The City of the Beast or Warriors of Mars

by Michael Moorcock

  Some farming was done now, but on a big scale and not by private landowners. Square miles of cereals were sown, I was told, and harvested all at once by volunteers from all over the Karnala nation. What was not used was stored in case of hard times, for the Karnala were well aware that a nation based on trade and industry cannot buy food in famine and will only survive if it can produce its own.

  The absence of any places of worship was noticeable and I asked Shizala about this. She replied that there was no official religion of any kind, but for those who wanted to believe in a higher being it was better to look for Him in their own minds and hearts, not to seek Him in the words of others.

  On the other hand, there were public schools, libraries, clinics, social centers, hotels and the like, and no one seemed under-privileged or unhappy in Varnal.

  The Karnala political philosophy seemed to be one of armed neutrality. They were a strong nation and prepared for any attack. Besides this, an oldfashioned martial code still seemed to exist, because an aggressor never attacked without good warning.

  After telling me this, Shizala added: "Apart from the more savage tribes, and they are no threat. Those-and the Blue Giants."

  "Who are the Blue Giants?" I asked.

  "The Argzoon. They are fierce and without code or conscience. They dwell in the far north and only venture out on raids. They have only once come this far south, and then my father's army drove them away ..." She bowed her head and tightened her grip of the reins.

  "And never returned?" I said sympathetically, feeling I had to say something.

  "Just so."

  She jostled the reins and the dahara began to trot faster. I imitated her and we were soon galloping along the wide streets through which the delicate green mist wound, and up towards the golden hills—the Calling Hills.

  We were soon out of the city and rushing through the strange trees which seemed to be calling for us as we moved among them.

  After a while Shizala slowed her steed and I did likewise. She turned to me with a smile.

  "I acted wilfully—I hope you will forgive me."

  "I could forgive you anything," I said, almost without thinking.

  She gave me a quizzical, intelligent look which again I could not interpret.

  "Perhaps," she said. "I should mention ..."

  Again I spoke on impulse. "Let us not talk—we are interrupting the voices of the trees. Let us just ride and listen."

  She smiled. "Very well."

  As we rode I suddenly began to wonder how I was going to live on Mars. I had accepted that I would like to stay in the idyllic city of Varnal— I would never willingly leave a place which sheltered such a graceful beauty as the girl riding beside me at that moment—but how was I going to earn my living?

  As a scientist I could probably contribute something to the industries. It struck me that Shizala might be interested if I suggested that she elect me as some sort of Court Scientific Adviser! This would allow me to serve a useful function in the community and at the same time enable me to be close to her and see a great deal of her.

  At that time, of course, I was acting almost intuitively. I had not as yet wondered if the customs of the Karnala would even permit me to propose marriage to Shizala—and, anyway, there was a very good chance that Shizala would want nothing to do with me. Why should she? Although she had not questioned what I had told her about where I had come from and how I had arrived on her planet, for all she knew I might be a lunatic.

  My mind was confused as I rode along. At length we decided we had best return to the city and the palace, and I directed my strange steed back with some reluctance.

  The visiting Prince of Mishim Tep, Telem Fas Ogdai, was waiting on the steps of the palace when we arrived. He had one foot on a higher step and his hand rested on the hilt of his long, broadbladed sword. He wore soft boots and a heavy cloak of dark material. He looked both angry and impatient, and twice as I dismounted and walked up the steps towards him, removed his hand from his sword-hilt to finger the plain gold bangle on bis wrist.

  He ignored me but flashed a glance at Shizala and then turned his back on both of us, rumbling up the steps into the palace.

  Shizala looked at me apologetically. "I am sorry, Michael Kane—but I had better speak to the Bradhinak. Will you excuse me? You will find food in the hall."

  I bowed. "Of course. I hope to see you again later."

  She gave me a quick, half-nervous smile and then she was tripping up the steps after Bradhinak.

  Some diplomatic problem, I guessed, since the prince was evidently an emissary of some kind and was here on diplomatic business as well as a friendly visit.

  Perhaps Karnala's strength had been sapped in the battle and the following expedition which had lost them their king. Perhaps they were forced to rely on stronger allies while they built up their strength again—and perhaps Mishim Tep was one of these allies. All this speculation seemed likely— and much of it was subsequently proved correct.

  I entered the great hall. A kind off buffet meal had been laid out on the table by servants. Cold meat, fruit, the inevitable basu, sweetmeats and so forth. I sampled a little of everything and found almost all of it to my liking. I exchanged small talk with some of the men and women around the table. They were evidently very curious about me but too polite to ask too many direct questions— which I did not feel in any mood to answer at that moment.

  As I munched on a particularly tasty piece of meat wrapped in a green, lettuce-like leaf, I suddenly heard an odd sound. I was not sure what it was, but I listened carefully so that I should hear it again if it came.

  The courtiers had fallen silent and were also listening.

  Then the sound came again.

  A muffled cry.

  The courtiers looked at one another in apparent consternation but made no move towards the source of the cry.

  It came a third time and now I was sure I recognized the voice.

  It was Shizala's!

  Although there were guards at intervals around the hall, none of them moved and no orders were given to go to Shizala's assistance.

  Desperately, I looked round at the courtiers. "That is your Bradhinaka's voice—why don't you help her? Where is she?"

  One of the courtiers looked very disturbed and pointed to a door leading off the hall. "She is there—we cannot help her unless she summons us. It is a very delicate matter involving the Bradhinak Telem Fas Ogdai..."

  "You mean he is causing her pain! I will not allow it. I thought you were people of character—but you just stand here ..."

  "I told you—the situation is delicate. We feel very deeply ... But etiquette ..."

  "To hell with etiquette," I said in English. "This is no time for niceties—Shizala may be in danger."

  And with that I strode towards the door he had pointed to. It was not locked and I flung it open.

  Telem Fas Ogdai was holding Shizala's wrists in a cruel grip and she was struggling. He was speaking to her in a low, urgent tone. When she saw me she gasped:

  "No, Michael Kane—go from here. It will mean more trouble."

  "I will not leave while I know this boor is troubling you," I said, flicking him a look of scorn.

  He frowned, then he grinned evilly and his teeth flashed.

  He still held her wrists.

  "Let her go!" I warned, stepping forward.

  "No, Michael Kane," she said. "Telem Fas Ogdai means me no harm. We are having an argument, that is all. It will end ..."

  But I had put my hand on the prince's shoulder now and I let it lie there heavily.

  "Release her," I ordered.

  He released her all right—and at the same time swung both his fists round to catch me on the head, sending me reeling. That was it! My temper got the better of me and I surged back in. A punch on the chest winded him and a following punch on the jaw knocked him back. He tried to retaliate so I punched him on the jaw again. He went down with a clatter and stayed down.

  "Oh!
" cried Shizala. "Michael Kane, what have you done?"

  "I have dealt with a brute who was hurting a very beautiful and sweet young lady," I said, rubbing my fists. "I am sorry that it had to happen, but he deserved it."

  "He has a bad temper sometimes, but he is not evil. I am sure you did what you thought was best, Michael Kane, but now you have made things even worse for me."

  "If he is here on diplomatic business he should behave like a diplomat and with dignity," I reminded her.

  "Diplomat? He is no emissary from Mishim Tep. He is my betrothed—did you not see the armlet on his wrist?"

  "Armlet—so that's what it is! Your betrothed! But—but he can't be! Why would you consent to marry such a man?" I was horrified and bewildered. There was no chance of making her mine! "You could not love him!"

  Now she frowned and it sent a shudder through me to see that I had angered her. She drew herself up and pulled a bell-cord. "You do not behave as befits a stranger and a guest," she said coldly. "You presume too much!"

  "I am sorry—deeply sorry. I was impulsive. But..."

  In the same emotionless voice, she said: "It was my father's wish that when he died and I succeeded him I should marry the son of his old ally, thus making sure of the Karnala's security. I intend to respect my father's wish. You are presumptuous to make any comment concerning my relationship with the Bradhinak of Mishim Tep."

  This was a side of Shizala I had not seen before—the regal side. I must have offended her deeply for her to adopt this manner and tone, for I knew it was not natural.

  "I—I am very sorry."

  "I accept your apology. You will not interfere again. Now, please leave."

  In confusion, I turned and left the room.

  Bewildered, I walked straight from the great hall, down the steps of the palace to where a servant was just leading away the dahara I had been riding earlier.

  With a muttered word to the servant I mounted the beast and shook its reins, making it gallop away down the main street towards one of the gates of the city.

  I had to go right away from Varnal for the time being, had to go somewhere where I could be alone to collect my thoughts and pull myself together.

  Shizala betrothed! A girl whom, I knew now, I had loved from the moment I saw her. It was too much to bear!

  My heart beating much more rapidly than normal and my thoughts racing, my whole being seething with anguish, I rode blindly from the city, past the Green Lake and out into the Calling Hills.

  Oh, Shizala, Shizala, I thought, I could have made you so happy.

  I believe that I was close to crying then. I, Michael Kane, who had always prided himself on his self-control.

  It was some time before I slowed my pace and began to make myself think levelly.

  I did not know how far I had ridden. Many, many miles I suspected. My surroundings were unfamiliar. There was no landmarks I could recognize.

  It was then that I saw a movement to the north. At first I thought I was looking at a distant herd of beasts galloping towards me but, shading my eyes from the sun, I soon realized that these were riders mounted on some sort of beast similar to my dahara. Many riders.

  A horde!

  Knowing so little of Martian geography or, for that matter, politics, I did not know whether these riders threatened danger or not.

  I sat my beast, watching them advance at a tremendous pace. Even so far away from them I could feel the ground faintly trembling, reverberating to the sound of the thundering animals.

  Something seemed a little strange as they approached closer. I guessed they still could not see me—one solitary figure—but I could see them.

  The scale was wrong. That was it.

  Judging the average height of man and mount against the average height of trees and shrubs, I knew that these riders and their steeds were gigantic! Not one of their daharas was less than twice the height of mine; not one rider was under eight feet tall.

  My memory worked swiftly and came up with only one answer.

  These were invaders!

  More—I thought I knew them.

  They could only be those fierce, northern raiders Shizala had mentioned. The Blue Giants—the Argzoon!

  Why had the city had no warning of the horde's approach?

  How had they managed to come this far undetected?

  These questions rose in my mind as I watched, but I dismissed them as useless. The fact was that a mounted force of warriors—thousands of them it seemed—were riding towards Varnal!

  Quickly, I turned my beast, all thoughts of my grief now forgotten. I was obsessed by the emergency. I must warn the city. At least they would have a little time!

  I checked my position from the sun and guided the swiftly-moving dahara back the way I had come.

  But I had not reckoned with the Argzoon outriders. Though I had observed the main horde, the scouts sent ahead had evidently observed me!

  As I ducked low to avoid the low branches of the slim trees and emerged into a wide glade, I heard a huge snort and a strange, wild, gusty laugh.

  Then I was staring at a mounted giant towering above me on his great beast. In one hand he held an enormous sword and in the other an ovalheaded mace of some land.

  I was unarmed—save for the slender lances that still reposed in the holster at my side.

  Chapter Four

  THE ATTACK

  MY MIND raced. For a moment I felt completely overwhelmed, staring up into the face of a being that was to me as impossible as the unicorn or the hippogriff.

  His skin was a dark, mottled blue. Like the folk of Varnal, he did not wear what we should think of as clothing. His body was a mass of padded leather armor and on his seemingly hairless head was a tough cap, also of padded leather, but reinforced with metal.

  His face was broad yet tapering, with slitted eyes and a great gash of a mouth that was open now in laughing anticipation of my rapid demise. A mouth full of black teeth, uneven and jagged. The ears were pointed and large, sweeping back from the skull. The arms were bare, save for wristguards, and strongly muscled on a fantastic scale. The fingers were covered—encrusted would be a better description—with crudely-cut precious stones.

  His dahara was not the quiet beast that I rode. It seemed as fierce as its rider, pawing at the delicate green moss of the glade, its head sporting a metal spike and its body partially protected by the same dark brown, padded leather armor.

  The Argzoon warrior uttered a few guttural words which I could not understand, though they were clearly in the same language that I now spoke so fluently.

  Fatalistically feeling that if I must die I would die fighting, I reached for one of the lances in the holster.

  The warrior laughed again jeeringly and waved his sword, clapping his massive legs to his mount's side and goading it forward.

  Now my reactions came to my rescue.

  Swiftly, I plucked one of the lances from tie holster and almost in the same motion got its balance, then flung it at the giant's face.

  He roared as it hurtled towards him but with incredible speed for one so huge he struck it aside with his sword.

  But by that time I had another lance in my hand and turned my jittery mount away as the warrior advanced, his sword swooping down towards me.

  I ducked and felt it pass within an inch of my scalp.

  Then he had thundered past, carried on by the weight of his own momentum. I wheeled my beast and flung another lance at him as he tried to turn his mount, which was evidently less well trained than mine.

  The lance caught him in the arm.

  He yelled in pain and rage and this time his speed was even faster as he bore down on me again.

  I had only two lances left.

  I flung the third as he came in with his sword held out in front of him, like a cavalryman on Earth might once have held his sword in a charge.

  The third lance missed. But at least my second had wounded his mace-arm and I only had the sword to contend with; I could not du
ck this one.

  But what could I do? There were split seconds in which to decide!

  Grabbing the remaining lance, I flung myself off the beast and fell to the ground just as the sword met air where I would have been.

  Bruised, I picked myself up. I still gripped the last lance.

  I would have to use it with certainty if I were to win this duel.

  I crouched, waiting as he turned, poised on the balls of my feet, watching the gigantic, snorting brute as he fought his dahara, turning it round again.

  Then he paused, laughing that gusty, animal laughter, his blue head flung back and his vast chest heaving beneath its armor.

  It was his mistake.

  Thanking providence for this opportunity, I hurled the lance with all my force and skillstraight at the momentarily exposed neck.

  It went in some inches and for a brief instant the laughter still came from his mortally wounded throat. The noise changed to a shocked gurgle, a high sigh, and then my opponent pitched backward off his dahara and lay dead on the ground.

  As soon as it was relieved of its ride, the dahara galloped away into the forest.

  I was left, panting and dazed but grateful for the fortuitous opportunity I had been given. I should have been dead. Instead, I was alive--and still whole.

  I had expected to die. I had not counted on the incredible stupidity of an adversary who had been so sure of victory he had exposed a vital spot which could only have been reached by the very weapon I happened to possess.

  I stood over the great hulk. It lay spread out on the moss, the sword and mace still attached by wrist-thongs to its arms. There was a stink about it not of death but of general uncleanliness. The slitted eyes stared, the mouth still a grinning gash, though now it grinned in death.

  I looked at his sword.

  It was, of course, a great weapon, such as only a nine-foot giant would use. Yet, proportionately, it was almost a short sword—just over five feet long. Fastidiously I bent down and unhooked the thong from the creature's wrist. I picked the sword up. It was very heavy, but finely balanced. I could not use it in one hand as the Argzoon scout had done, but I could use it as a broadsword in two hands. The grips were just right. I hefted it, feeling better, thanking heaven for M. Clarchet, my old fencing master, who had taught me how to get the most out of any blade, no matter how strange or crude it at first seemed.