Mt. Rushmore was the Mecca of this future world.
Mt. Rushmore was the Mecca of this future world.
Mt. Rushmore was the Mecca of this future world.
"Exactly!"
"But—but how—?"
"Listen," suggested Steve. "I think we can learn much from the Mother's words."
For the Mother had closed her eyes. In a recitative monotone she was intoning a message to the dazed priestess at her feet.
"Thus say the holy records: 'And in those days were Men the Masters of humankind, and Men were truly in the image of the gods. And mighty were the works of men; over highways of creet and steel they raced swift chariots which took their sustenance from vapored liquid; they spoke to each other from afar over wires that hummed and goblets that glowed; in those days none wanted for food, they spent their days in laughter, their nights in gaming and magic.
"'But it came to pass that some Men, zealous to rule all others, made war upon their brothers. Great and terrible were the weapons of their destruction: great catapults, which hurled fire and flame and exploding death; snarling hand-bows which shot steel arrowheads; with gases they wreaked woe, and with waters that burn the flesh.
"'On earth and sea they made these battles, and even in the air. For in those days, the Ancient Ones were winged, like the birds. They soared high, making great thunders, and when they warred they dropped huge eggs of death.
"'For many years this battle waged, and, lo! neither side could gain a victory. In those days, it was the Men who fought while the Women kept the hoams. So the Men fought and died till their number was as the sands of the sea. Until at last there came a day when the Women despaired and cried out, "Alas! Alas!"
"'Then joined the Women in conclave; great was their sadness. And they vowed to rid themselves forever of war and of the brutal Men. They stopped sending fire-eggs to the Men who battled on Earth's five seas; they built walled forts and hid themselves therein.
"'Then the Men cried, "Give us weapons!" and behold! there were no more weapons, and the men cried, "Give us food, lest we perish of hunger!' and lo! the Earth was parched. So the Men came back to their hoams, seeking their Women.
"'Then the Women would not receive them, and now was bitter warfare again between Men and Women. But the Women in their walled cities vanquished the brutal males, and they did flee to the hills and jungles.
"'Thus it was in the old days....'"
CHAPTER V
Captured
The matriarch's voice dwindled into silence. For an awkward moment none spoke. Then said Jon, leader of the Wild Ones, "Great are the records of thy Clan, O Mother. Often I have pondered on these matters, nor solved them not. We have no legends like these; only one that before the Daans came to Earth, we Men were the lords of humankind."
The priestess Beth was forged of stronger stuff than Steve Duane had believed or dared hope. The knowledge thrust upon her must have come as a staggering shock, but she met it unflinching.
"But, Mother Maatha," was her only demurrer, "if the Ancient Ones and the gods were Men, then what are those whichwecall men? And—what means this Revelation to our mode of living?"
"Our men," replied the Mother, "are the inbred males born to our breeding-mothers. They are not true Men; this is a truth known to Clan Mothers for many generations. But what could we do? How else perpetuate our Clan? It was forbidden that Women should have contact with the Wild Ones. And it is certain that these—" She stared at Jon with evident repugnance—"are not cast in the mould of the gods we worship."
Steve stepped forward, placed a hand on the shoulder of the hesitant Jon.
"Judge not a man by his garments, O Mother of Women, nor by your own high standards. Bathe this creature, cleanse the blood from his wounds, anoint him with sweet-scented oil, shave the hair from his lips and chin, and beneath his layers of grime you will find one wrought in the image of the gods.
"You have asked, priestess Beth, what the Revelation means to your mode of living? I will tell you. No more must Women war on Men, nor Men attack and seek to linber Women. A new era is proclaimed by us, the Slumberers. Henceforth must Wild Ones and Women join in common amity and purpose!"
"Join in—!"
"Even more," continued Steve boldly, "there shall no longer be castes of Women. No longer must Women be forced to adopt the professions of warrior, worker or breeder, buteachshall have the privilege of being wooed and won by a Man, her mate!"
A new radiance shone in the eyes of the Mother. She whispered, "Now are the prophecies fulfilled, indeed. A mate for each Woman! Now is the empty loneliness of sterile wombs banished forever—"
"But how," demanded Beth shrewdly, "is this 'wooing' done? Must we first subdue the Men, and then—?"
"Each shall choose the one she wants," Steve advised her, "then win him as she can. Thus, also, it was in the old days."
Beth looked at Jon and wrinkled her nose. She gazed through a portal of the Mother'shoamand studied a spindling pet male peering inquisitively in at the meeting, and sniffed contemptuously. She frowned.
She said, "And you—O Dwain? Didyounot claim to be a Man?"
"That is right."
"Very well, then," said the priestess. "I will make my choice of mates now. I chooseyou!"
"N-now, wait a minute—" began Steve.
"Shall I come to yourhoamtonight?" asked the dust-gold maid with alarming ingenuousness, "Or will you attend me in mine? I do not understand these matters so well, O Dwain. But one of the breeding-mothers can teach me the Rites—"
Lafferty stole a sidelong glance at Steve's suddenly flaming cheeks, and chuckled, "Okay, buster. Let's hear you talk your way out of this one!" Steve coughed nervously and changed the subject.
"You—er—you must not be so hasty, priestess," he said. "There are other—er—more important matters. About the Daans, for instance. Though we gain unity ourselves, yet we are a conquered people. Before we can rebuild humankind's lost civilization, we must first hurl the invader from Earth. To do this, we need force.
"Jon—can you communicate with other tribes of Wild Ones? Call them hither for a general conclave?"
The bearded outlander nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I think so. It will not be easy. Our tribes are scattered and far-flung, nor is there great unity amongst us, but—yes. It can be done. It will take many days and nights, though."
"How about you, Mother Maatha? Can you summon Women of other Clans to a grand council at Fautnox?"
"I can, O Wise One. The Mother Mairlee of Lextun is my sworn sister; we made the Pilgrimage together. The Tensee Clans owe us a debt of honor since we aided them in defending their mountain stronghold, Ashful, against an attacking horde of Wild Ones as many snows ago as I have fingers. These will surely come at my call, as will the Clina and Yana Clans, and I will bid them bring all others they can persuade. But this will take time, O Dwain. The way is long and the roads bad."
Von Rath coughed gently.
"If I might make a suggestion,Leutnant—?"
"Yes?"
"Since we plot to overthrowein herrenvolk, would it not be well to learn more about those whom we plan to attack? These Daans are a mystery to us—"
"Absolutely right!" agreed Steve. "And that's how I had planned to spend the weeks that must intervene before our forces can be drawn together. Mother, where lies the nearest Daan encampment?"
"To the north of Fautnox," said the Mother promptly, "two days walking. In a city of the Ancients called Sinnaty, where once dwelt a mighty Clan known as the Reds."
"Reds!" exclaimed von Rath. "You hear, Duane? Then ourFuehrerwas right in warning the world against the menace of Bolshevik Russia! Small wonder man's civilization toppled, if even your nation succumbed to—"
Chuck Lafferty made a rude noise with his lips.
"Guess again, 'kraut," he chuckled. "These Reds was different. They did their scrapping with bats and baseballs, and their boss was a 'Dictator' named McKechnie. Cincinnati, eh? Boy, many's the time I've parked my tootsies in a bed in the Netherland Plaza.[4]Steve, remember the night we—"
But his words had struck a responsive chord. A gasp escaped the Mother Maatha.
"Nedlunplaza! Yes, that is it! That is the name of the Daans' fortress in Sinnaty!"
Steve Duane grunted satisfaction.
"In that case," he said, "call the room-clerk and make reservations. We're on our way to Cincy!"
Two days later, they were not merely on their way to the one-time Queen City of the Ohio but almost there.
There were eight in their party. Duane and Lafferty and von Rath—whom, despite their pledge of mutual aid, Steve preferred to keep under surveillance—headed the group. The warrior captain, Jain, commanded a trio of fighting-women who had been assigned to guide and guard them on their adventure. Eighth member of the expedition was the priestess Beth. Over Steve's protest she had insisted on coming.
"It is my right," she declared, "as a priestess. If I go not, the journey is without favor in the sight of Jarg."
"But—" argued Steve.
"Moreover," insisted the girl, "one must go to serve as interpreter and counsel. You Slumberers know not the ways of those through whose territory you must pass."
"Just the same—" fumed Steve.
"Furthermore," concluded Beth firmly, "I have chosen you as my mate. And it is written that a Woman must stand by her Man at all times, nor desert him in hour of peril."
There was no answer to that. So, completely floored and none too gracefully, Steve surrendered.
But however little he may have desired her presence, now that she was here, Steve Duane was forced to concede that her aid had proven invaluable. It was she who, by reading of the stars, had reoriented them after an evening of blundering aimlessly through a trackless forest. It was she who stalled the attack of a small band of Rovers, addressing the ruler of these unattached Women in their own slurred dialect and bidding her take her followers to the Mother at Fautnox. It was she, also, who snared wild hares in seines of hair and cotton, dug scrawnytatersfrom furrowless fields, and prepared meals for them all. For these, she explained, were the rightful duties of a priestess.
Only in one respect did her company prove more of an embarrassment than a pleasure: the persistence with which she attached herself to him. This was not so bad in the daytime. As a matter of fact, it was good to tramp through leafy dells with the keen, live scent of summer vibrant in your nostrils, watching the sudden scamperings of curious chipmunks startled by your passage, and the arrow-flight of swift-flushing birds; hearing the muted murmur of river waters rushing pell-mell to a distant sea as it had in countless ages past and would for endless aeons; feeling the soft warmth of a shoulder firm against your own in carefree comradeship. But it was—well, awkward to say the least, thought Steve, to seek your blanket at night and find it already occupied by one who looked up at you with drowsy expectancy, and damned uncomfortable to spend the night huddled by the glowing embers of a campfire.
Chuck heard Steve's grumbling with a stare of blank astonishment.
"Well, cripes!" he exploded. "Youain't got nothing to squawk about! You said yourself we was stuck here in this new world forever, didn't you? Well, then—?"
"That's not the point," wrangled Steve. "If we want to change an entire culture and substitute a brand new design for living, we must set the example ourselves in our behavior towards these women. We can't confuse liberty with license."
"You mean," said Chuck, "everything's got to be done fair and square, eh? Marriage, and all that stuff?"
"That's the idea."
"Well, then—" Lafferty stroked his jaw—"why not that? I got eyes in my head. You like the kid, don't you?"
Steve answered, "That's the hell of it; I do! If we had met in a different age, under other circumstances—"
"No dice, pal! If you like her, why don't you set a real honest-to-John example by marrying her? Show the Women that the new systemwillpan out."
"Because," explained Steve bitterly, "it wouldn't be fair to Beth. I'd be getting her under false pretenses. You see, shestillthinks I'm a god. She's doing this purely and simply because she considers it her duty. Beth's not in love with me. She doesn't even know what loveis!"
Lafferty shrugged and turned away.
"Well, okay," he said. "It's your worry. All I got to say is: Some guys wanteverything!"
And so, as the third twilight of their march neared, they approached the stronghold of the Daans. The wild trails gave way to highways of cracked "creet" through which hopeful spires of grass had broken in patches ... the highway bore them to a deserted village Beth called "Covton", which once, Steve knew, had been the populous city of Covington, Kentucky ... and they stood, at last, on the southern bank of the rolling Ohio looking into the enemy-held fortress of Sinnaty.
In the happier day, not one but a half dozen spans had bridged this river. They were gone now; their rust-encrusted skeletons still thrust redly from the water like the bones of drowned monsters. But where Twentieth Century man had thrown his cantilevers, where a later, barbaric era had allowed them to decay and fall, now stood a gleaming anomaly which brought a gasp to Steve Duane's lips.
"Sweet snakes!" he exclaimed. "Am I nuts, or do you see what I see? A glass bridge!"
"The answer," said Chuck, awed, "is yes. To both."
But the German, von Rath, was staring at the edifice narrowly. Now he said, "A bridge, true. But glass,nein!"
"What? But it's transparent!"
"Exactly!Tootransparent—do you see what I mean? There is no diffraction whatsoever in that structure."
"But—but if it ain't glass—" stammered Chuck.
"Then it must be," recognized Duane, "plastic! Like theluticeof our day, but of an infinitely superior quality. Right, von Rath? But—but if they can create such things as this, we have been underestimating them. What sort of beingsarethese Daans—"
"Magnificent!" The German's eyes were gleaming with admiration. "Whatkultur, what refinement! Truly, they must be a great people who built this structure—"
And:
"Don't look now," interrupted Chuck somewhat acidly, "but if you'd peek more and peep less you can get a gander at the bozos you're yapping about. 'Cause, unless I'm completely cockeyed, there's a bunch of 'em coming toward us right now!"
All followed the direction of his gaze. He had made no mistake. A band of men, previously concealed by a bulwark of the bridge, was now approaching them. Or—were they men? They were manlike in general build and structure, being neither shorter nor taller than Duane, apparently weighing about the same, but—there were differences.
Evolution on Venus must have somewhere diverged from the path taken by Earth's anthropological mankind, and chosen a pathway derivative from amphibious or piscatorial forebears. For the Daans were dead-white of complexion, their hair was a bleached thatch of silver, their eyes so lowly pigmented that there was no sharp distinction between eyeball and iris. The forward jut of their jaws gave them a truculent, almost carp-like look, and between their fingers—now hovering above the hilts of curiously-wrought weapons tucked in their girdles—stretched translucent films of flesh, a faint, vestigial webbing inherited from aqueous ancestors.
Beth shrank as she looked upon the newcomers, and an exclamation, less of fear than of awed hatred, broke from her lips.
"O Dwain! Now you have seen them, let us flee—"
"Steady!" said Steve soothingly. "Hold tight. It's all right, my priestess."
Chuck said, "Whaddya mean, hold tight, Steve? Do we just stand here and let them fish-on-legs catch us? Looks to me like it would be smarter to take it on the lam."
"We wait!" ordered Steve succinctly. "Our desire is to get into their fortress, isn't it? I know no better way." He took a step forward, raised an arm in greeting. "Peace, O Daans!" he said. "We are eight wayfarers seeking lodging for the night. Yonder city looks inviting. Can we—?"
He at the head of the armed band grated his men to a halt, stared at the earthlings suspiciously. Then:
"Whence come you?" he demanded.
"From Loovil," equivocated Steve. "We come from the territory of Tucki—"
"So?" rasped the Daan captain. And he crisped swift commands to his followers in the Earth tongue. "We have been fortunate to find those we sought so soon. Seize them! Bind them well that we may take them to the Overlords!"
CHAPTER VI
Rodrik of Mish-kin
In the moments that followed, Steve Duane could feel his mantle of "godhood" slipping from him; its loss was plain to be seen in the eyes of the Women who were his companions.
He had no doubt that, given their own choice, Jain's warriors would have died then and there rather than submit to the Venusians' bonds. His conciliatory policy had caused him to "lose face" before these battle-scarred veterans. Beth did not like it, nor did Chuck Lafferty approve. Lafferty argued hotly, "It's one thing to walk into their town, Steve, but it's another to betotedin like a trussed duck! There's only six of these white lobsters. Say the word, and—"
"The word," said Steve grimly, "is—wait!"
But even he was forced to admit to himself that he hadn't expected this sort of treatment at the hands of the invaders. After all, they had approached the Daan fortress openly, had neither evaded nor attempted to withstand these others. More humane captors would, under the circumstances, have dispensed with the added humiliation of gyves. Not so the Daans. From their harnesses they uncoiled lengths of plastic rope, pliant but incredibly tough. With this they lashed their prisoners, linked them in single file, and herded them across the bridge to the fortress-city.
Vainly Steve tried to reason with the corps captain, demanding to know why he and his comrades had been bound; the Venusian merely grunted and, with the muzzle of his odd hand-weapon, prodded him to silence.
Only von Rath seemed to understand the reason behind the Daans' high-handed treatment. To Steve he said stolidly, "But of course they take us prisoner. They could not well do otherwise, could they? After all, we are their enemies."
"But we surrendered freely. We are entitled to sane and decent treatment—"
The Nazi shook his head disdainfully.
"Ach, you Yankees! Always the dreamers! Warfare is no silly child's game,mein Leutnant. It is a grim business. The true warrior never trusts nor turns his back on his antagonist. As for treatment—the conqueror treats his prisoner as just what he is: a conquered foe. That is realism!"
Steve said caustically, "Yes. I know what you mean. We've all heard about your Nazi concentration camps."
Von Rath shrugged.
"What would you have us do with our captives, coddle them like house-pets?"
"At least," commented Steve, "give them clothing and shelter, sufficient food and medical attention, as we doyoursoldiers inourprison-camps."
"But," protested von Rath in astonishment, "you hold so few of our brave soldiers, compared to the vast numbers of yours who have deserted to our side! Moreover, you treat our men well because you know you must. Our Fuehrer has promised that the blood of each slain German will be avenged a hundred times over,nicht wahr?"
"Your Fuehrer," snorted Chuck, "is good at promises. He promised your army plenty of fuel oil, too. But you ain't got it yet. Trouble with Adolf is, he picked the wrong method of getting it, attacking the Russians. I know an easier way. All he had to do was build a pipeline from Berlin to the Baku oil-fields, and shove one end of the pipe in his mouth. If he could suck like he can blow, Germany would have more oil than the whole state of Texas!"
Von Rath stiffened, his eyes darting malice.
"That," he stormed, "is dirty democratic propaganda! Our Fuehrer is—"
"Was!" interrupted Steve.
"Eh?"
"Was," repeated Steve wearily, "notis. You two seem to have forgotten where we are. Stop fighting a war that was over fifteen centuries ago!"
Both men stopped wrangling abruptly, glanced at each other rather sheepishly. Chuck said, "Yeah. I guess you got something there, Steve," and von Rath said, "Ja, we have been foolish."
Even so, his defense of the Daans had reminded Steve again that even yet the Nazi was not altogether to be trusted.
Meanwhile, they had crossed the bridge into the city now known as "Sinnaty." The bridge carried them to the heart of the city; still it was with the utmost difficulty Duane—who had known Cincinnati—oriented himself.
It was as if a Twentieth Century New Yorker suddenly should find himself treading the muddy footpaths of New Amsterdam. The geography was the same, but the street pattern was so completely altered as to be practically unrecognizable. Where had been rows of smart shops and office buildings, there now ranged clusters of tumbledown shacks, shanties so squalid as to be mere pig-stys.
Gone were the fine asphalt avenues; age had crumbled them to dust; rain and snow had dissolved this dust, the feet of careless generations had turned the roadways to a quagmire of muck. Animals—cats, dogs, swine, an occasional horse or cow—roamed the streets unmolested, cropping the sparse grass by the roadsides or rooting through the garbage that befouled the air.
Two witnesses remained that this had once been Ohio's second largest city. Still intact was that great, paved intersection which had been Fountain Square ... and beside it, heart-stirringly beautiful in this scene of desolation and squalor, still stood proudly erect the mighty spire of Carew Tower. It was toward this building the Daans herded their prisoners.
The mighty spire of Carew Tower still stood proudly erect amid the ruins of Cincinnati.
The mighty spire of Carew Tower still stood proudly erect amid the ruins of Cincinnati.
The mighty spire of Carew Tower still stood proudly erect amid the ruins of Cincinnati.
A few humans, both men and women, were on the streets. But these slunk along in the shadows of the dilapidated houses, and when they glimpsed the Daans, scurried furtively, hastily, into the nearest shelter. Steve Duane's hands clenched at his sides to see this evidence of mankind's abject peonage, and in that moment he vowed that, though it cost him his life, he must dosomething!—to resurrect the glory which had once been Man's, and the pride which had once been America's!
But if the Overlords of Daan let their subjects live like beasts, they maintained a high standard of existence for themselves. The "Nedlunplaza" was, if anything, an even more gorgeous building than it had been in the days when its great lobby entertained visitors from forty-eight states, a hundred nations.
It had been converted into a stronghold, a fortress, a citadel at once impregnable and breathtakingly opulent. A layer of some gleaming metal—silver, perhaps—overlay its erstwhile granite frame. Buttressed walls had been stretched about it; from the occasional watchtowers of these, Daan warriors looked down over their territory. At a call, the gates were flung open. The captives marched into the Daans' capital. Across terraced flags to that which had once been the hotel's lobby ... thence upward in an elevator....
"But, hey!" muttered Chuck. "How come this elevator? I thought these people didn't know nothing about—"
Steve grunted tightly.
"Humansdon't. They have forgotten everything of our mechanistic civilization. Look at Beth and Jain. Scared to death. This probably seems like magic to them. But there's nothing wrong with the Daans' science.Theyknow what these things are—and how to use 'em. Any race which can discover spaceflight—"
"Silence!" rasped the Daan group-leader. "Out, now! This is your prison. You will wait here until sent for."
The moving cage quivered to a stop, the door opened, and the octet of captives were thrust from it. Those who had brought them thus far accompanied them no farther. Stepping from the elevator, they moved into custody of other Venusians not only armed with the now-familiar crystalline hand-weapons but also equipped with short, thick-handled, barb-tipped cat-o'-nine-tails.
These, without curiosity or comment, loosed them of their bonds and rudely shouldered them through heavy bronze doorway. The doorclanged!shut and they were alone.
Chuck said, "Well, I'll be damned!"
"Well, I'll be damned!" repeated Chuck Lafferty. "Of all the hoosegows I've ever been in, this one takes the cake! Steve—are we supposed to beprisoners?"
"Nothing else but," grunted Duane succinctly.
"But it's nuts!" declared Chuck. "Prisoners oughta be barred or walled or underground or something—"
"You," Steve told him, "should soak up a little bit of von Rath's realism. Or read Elizabethan poetry. Richard Lovelace was right. 'Stone walls do not a prison make', pal! See those windows?"
"Sure I see 'em. And they ain't barred."
"No. But they look straight down about two hundred feet. That's a long way to tumble. Don't kid yourself. We aren't free just because they removed our bonds and loosed us to do as we will."
Von Rath said soberly, "Duane speaks truth, Lafferty. A high, well-guarded tower is the strongest of all prisons. In the Middle Ages all dungeons were built at the tops of castles. Chillon ...der Rathaus... the bloody tower of London. This is but another evidence of the Daans' superiority over humans. Being wiser, stronger, better organized, they can afford to be contemptuous of their prisoners. They need not bind us. One rebellious move, and they can starve us into submission."
"That's right," agreed Steve. "As a matter of fact, there's only one factor in our favor—and that is the very thing you just mentioned, von Rath. Their contempt for humankind. They have had only to deal with—well, with the poor barbarians of this day. They don't suspect that we three are different. Sharper, more resourceful, and perhaps almost as intelligent as themselves."
The priestess Beth had been listening wide-eyed and comprehending perhaps only half of what she heard. Now, with a small sign of obeisance, "And what," she asked, "do we now, O Dwain? Wait quietly, or prepare magic to destroy our foes upon their return?"
"First," Steve told her, "we get one thing straight. You've got to stop addressing me like something on a marble pedestal. Our chances of success depend on the Venusians not finding out who we are. So lay off that, 'O Dwain!' stuff."
"It shall be as you say, O Dwain," agreed the dust-gold maiden meekly. "But—but how should one address one of the gods—"
"I'm not one of the—Oh, hell!" snorted Steve. "Do we have to go through all that again? Look, Beth—I've told you time and time again that I am a man!"
"Yes, Master. A Man-god."
"Man-god your—Well, never mind! If I were one of the Men of your Clan, you'd call me by my given name—right? Well, from now on that's the ticket. I'm Steve, get it? And this is Chuck, and this is—what's your name, von Rath?—oh, yes, I remember—Eric!"
"Steve ... Chuck ... Ay-rik. Very well, Wise Slumberer. Henceforth it shall be as you say. Jain, you hear?"
"Yes, priestess. We hear and obey."
"Good!" sighed Steve. "Well, now, that's settled—let's take a look around this joint. I don't see any PRIVATE: KEEP OUT signs on the doors, so I guess we're free to wander."
For in addition to the windows which lighted the room, several doors other than the bronze portal through which they had entered off it. Toward the nearest of these Steve led his wondering group.
The door opened easily. And it opened upon a scene which surprised them all. They were not the only prisoners in the tower of Nedlunplaza. The chamber into which they strode was vast, and thickly strewn with humans of all ages, colors and descriptions. Conditions, too. Many were of the furtive, fearful type Duane had seen in the streets of Sinnaty, others were "Wild Ones" like Jon and his tribe—but a few were of a type whose existence in this era the time-exiles had not even suspected. Strong-thewed, intelligent-seeming Men like themselves!
At their entrance, all heads turned at once. Voices raised, for the most part in mourning, but a scattered few in a sort of gloating triumph. And this spontaneous roar roused to movement; the gleeful cries coalesced into a single word:
"Women!"
So swiftly that even Steve Duane, whose mind usually accepted new circumstances with lightning speed, was shocked into immobility, male figures rose and hurtled forward toward the newcomers!
But if the three time-travellers were stunned motionless, not so the women of the Tucki Clan. Barbaric they might be, superstitious they undoubtedly were—but their defensive reflexes had been trained in a hard school; the bitter school of experience.
In the twinkling of an eye, the warrior captain Jain had cried, "On guard!"—and like automatons trained to split-second precision she and her three fighters had whipped steel from scabbards and formed a shield before their priestess and their gods.
Against this biting rampart, not even such a woman-hungry sea of males dared dash itself. The cries assumed an angry, baffled tone, but the attack slowed ... stalled. For an instant there was silence, then one voice, boldly desperate, cried, "On them! What mean their weapons? They are but four, and we are many—"
Steve understood, now, why the Daans had not removed their sidearms while in all other ways holding them in strict bondage. Here was sickening evidence of the difficulties he faced in welding the pitiful remnants of humanity to a force which might overthrow Earth's invaders. Here were men who, though serfs to a master race, spent their blood, their hate, their energies upon each other rather than those who should be their natural enemies.
Eyes blazing, he thrust himself into the forefront beside Jain; his cry was a flaming challenge.
"What manner of men are you? We came in peace—but if war is what you want, then—come on! Who would first like the hot blood let from his veins?"
Answer came from an unexpected source. From the far side of the chamber ... from another door which opened suddenly ... appeared one tall and fair as Stephen Duane himself. In a glance the newcomer appraised the situation, his voice put an end to the mob's mutterings.
"Hold! What have we here? Aaah—new Women?" His cold, gray-blue eyes swept the newly-arrived group, lighted appreciatively as they came to rest on Beth, who had taken her place at Steve's side. "Good! Subdue the men and divide the warriors as you will. But touch not the golden one. She is mine!"
Chuck gasped, "Hoddya likethatfor nerve, Steve!"
Steve didn't like it. Not a bit. His brow darkened dangerously. "Yours?" he cried. "Guess again, buster! She's not yours till you take her! By what right—?"
"By the right of the power," mocked the other, "that is mine, stranger. I am Rodrik. Rodrik of Mish-kin—ruler of the prisoners of Nedlunplaza!"
CHAPTER VII
Lady Loala
Chuck Lafferty sniffed, "Ruler, eh? Well, a ruler's only got twelve inches, mister—and I got eighteen inches of good steel right here in my fist. If you'd like to—"
"Wait, Chuck!" crisped Steve. Things were beginning to size up a little better now. He stared at the self-styled "ruler of Nedlunplaza" thoughtfully. He said, "Ruler by right of your power, is that it, Rodrik? Then you are strongest of all here?"
"I am the strongest of arm," proclaimed Rodrik, "the fiercest of heart, most skilled with sword and lance, wisest and most cunning—"
"Bashfulest, too, maybe?" suggested Lafferty.
"A shrinking violet," grinned Steve. "Only don't forget to cross the 't' in 'shrinking'." And to Rodrik—"I too am a ruler in my native territory, Rodrik. Therefore I challenge you to pit your strength against mine, here and now, for the prize of these Women who are my own."
"It is not meet," said the ruler disdainfully, "that I should soil my hands against one so puny. I, Rodrik, who alone and unaided have slain the fierce jungle wolf, snared the sharp-fanged boar with bare hands, shattered the ranks of a warrior Clan—"
"Child's play!" taunted Steve. "In my youth, Rodrik,Imet and bested the horrible Intercollegiate Fisticuffs Champion, fighting against staggering odds under the sacred and dreadful Marquis of Queensbury rules! Can you say as much?"
The priestess Beth, who until this moment had seemed fearful not so much for her own safety as for that of the man she was pledged to protect, now turned to Chuck dubiously.
"Is—is this really so, O Chuck?" she murmured. "Hediddestroy the terribleintakul—intrical—?"
"Sister," chuckled Lafferty, "hemoideredhim! Left-jabbed him silly, then crossed a kayo to the solar plexus. If Rodrik of Mish-kin gets sucked into this deal, he's gonna get tagged on the whiskers—but plenty!"
"The language of the gods," whispered the girl in awe, "is strange to my humble ears. But I am reassured. What can I do to help?"
"Just say," grinned Chuck, "the magic words: 'Sock him, Steve!' That oughta help."
The priestess made a swift, pious movement. "Your suggestion, O Chuck, is my command."
Meanwhile, Rodrik of Mish-kin had pressed forward to confront Steve. Ranged face to face, there was a startling similarity between the two men. Both were over six feet tall, both were blond of hair, fair of skin, blue of eye. But there the likeness ended. Steve's brow was smooth, unfurrowed; his lips were drawn in an amused, almost hopeful, half smile. The other man's eyes were sultry, his lips drawn thin with anger at having his authority thus challenged.
For a long moment he glared at Steve, as if the very ferocity of his looks might cow his antagonist. But finally it was he, not Steve, who dropped his eyes. He turned to his followers.
"Enough of this!" he snarled. "The stranger lies. Destroy him and his fellow males. The Women are ours."
And again the hands of the eight adventurers tightened upon their hilts. But strangely the blood-lust of the prison band seemed to have cooled. One who had pressed most ardently now voiced the doubt of his fellows.
"That we cannot do now, O Rodrik," he demurred. "He has put the question—challenged you, the ruler of our band, to private combat. The challenge must be met. It is the Law."
Rodrik's fair cheeks flamed with sudden anger.
"Fool! Can you not see he is a braggart and a liar? At him—"
"It is the Law!" repeated the other man stubbornly.
"Very well, then!" cried Rodrik, goaded out of patience. "See how I meet and destroy this interloper—"
And in one blurring motion he whirled, lashed his sword from his belt, and hurled himself upon Steve.
But Duane's smile had not masked carelessness. Fast as Rodrik moved, he moved even more swiftly. His blade met that of the other in midair with a chillingzzzwiing! Shock numbed his opponent's fingers, a twist sent the sword flying across the room. Rodrik cried aloud, a cry of dismay mingled with fear. His hand darted to his harness, withdrew, flashed—and winged death sang past Steve's ear as he left his feet in a diving tackle.
His shoulder smashed his foeman's knees. Rodrik staggered backward, arms flailing, and Steve pressed his advantage. With a lunge, he was on his feet again, closing in on Rodrik, battering him with sledgehammer lefts and rights. The ruler of Nedlunplaza's prisoners moaned and spat blood. Powerful man that he was, this type of onslaught, performed under the "sacred and dreadful" Marquis of Queensbury rules, was beyond his ken.
Realizing this, Steve relented. Face close to that of his antagonist, Duane offered, "Enough? Are you satisfied now, Rodrik? Do you yield?"
The reply was half-choked, gasping.
"I ... yield ... stranger."
"Good!" said Steve. "Then—aaagh!" His proffer of peace and amity ended in a retching groan. For as his fists fell to his sides, Rodrik moved with devilish treachery. His booted foot found Duane's groin, driving Steve to his knees, twisting and nauseated, lips working to hold back the sickly bile churning within him.
Chuck Lafferty's outraged scream ripped the darkness which threatened to engulf him.
"The damned, sneaking scoundrel! Steve—are you all right? Out of the way! Let me at—"
In that moment, while Steve was helpless and Chuck still too far away to be of any assistance, Rodrik of Mish-kin could have won his battle—had he dared. But he had learned a wholesome respect for his opponent, and it was his way to end the fight with cold steel, not with the vigor of his own fists. He whirled, eyes darting about the room, found what he was looking for, and raced toward his sword.
But rage, cold and deadly, flooded Stephen Duane like an icy cascade. From somewhere deep within him came strength he had not known he possessed. He lurched to his feet, threw himself after his enemy. They met again before Rodrik's hand could clutch the sword—and their meeting was the downfall of Rodrik of Mish-kin.
For no peace offer was granted him now. With deadly fury Steve went to work on his opponent. His blows cut like the bite of an axe in heartwood: right and left to the body until Rodrik's mouth gaped like an angry wound, his knees sagged beneath him, his guard pawed futilely at the battering rams which bent him double ... then lefts and rights to the unprotected face, hard knuckles raising great welts on his fair cheeks, welts which tore and bled....
Then:
"This one," rasped Steve, "is on the house!" And he let it go. A hay-maker from the floor that caught Rodrik on his way down to meet it. Rodrik sighed once, wearily—then his eyes rolled back in his head. His legs seemed to melt beneath him; he sprawled on the floor like a flayed carcass.
Steve Duane bent over him, not again trustful.
"Had ... enough ... sweetheart?" he puffed.
Rodrik answered nothing. He had had quite enough. Too much. He was deep in the arms of Morpheus....
It was then Beth the priestess broke from her place beside Chuck to throw herself on her knees before Steve. Her dust-gold hair tumbled to the floor; beneath its shimmering veil she took one bruised hand and touched it tenderly, reverently, to her lips.
"Now canst Thou no longer deny Thy godhood, O Mighty Dwain!" she cried raptly. "For surely none but a living god could wage so fierce a battle!"
At another time, Steve might have laughed. But this fight had done something to him, too. It had filled him with an impatient fire which swept him free of all inhibitions.
With a swift, half-angry, and most ungodlike abruptness he raised the girl, yanked her into the circle of his arms, lowered his face to hers.
"All right, then!" he yelled. "I'm tired of arguing with you. I'm a god, then, if that's the way you want it!"
And spurred by impulse, by a hunger whose depth even he had not realized, his lips found hers bruisingly, crushingly ... warmed themselves at the swift-fanning blaze which wakened beneath them. For a moment in which Time itself ceased to exist he felt the oneness of their pulses pounding like myriad hammers of flame. Then he released her, spun to confront those about him.
"Is there any other," he demanded, "who would like to take Rodrik's place?"
His question brought neither defiance nor avowal, but something more astonishing. It brought—surprise! The eyes of Rodrik's erstwhile lieutenant lifted, and his voice echoed bewilderment.
"But, no, my lord," he said for all. "Who would lift a hand against you now? You are our ruler."
Steve stared at him in amazement.
"Come again? I'm your—?"
"Our new ruler. But, of course, my lord. You have bested Rodrik of Mish-kin in the trial by combat. Henceforth we follow your commands. It is the Law."
Chuck chortled delightedly.
"Now, that," he said, "is what I call a pretty good law! Hyah, Your Majesty! Whateth is nexteth on ye program?"
"Nuts," said Steve, "to you!" He frowned at his new lieutenant. "We have but just come here. There is much we need to know—er—"
"My name is Jak," supplied the other. "Jak of Norlinz, men call me. I shall try to explain anything you would know. But first—" He jerked his head contemptuously toward the prostrate figure between them—"shall we dispose of this?"
"Yes," said Steve unthinkingly. "Snap him out of it and—Hey! What are you doing!"
For at his word, two men had stepped forward, lifted the body of Rodrik and carried it to the nearest window. In another instant the vanquished chieftain would have been flying on his way two hundred feet to the stone courtyard below. They paused uncertainly. One said, "But, surely—Oh! Pardon, my lord! You would put him to the sword yourself?"
"Release him!" snapped Steve. "Give him water, and tend his hurts!"
"But—but the Law!"
For the second time since his arrival in this strange, semi-civilized world, Stephen Duane invoked a defiant phrase. This time he did it with more assurance. His eyes hardened, tiny white knots gathered at the corners of his jaw. "Iamthe Law!" he said. "Release him! It is folly to waste good manpower in such—Ah! You've come to, Rodrik?"
The deposed ruler, released, had somehow managed to stay on his feet. He cringed at the tone of Steve's voice.
"Mercy, O Stranger!" he cried. "Be merciful—"
Von Rath said thickly, "This is not wisdom, Stephen Duane. I have warned you, never is it safe to allow an enemy to live—"
"I'm handling this," interrupted Duane. "Rodrik, do you pledge yourself to keep the peace from now on, acknowledge me your master?"
"M-master?" The Mish-kinite's pallid eyes were less clouded now; they fastened on Steve as if seeing him for the first time. They roved from the top of his ash-blond head to the tips of his doeskin sandals. A strange, new light which might have been awe ... or understanding ... or a curious sort offellowship... dawned in his eyes. Aloud he said, "Yes! I do so yield and acknowledge, O Master!" But this was solely for the ears of their audience. He moved to Duane's side, and as he bent his head in token of submission he whispered softly, "Forgive me, brother! I did not understand. I should have known when I looked upon you—"
"Eh?" exclaimed Steve, startled. "What's that?"
"Hush, brother! Let not the others hear. Later you and I shall discuss ... the Plans. But now—" And he raised his voice again—"Let me show you about the prison, O strong new leader. None is more qualified than I to explain."
Andthatmuch, at any rate, was true. So, stifling his curiosity for the time being, Steve permitted the former leader to show the way through the tower-gaol of Nedlunplaza. But still wary, still grimly watchful, Jain's body-guard of Women ranged themselves between him and the other prisoners. And to his arm clung the priestess Beth.
Steve laughed at her for this. "You cling to me, O priestess," he taunted her in mock outrage. "You dare place warm hands upon my flesh! Is this how a mere mortal approaches a god?"
But the dust-gold head lifted; the girl's eyes met his levelly, softly, thoughtfully. And the voice of Beth was alive with a strange new vibrancy as she said:
"Aye, even so, my lord; perhaps I am presumptuous. But there was magic in the touching-of-mouths you just taught me. Mad magic. I know not why—but for the first time it sings in my heart that perhaps you have spoken the truth. My mind acknowledges you a god, but here—" And she touched her breast—"I feel you are in truth—a Man!"
Considerably later, after they had been led through the labyrinthine series of connecting chambers and corridors which comprised this prison—this whole floor—of Nedlunplaza, Steve dismissed all his new followers save Jak of Norlinz. To this young stalwart he had taken a liking. Of him he asked the question which had perplexed him ever since entering the citadel.
"Jak, you are no weakling male like those utilized for breeders by Beth's clan. Nor are you like the Wild Ones. You are a man like myself. How is this?"
Jak looked puzzled.
"I do not understand, Steve. How else should it be?"
The priestess Beth broke in fiercely, "You know full well how it should be, Jak of Norlinz! The Women rule Tizathy everywhere! And guard your tongue, male upstart! The sacred name of 'Steve' is not yours to use—"
"That will do, Beth," ordered Steve. "I asked him to call me that. And it is obvious that the Women donotrule everywhere. Not in Jak's New Orleans, nor in Rodrik's Michigan."
"But it is written in the holy books," argued Beth, "that the Men and Women fought, and the Women were victors—"
Jak nodded. "I begin to understand, Steve. We, too, have a legend of the days when the sexes warred. But where I came from the Men subdued the rebels. In my territory Men and Women mate ... they work together hand in hand, and enjoy such happiness as the Daans' harsh rule permits. Thus it is, also, in many territories I know. In Zoni and Mexco ... in Bama and Sippi."
"But," frowned Chuck, "how about this here now place Beth just mentioned: Tizathy? Where's that?"
"Why, that isallplaces," explained Jak laboriously. "All territories are but part of Tizathy. It is the Land of the Ancients, over which ruled Jarg and Taamuz, Ibrim and—"
"I see," said Steve softly. "I understand now. It is the whole, one-time American nation. Don't you see, Chuck? 'My country...Tizathy....'"
Jak said, "Yes. You know the Song, Steve?"
"I know it." Duane's forehead creased. "But how is it you languish in a Sinnaty prison, Jak?"
Jak shrugged. "I was restless. I wandered in search of—well, I know not what. Perhaps a territory where there were no Daans. I was captured here, questioned. I could not account for myself, so—here I am. Thus it was with many of the prisoners. Rodrik ... Pawl ... Alan of Washtun."
"But were you free to return to your homeland, Jak, could you rouse others like yourself to come northward?"
"Perhaps. But why?"
"For the purpose of—" began Steve.
He did not finish his sentence. For at that moment came a frightened messenger from the outer chamber. "It is the Daans, O ruler!" he told Steve fearfully. "They are come to take you for the Questioning."
Chuck stirred fretfully.
"What does that mean, Steve? The third degree? Say, we've got an organization now. What say we spunk up and give them toads a dose of—"
"No," said Steve, rising swiftly. "That would only tip our hand. And besides, they don't want to see us any more thanwewant to seethem. That's what we came here for. Let's go!"
Thus it was that, a few minutes later, the recently captured band of Tuckians and time-exiles, surrounded by armed Daans, ascended in the elevator to the topmost stage of Carew Tower. They debouched from their lift into a place which had once upon a time been a swank nightclub, a glass-encased roof garden wherein beneath the light of the stars gay humans had wined and dined and danced.
Age had shattered the glass panes here as elsewhere throughout Nedlunplaza, but in this place the windows had not gone unrepaired. They were filled with that odd, transparent plastic of which the Sinnaty bridge had been made. The whole chamber was a gigantic council-hall, at the head of which sat in opulent splendor the Venusian vice-regents.
A fanfare greeted their entrance into the hall, and a guard, with the haft of his knout, prodded Steve roughly to his knees. Then a voice, curiously gentle and mellow, issued a command ... and from somewhere roused the strident cry of an equerry:
"Let the prisoners rise! Bring them forward, that they may be seen by the Overlord Loala!"
Again the whip dug Steve's back. Stifling an urge to turn and let his captor have one, Steve rose, took a step forward, lifted his eyes and—almost gasped aloud in utter amazement.
For the central figure of those enthroned before him was—though not altogether Earthly—unmistakably feminine.The Overlord Loala was a woman!
CHAPTER VIII
Honor for Sale
There was one thing about Chuck Lafferty which could be depended upon. He was a creature of habit. Nor time nor place nor condition of servitude could vary his set response to given circumstances. When he saw a pretty woman, he gave vent to his admiration in a typically Chuck Laffertyian way. He did so now. He opened his eyes wide. And he whistled.
"Phwee-eew!What a pigeon!"
Steve muttered, "Quiet, you dope! Do you want to get us all in a jam?"
But he had to concede that the Overlord Loala was—as Chuck's whistle had intimated—something to make a man sit up and take notice.
The amphibious heritage of the Venusian race did not display itself so blatantly in the females as in the men. Aside from the fact that her skin was abnormally pale, almost alabaster, the Lady Loala could have passed anywhere as one of Earth's fairest daughters. Her fingers were not joined with vestigial webs, as in the case of the Venusian men, nor was there any prognathous cast to her jaw. Her hair was a silver mantle, billowing down over soft and rounded shoulders ... her eyes were not colorless, but irised with lambent, gray-green pools, slumbrously inviting as a cool grotto on a torrid day. Her body was slim and lithe and perfectly molded. If Steve had suspected the Daans might be ovariparous, a glance at her contours convinced him otherwise. This Venusian was definitely, decidedly, most invitingly, mammalian.
There were others seated on the dais beside her ... a sort of Council, Stephen Duane guessed. These were obviously Venusians of a higher rank and culture than the fighting-men who had been their captors. They were less coarse of feature, less tagged with the stigmata of their squamous ancestry, more Earthly in appearance. One curious phenomenon which impressed itself upon Steve's notice was that the higher types of Daans seemed more highly pigmented than the lower classes. He could only guess at an explanation, but his off-hand hunch was that this differentiation of types paralleled the difference between humankind and the less fortunate anthropoids of Earth.[5]
But there was no time for further conjecture, because the Lady Loala had now lifted one hand in a delicate gesture, and he and his associates were being summoned forward.
The beautiful Overlord looked down upon them with an unusual curiosity. Upon Steve she bent her most interested glances; to him she spoke.
"We have been told you approached our city from the south. Is this true, Earthman? Whence came you, and what is your name?"
"I am called Steve. Steve of—er—M.I.T.[6]And it is true we came from the south," equivocated Duane. "We came from the territory of Loovil."
Loala frowned daintily. "I know not this village of Emmeity, but we shall send a corps to conquer and subdue it," she said. "So you came from Loovil? With permission of the Daan commander there, I presume? You have your travel certificate?"
This was something Steve had not expected. But there was no sense in pyramiding falsehoods until he had constructed a fabric which might destroy them all. He put a bold face on the matter.
"We have not, O Daughter of the Dawn Star," he said. "We left Loovil secretly because we were not happy under the treatment of the local rulers."
A gasp of outrage shuddered through his listeners. The Daan at Loala's left scowled, spoke harshly. "Loala, we have heard enough. They stand self-convicted of rebellion. Destroy them!"
But the Daan at the Overlord's right advised gently, "Wait! The human is honest, even though guilty. Let us hear him through."
Steve glanced at their befriender swiftly. Never had he expected to hear such words from a Venusian. But this one was a rather decent looking chap ... grave, quiet, gentle ... and Steve spoke gratefully.
"Thank you, O Master."
"Nonsense!" rapped the first advisor. "Okuno is too soft-hearted! Let us have an end of this; make an example of these temerarious humans—"
"Silence, Malgro. I make the decisions here." And she turned to Steve again. "Tell us, Steve of Emmeity—did you, perchance, in your travels pass through a village known as 'Fautnox'?"
"Fautnox!" exclaimed Chuck. "Why—"
But Steve, a warning bell clamoring deep within him, silenced his friend with a swift, stabbing glare. He repeated the name wonderingly.
"Fautnox? Nay, Princess of Beauty. That name is new to me. Was it upon our route? We did not see it."
And—unexpectedly, Stephen Duane learned much about the Venusian race. Or, rather, about the Daan women ... Loala in particular. For the term of respect which had come to his lips instinctively proved that to Venusian womankind, as to their Earthly sisters, flattery was a potent weapon. At the words, "Princess of Beauty," Loala's alabaster features softened, her gray-green eyes widened appreciatively, and to her lips came the faintest suggestion of a smile. When she spoke again, her voice was even more mellow.
"Nay? That is too bad ... human called Steve—"
"He lies!" interrupted the advisor Malgro. "Fautnoxmustbe along that route somewhere. All reports tell us—"