulate a stolen flying
machine, and that he would do it
on the very outskirts of the
city was utterly incredible. So
Kiletlok made his flights in
safety and learned much of value
concerning the road to Kaymak
and the best vantage points from
which to operate.
And thus at last came the day
when the march on Kaymak began.
It did not begin with a parade.
No troops marched bravely into
the wilderness with bands
playing and banners waving.
Indeed, no troops seemed to
march at all. But a hundred
pitmen melted into the forest,
scattered, and began a hundred
solitary marches toward an
appointed meeting place.
And the next day a hundred
others followed. And the next
day, another hundred.
So gradually, Tumithak's
entire army drifted slowly
through the woods toward the
shelk-city. But behind, in
Shawm, Tumithak and certain of
his lieutenants remained. Day
after day, the women and
children of the town saw their
husbands and fathers leaving to
fight the shelks, and still
Tumithak, with Mutassa,
Kiletlok, Datto and others,
waited in the fallen
shelk-towers of Shawm.
And then at last, when
people had begun to wonder, and
to mutter among themselves that
perhaps Tumithak, himself, was
none too certain of living if he
attacked Kaymak, the two fliers
rose one day and set off into
the south. In the smaller of the
two flew Datto, with his big
nephew, Thopf, and Gastofac, the
high priest of the Tains. In the
other flew Tumithak and Kiletlok
and Mutassa.
Tumithak made no attempt
to suppress the excitement that
he felt. And as mile after mile
was put beneath them, his
suspense grew greater and
greater, not untinged with a
little fear.
At last, afar off, they
saw the towers of Kaymak.
Kiletlok pointed them out to the
Loorian, silent with awe at the
stupendous importance of the
moment. Tumithak nodded gravely,
himself impressed into silence.
But Mutassa spoke.
"If our plans have not
gone astray, mizta, our
army is waiting somewhere below
us.
Tumithak nodded. "They
await, well enough. And
somewhere, off to the east,
Datto and Gastofac await our
signal to attack."
"Then--"
"Yes, we are ready. Take
the controls, Kiletlok."
The mog eagerly slid into
the seat vacated by Tumithak,
and the Loorian turned to the
strange machine that had been
fitted up in the seat beside
him. He flipped a couple of the
strange switches, still made in
careful imitation of the
switches of the shelks, drew
down a depressor of the sort
that took the place of dials,
and lowered the barrel of a
strange machine-gun- like object
that projected out of the
window.
Far below was a single
isolated farmhouse, a
shelk-tower that was one of the
first outposts of the distant
city. Tumithak directed the
barrel of his weapon upon it,
pressed the slide and waited,
breathless, upon the result. In
spite of the many tests that the
machine had had, there was still
an element of uncertainty, for,
after all, the pit-men had no
certain means of knowing whether
the shelks had a protection
against this weapon or not.
Perhaps all their planning had
been in vain, perhaps--
The sides of the
shelk-tower bulged outward. The
tower split at the corners, from
the bottom to halfway up. Dust
poured out; the top rocked
crazily.
Then the sound of the
explosion reached them, a great,
crackling roar like a clap of
thunder combined with the
shattering of a dozen great
trees. The corners split the
rest of the way up and the top
began to lean. The tower fell
with a crashing clang, and smoke
and flame poured from the ruin.
The wrecked building passed
beneath them, and as Mutassa
leaned out of the side window
and looked back he saw a shelk
crawl painfully from the mass of
wreckage and drag itself away.
Tumithak's eyes were
glowing.
"Faster, Kiletlok!" he
ordered. "If we can do that
here, let us waste no time in
getting to the center of the
city."
A moment later, Tumithak's
keen eyes spied another shelk
tower. Again he aimed his tube
and again he had the
satisfaction of seeing the tower
leap into the air and spread
itself out. But this time no
injured shelk crawled from the
ruin, and Tumithak smiled
grimly.
Another tower
appeared--and disappeared the
next moment. And then another.
Then, far to the west of them, a
column of dust rose in the air,
and Mutassa pointed it out to
the Loorian. Tumithak nodded
with a satisfied air.
"Datto has found that his
weapon is satisfactory, too," he
said. "We will be busy from now
on."
Indeed his words were
painfully true. In less than a
minute he blasted another
shelk-tower and found it
necessary to order Kiletlok to
swing in a circle so that he
might attack another that they
had almost passed. And then he
found it necessary to swing
quickly on another.
They were over the outlying
suburbs of the city now. It
could be but a matter of time
before the city knew of their
raid. It was Tumithak's desire
to do as much damage as possible
before the shelks realized what
was happening. Straight for the
city's center they flew, and
behind them they left a wide
swathe of ruin.
The continual concussions
of sound from beneath almost
deafened them. Once the air
pressure from a particularly
violent explosion caused the
flyer to rock crazily, and it
was all the mog could do to get
the vessel under control again.
And when he did, a new danger
confronted them. Speeding toward
them from the left, plainly
visible a couple of miles away,
came a good dozen shelk-flyers!
Tumithak swung his
instrument about and ordered
Kiletlok to turn toward the
shelks. His haste was inspired
by the realization that he was
woefully ignorant of all the
weapons of the shelks, and the
knowledge that it was necessary
to get in the first blow; for if
they let the shelks get close
enough to attack with some
unknown weapon, there could be
little hope for the thousands
that now filled the forests to
the north of Kaymak. So it was
essential that he conquer those
shelks before they even realized
that they were in the fight.
They flew on, and Tumithak
held his weapon directly on the
foremost flyer, held his slide
depressed, and swore mightily
under his breath because nothing
happened. Would they never come
within range?
Or were they
already in range, and protected
against the wave beam?
That possibility almost
caused him to faint with fear.
Almost instantly, he was the
Tumithak that had crawled
fearfully up the corridor, years
before. All the boldness, all
the belief in his high destiny
began to ooze out of his
conscious mind. And then, just
as his parched lips moved to
form the words that would bid
Kiletlok flee, the foremost
shelk-flyer exploded--almost, it
seemed, in his very face.
Actually, it was still nearly a
mile away, but to Tumithak's
wrought up emotions, it seemed
near indeed.
Hardly daring to hope,
Tumithak directed his weapon on
the next shelk-ship, and it
exploded. Incredibly, one after
another, they all burst into
flames and dust; after a few
minutes, the air was clear of
them and the Loorian again
directed his weapon to the
ground.
By now, the ship was over
the most thickly populated
portion of the city. The shelks
were aware that something
unprecedented was happening.
Kiletlok was swinging the
machine in huge circles, and
Tumithak was sweeping his weapon
in wide swathes to take in as
much of the city as possible.
And away off on the western
horizon, a long trail of smoke
showed where Datto emulated
Tumithak's example.
Mutassa uttered an excited
ejaculation.
"Look below," he cried.
"There is the factory where they
manufacture the white and
shining rods. There is the place
where they imprisoned Otaro and
forced him into degrading
slavery! Strike there, Mizta!
Strike there and avenge the
thousands of Kraylings that have
died in slavery."
For a moment or two, Tumithak
hesitated to follow Mutassa's
suggestion. He knew that by
exploding the factory, more
damage might be done than in any
other way, but he was thinking
of the possibility that there
might still be Arzans in the pit
far below who could be killed if
he blew up the storage building
on the surface. But a moment's
reflection made him realize that
the Arzan's prison was almost
certainly too far below to be
damaged, and it would be no
difficult thing, providing
Tumithak won this battle, to dig
them out with disintegrating
machines. And so he set his
instruments and depressed the
slide--
The factory disappeared in
a cloud of dust. Almost
instantly, it seemed. The cloud
spread rapidly over the ground.
It billowed up--and as the first
sound of the explosion reached
the flyer, it seemed as if the
whole end of the city suddenly
rose toward them. A blast of
air, upward rushing, struck
their vessel--and suddenly
Tumithak knew what was going to
happen.
"Quick, Kiletlok," he
cried. "Up and away!"
But avoiding the
consequences of his rash act was
about as easy as avoiding the
beam of a fire-hose would have
been. The concussion from the
explosion hit the flyer before
the words were out of his mouth.
The plane swept upward, indeed,
but upward and backward, and it
was not of Kiletlok's doing. In
the grip of the mighty up rush
of wind, the ship was as
helpless as a leaf in a December
gale. It was tossed higher and
higher--and then it was falling,
twisting and turning, and its
three occupants were grasping
wildly to find something to hold
on to.
Kiletlok had been tossed
from his seat and was making
vain efforts to find his way
back to it. Mutassa was lying in
a corner with a dazed look on
his face, while Tumithak, the
only one who retained his
original place, was clinging
with both hands to a stanchion
to keep from joining his two
companions on the floor of the
cabin.
Through the window,
Tumithak could see the earth
below, and it seemed to be
rocking like a ship in the
wildest of storms. Once the
entire flyer turned over
completely, and to the three it
seemed as though the world swept
up and over them and back again
in a cosmic somersault. And all
the while, the ground grew
closer and closer and closer.
Tumithak, looking out the
forward window, saw the ground
sweeping crazily toward him. The
horizon suddenly leveled off and
he realized that they were about
to crash. And then there was a
grinding, wrenching, tearing
sound as the flyer struck the
surface--on its wheels--and
skidded along the ground to a
groaning stop!
At the very last moment,
the flyer had righted itself,
just in time to strike the
ground safely.
To be sure, it was but
comparative safety; Tumithak was
wrenched from his grip on the
stanchion, and his head struck
smartly against the window, but
though this dazed him and raised
a lump that remained for a week,
it did no further damage.
Kiletlok and Mutassa, although
badly battered, were able to
stagger to their feet.
The scene about them was
indescribable. They were on a
tumbled, rock-strewn, distorted
terrain where hardly a thing
suggested that a few minutes
before there had been a city.
Smoke poured from cracks and
crevices in the rock about them,
and only here and there could be
seen twisted metal sheets and
fragments of girders that
indicated that once a shelk city
had reared proud towers to the
sky. Through the gloom caused by
the dust and smoke, the sun
shone feebly.
The three stood
uncertainly awhile and then
started off in the direction
that seemed most likely to be
the north. They knew that
northward, back in the direction
from which they had come, the
army awaited its moment to
attack the disorganized and
panic-stricken shelks.
They made little progress.
They must have climbed over a
half a hundred tumbled hummocks
of rock without seeing the
slightest change in scenery.
They must have traversed at
least a mile and a half, and
still all about them was smoking
ruin.
At last, scrambling over a
huge ridge of ruins, they ran
almost face to face with a party
of shelks who were fleeing the
city. Doubtless the creatures
had not the slightest inkling of
what had caused the terrible
holocaust, but the sight of the
three strange
companions--pitman, Krayling and
mog--traversing this vast scene
of wreckage, linked somehow in
their minds with the destruction
of their city, and though they
were unarmed, they attacked at
once, armed only with the
confidence that was born of two
thousand years of shelk
domination over man.
Curiously, at that fateful
moment, Tumithak was confident,
confident of his high destiny.
Surely the High One whom the
pitmen worshipped would never
have brought him so far through
the battle to let him die now.
And in an unarmed battle, a man
was more than a match for
several shelks. He stood his
ground, in spite of the fact
that there were eight or nine
shelks in the party.
As he strode forward
boldly, he was quite sure that
Kiletlok and Mutassa were behind
him, and it was not until
Kiletlok's cry of "Flee,
master!" came to him from a
dozen yards away, that he
realized that the other two had
not remained with him. And by
that time it was too late.
He turned part way, and saw
Mutassa and Kiletlok fleeing. He
turned back, and saw the shelks
sweeping down on him. And he
stood his ground, still
outwardly confident, but
inwardly wondering just a little
what method the High One would
use to rescue him from this
predicament.
The shelks' method of
fighting was peculiar. For
countless generations the
creatures had done all their
fighting with the highly
developed scientific weapons
that they had brought from Venus
or appropriated from the humans
of the Golden Age. All idea of
hand to hand conflict had been
forgotten by them generations
ago. So there was no subtlety,
but only savagery in the first
creature's onslaught. It sprang
high into the air when it was
close enough to Tumithak and
fell upon him, all ten of its
limbs swiping wildly, like the
arms of a woman learning to box.
Tumithak could think of no
better defense than that which
he had used in the pit of the
Arzans. He grasped one of the
shelk's limbs and jerked the
creature to him, he seized
another and gave a wrenching,
twisting motion and the shelk
screamed in agony. Before the
thing could recover from the
pain of the attack, Tumithak
launched a fist full in its
face. Then three of the
creature's limbs managed to
struggle up between Tumithak's
body and its own, and using them
for leverage, the injured
creature pushed itself away from
the pitman's dangerous embrace.
By this time, however,
three more shelks had managed to
reach the struggling pair. They
attacked at once. Tumithak
realized that he was about to be
overcome by sheer force of
numbers. He would not be
conquered by the creatures so
much as veritably buried beneath
them.
So quick had been the
shelks' attack that even yet the
mog was not a hundred yards
away. He heard and hesitated; so
great was his ingrained fear for
his savage ex-masters the mogs,
that he continued running for
several seconds. Then he slowed
his pace. After a second, he
began to run back toward the
scene of the battle. Mutassa,
seeing him turn, slowed down and
turned about too.
They saw Tumithak
struggling feebly beneath a mass
of shelks. The maze of shelk
legs made it seem that their
numbers were greater than they
really were, and Tumithak's
chances seemed hopeless. Almost
as one, the two slowed down
their pace again. They were
about to flee once more when
they heard Tumithak call a
second time. They looked at each
other sheepishly, and then
Kiletlok, as if apologizing
[sic] to Mutassa, murmured, "He
is my master!" and sped toward
the scene of battle. He had not
taken a dozen steps before he
heard Mutassa's steps behind
him, and the voice of the
Krayling saying, "And mine,
Kiletlok [sic], and mine!"
It was not a moment too
soon as far as Tumithak was
concerned. He had managed to
keep the shelk's teeth from his
throat, but in so doing he had
gotten his wrist between the
shelk's head and his throat, and
the shelk, bearing down on his
arm, had forced his wrist into
his throat, cutting off his wind
and effectually choking him.
Things were spinning around him,
and he had almost lost
consciousness when Kiletlok
pulled the savage creature from
him.
And then, suddenly, the
entire face of the foremost
shelk blackened and smoked!
The creature screamed its
clacking scream and fell choking
to the ground, Another shelk
screamed and then another!
Tumithak's foes were falling
away from him, running,
clambering across the rough
terrain, and dying as they fell.
Plainly, on those that fell and
died were the searing black
marks of the fire-hose! Tumithak
turned, and was only half
surprised at the sight that
greeted his eyes.
Some distance away a flyer
had landed. Crouched at the
door, smoking fire-hoses in
their hands, were Datto, Thopf
and Gastofac. As they saw the
last of the shelks fall, they
rushed forward, shouting, and
Datto grasped Tumithak's hand in
his own.
"We thought you lost, Lord
of Shawm!" he cried. "We thought
you lost!" and there was more
emotion in his voice than
Tumithak had ever heard before.
For a moment he pumped
Tumithak's hand up and down and
then turned away as Thopf put
his hand on Tumithak's shoulder
and said with heartfelt
sincerity: "Thank the High One
you have been spared to see this
victory."
Tumithak staggered a
little.
"We are victorious, then?"
he asked, trying to keep his
voice steady.
Datto grinned all over his
smoke-blackened face.
"Victorious? Proud would I
be to hail you as Lord of
Kaymak, were Kaymak aught but a
smoking ruin. I doubt if a
hundred hell towers yet stand in
Kaymak. And the few hundred
shelks that were left alive flee
southward."
Tumithak nodded, as though
in silent prayer. But his eyes
still had battle hunger in them.
"Let us join our forces,"
he said. "We may yet be in at
the finish."
The door of the machine
closed behind them. The machine
rose, its wings flapping slowly,
and flew off into the
haze-blanketed south.
The End.