The City of the Beast or Warriors of Mars

by Michael Moorcock

  Holding it by its thong, I remounted my beast and lay the sword across my legs as I rode in that still peculiar riding position back towards the city.

  There was a long way to go and I had to hurry—even more so now—to warn the city of the imminent attack.

  But as I rode up hill and down dale for what seemed hours, I was to be threatened once again by an Argzoon giant who came riding at me from my right flank as I rode down one of the last hillsides before Varnal.

  He did not laugh. Indeed, he uttered no sound at all as he came at me. Evidently so near the city he did not wish to alert anyone who might be close by. He had no mace—just a sword. I met his first swing with my own recently acquired weapon. He looked at it in surprise, clearly recognizing it as one forged by his own folk.

  His surprise served me well. These Argzoon were swift movers for their size, but poor thinkers—that had already been made quite plain.

  While he was staring at my sword and at the same time bringing his own round for another blow, I did not swing up to protect myself but drove the sword towards where I hoped his heart would be. I also prayed it would pierce the armor.

  It did, though not as swiftly as I had hoped and, as the blade struck through leather and then flesh, bone and sinew, his sword came down in a convulsive movement and grazed my right arm. It was not a bad wound but, within a moment, it was painful.

  His sword dropped from inert fingers, dangling by its thong as he sat in his saddle, rocking dazedly and looking at me groggily.

  I could see that he was badly wounded, though not mortally, I guessed.

  As he began to topple from his saddle I reached out and tried to take his weight to stop him from falling. With my own wounded arm it was difficult, but I managed to hold him there while I inspected the injury I had inflicted.

  Turned slightly by the padded armor, the sword had gone in just below the heart.

  I managed somehow to dismount, still holding him, and lifted him down and laid him out on the moss.

  He spoke to me then. He seemed very puzzled. "What—?" he said in his thick, brutish accent. "I am in a hurry. There, I have stopped the bleeding. It doesn't look fatal. Your own folk must look after you."

  "You—you do not kill me?" "It is not my way to kill if I do not have to!" "But I have failed—the warriors of the Argzoon will torture me to death for that. Slay me, my vanquisher!"

  "It is not my way," I insisted. "Then ..." He struggled up, reaching towards a knife in his belt. I forced the huge hand away and he sank back, exhausted. "I will help you to that undergrowth." I pointed to some thick shrubbery nearby. "You can hide there and they will not find you."

  I realized I was showing him more mercy than he expected, even from the folk of Varnal. And in helping him I was slowing myself up. Yet a man is a man, I thought—he cannot do what is contrary to his own feelings and principles. If he has a code of honor he must adhere to it. The moment he forgets that code, then all is lost, for even though he forgets on one occasion, it is the beginning of the end. Bit by bit the code will be qualified, any break with it justified, until the man is no longer a man, in truth, at all.

  That is why I helped the odd being I had vanquished. I could do nothing less. As I had told him—it was my way. Such emotions may sound oldfashioned, even prudish, in this modern age where values are changing—many think for the worse—or things are losing their values altogether. But though I realize I may sound stiff arid peculiar to many of my contemporaries, I am afraid that then, in that gentle valley on ancient Mars, just as now, on Earth, I had a set of principles—call it what you will—that I knew I must abide by.

  As soon as I had hauled the creature to cover, I sent his dahara galloping away and mounted my own.

  Within a few minutes I had reached the gates of the city and was riding desperately through them, shouting my warning.

  "Attack! Attack! It is the hordes of Argzoon!"

  The men looked startled but evidently they, too, recognized the type of sword I was carrying. The gates began to close behind me.

  Straight to the palace steps I rode and flung myself from the exhausted dahara, running up the steps, half staggering with pain, exhaustion and the weight of the sword—proof of what I had to tell!

  Shizala came running into the main hall. She looked disheveled and her face bore traces of her earlier anger.

  "What is it? Michael Kane! What means this disturbance?"

  "The Argzoon!" I blurted out "The Blue Giants— your enemies—a great horde of them attacks the city!"

  "Impossible! Why have we not heard? We have our mirror posts that signal messages from hill to hill. We should have heard. Yet..."

  She frowned thoughtfully.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "The mirrors have had no messages for some time. Perhaps the stations were destroyed by the wily Argzoon."

  "If they have reached this far before, they will have known roughly what to expect."

  "But from where comes their strength! We had thought them beaten and quiescent for at least another ten years. They were all but wiped out by my father's army and its allies! My father headed the army which hunted down the survivors!"

  "Well, the horde he defeated must have been only a fraction of the Argzoon strength. Perhaps this raid is part of a consistent strategy of surprise, meant to weaken you."

  "If that is their plan," she sighed, squaring her beautiful creamy shoulders, "then it was a good one, for in truth we are unprepared!"

  "No time for self-recrimination now," I pointed out. "Where is your brother Darnad? As chief Pukan-Nara of Varnal it is up to him to direct preparations for defense. What of the other warriors of Karnala?"

  "They patrol borders, keep the peace against roaming bandit bands. Our army is scattered, but even if it were all assembled in Varnal it might not suffice to meet an Argzoon horde!"

  "It seems impossible that you received no warning at all—not even a runner from another city. How have the Argzoon been able to get this far south without you knowing?"

  "I cannot think. As you say, it could be that they have been planning this for years, that they have had spies not of their own race working for them, travelling in small groups under cover at night and in disguise, assembling in some nearby remote quarter of our land—and now ride on the city with none of our allies knowing our fate."

  "The walls will resist heavy siege," I pointed out. "You say you have some aircraft. You can bombard them from the air, using your Sheev-guns. That is one advantage."

  "Our three aircraft will not achieve much against so large a force."

  "Then you must send one of them to your nearest ally. Send your—your ..." I paused as memory flooded back. "Send the Bradhinak of Mishim Tep to summon his father's aid—and seek help from your other, weaker, allies on the way."

  She frowned thoughtfully and then looked up at me with a strange, half-puzzled look. She pursed her lips.

  "I will do as you suggest," she said at length. "But even at their fastest our aircraft will take several days to reach Mishim Tep—and an army will take even longer getting here. We will have difficulty resisting so long a siege!"

  "But outlast it and resist it we must—for Varnal and for the security of your neighboring states," I told her. "If the Argzoon conquer the Karnala, then they will sweep on across other nations. They must be stopped at Varnal—or your entire civilization could go under!"

  "You have a clearer idea of what is at stake than I." She smiled slightly. "And you have only been with us a short time."

  "Warfare," I said quietly, thinking of my own experiences, "does not seem to change much anywhere. The basic issues remain much the same—the strategy, the aims. I have already encountered two of your Blue Giants and hate to think of this lovely city being ruled by them!"

  I did not add that it was not only the city I feared for but Shizala, too. Try as I might, I could not make myself forget the emotion I felt for her. I knew now she was betrothed to another and that whatever
she or I felt it was impossible that anything could come of it. Evidently her code was quite as strong as mine and would not let her weaken, just as I did not intend to weaken.

  For a long moment we looked into each other's eyes and all this was there—the pain, the knowledge, the resolution.

  Or did I simply imagine that she was to some degree attracted to me? I must not think such thoughts, in any case. It was over—and Varnal must be protected.

  "Have you more suitable arms for me than this?" I said, indicating the Argzoon sword.

  "Of course. I will call a guard. He will take you to the arms room where you can select whatever weapons you wish."

  At her command, one of the guards stepped forward and she ordered him to take me to tie arms room.

  He led me down several flights of steps until we were deeper below the palace than I had been before.

  At last he stopped at two huge, metal-studded doors and cried:

  "Guard of the Tenth Watch-it is Ino-Pukan Hara with the guest of the Bradhinak! Please open." An Ino-Pakan, I now knew, was a warrior with a rank about equivalent to sergeant.

  The doors moved slowly open and I stood in a long hall of great size, dimly lit by the waning blue bulbs in the roof. The guard who admitted us was an old man with a long beard. At his belt were twin pistols. He carried no other weapons.

  He looked at me quizzically.

  The Ino-Pukan said: "The Bradhinaka wishes her guest to arm himself as he pleases. The Argzoon attack!"

  "Again? But I thought them finished!"

  "Not so," said the Ino-Pukan sadly. "According to our guest here, they are almost upon us."

  "So the Bradhi died in vain—we are still to be vanquished." The old man's voice sounded hopeless as he let me wander up the hall admiring the great assortment of weapons.

  "We are not defeated yet," I reminded him, staring at rack upon rack of fine swords. I took several down, testing them for length, weight and balance. At last I selected a long, fairly slim sword, rather like a straight sabre, with a blade as long as the sword I had taken from my Argzoon opponent.

  It had a beautiful balance. It had a basket hilt and, as with swords on Earth of the same kind, one curled two fingers, the index and the one next to it, around the crosspiece, gripping it with the thumb along the top of the hilt with the remaining two fingers curled under. That may seem an awkward grip to some, but it is actually quite comfortable and also has the advantage of making sure that the sword is not easily knocked from the grasp.

  I found a broad belt, equipped at the side with a wide sword-loop of leather. It seemed traditional in Varnal that swords were carried naked and not scabbarded—some old custom from less peaceful times internally, I gathered.

  There were also guns that seemed operated by a combination of spring and air. I took one of these from its place and turned to the old keeper of the arms room.

  "Do many use these?" I asked.

  "Some, our guest." He took the gun from my hand and showed me how it loaded. A magazine of steel darts was exposed. These, in the manner of airgun darts, could be slid automatically into the breech. The air was automatically repressured after a shot—this was done by means of the spring attachment. A very fine piece of craftsmanship but, as the old man demonstrated, the accuracy was all but nil! The gun bucked so much as it shot its missile that the target had to be very close indeed if one was to have much success in hitting him!

  Still, my arms belt had a place for a gun—another leather loop—so I slipped the airgun in. Now with the gun and sword I felt better and was eager to rejoin Shizala to see how the preparations were progressing.

  I thanked the old man and, accompanied by the Ino-Pukan, strode back up to the ground level of the palace. Shizala was not in the hall, but another guard led me up many flights of stairs that grew increasingly narrower until we were standing outside a room that obviously was in one of the circular towers rising from the main building of the palace.

  The guard knocked.

  Shizala's voice called for us to enter.

  We did so and Shizala stood there with Telem Fas Ogdai and her brother, the Bradhinak Darnad. Darnad darted me a quick smile of acknowledgment. Shizala's welcome was a gracious movement of the head, but Telem Fas Ogdai's smile was stiff and frosty. He evidently had not forgotten our earlier encounter that day. I couldn't blame him now, though I still disliked him greatly. I put my feelings about him down to the situation and made an effort to dismiss them as best I could.

  Darnad had spread out a map. It was a little strange to me, this method of map-making. The symbols for cities, forests and so on were not pictorial as ours tend to be, but at last I had some idea of where we were in relation to the rest of that mighty continent—and to Mishim Tep and our other allies. I could also point out where I had seen the Argzoon and at what speed they had been travelling, and so on.

  "Little time," Darnad murmured thoughtfully, running his fingers through his long, near-white hair. His other hand gripped his sword-hilt. He seemed very young just then—probably little more than seventeen. A boy playing at soldiers, one would have thought at first glance. Then I noted the look of responsibility he wore, the confident way he carried himself, the unself-conscious, unstudied mannerisms.

  He began to speak rapidly to us, suggesting where the weakest points would be in the city walls and how they would best be defended.

  Having had some training in warfare, I was able to make some suggestions which he found useful. He looked at me with something like admiration and I accepted the look as a compliment, for I might have been doing much the same. His essential manliness and clear-headed, objective attitude to the task ahead made me feel that he was ideal as a military leader, and I felt that to fight beside him would be reassuring, to say the least. It would also be, in its way, a pleasure. Shizala turned to Telem Fas Ogdai. "And now, Telem, you have seen what we shall try to do and will have some idea of what our chances are of holding off the Argzoon. An aircraft awaits you at the hangars. Lucidly, its motor has been prepared, since we planned to show it to our guest. Go swiftly and make sure that reinforcements are sent at once from all cities allied to Varnal. And tell them if Varnal falls, their chances of withstanding the Argzoon are lessened."

  Telem bowed slightly, formally, looked deep into her eyes, darted me another of his looks and left the chamber.

  We returned to the study of the map. From the balcony of the tower it was possible to see the whole lovely city laid out beneath us—and we could see the surrounding countryside.

  After a while we took the map out on to the balcony. It was as if we felt something was imminent—as, indeed, something was!

  A short time later Darnad pointed.

  "Telem leaves," he said to his sister.

  Although there had been talk of aircraft I had not expected the sight which greeted me.

  The aircraft was of metal, but it rose and navigated like an old fashioned airship—gracefully, slowly. It was oval in shape and had portholes dotted along its length. It gleamed like richly burnished gold and was heavily ornamented with pictures of strange beasts and symbols.

  It swung in the air as if defying the very laws of gravity and then began to move towards tie south, travelling rapidly by my standards, but with a stately dignity which could not be matched by any aircraft ever known to Earth.

  It was not out of sight before Darnad pointed again—this time to our north-east.

  "Look!"

  "The Argzoon!" gasped Shizala.

  The horde was coming. We could see the first wave clearly, looking like an army of marching ants from where we stood, yet the menace implicit in its steady progress could not be ignored. We all felt it.

  "You did not exaggerate, Michael Kane," Darnad said softly. I could see his knuckles whiten on his sword-hilt.

  The air was still and very faintly we could hear their shouts. Thin shouts now—but, having already had some experience of the sounds that the Argzoon warriors could make, I imagined what the no
ise must be like at source!

  Darnad stepped back into the room and came out on to the balcony again, clutching what was obviously a megaphone.

  He leaned over the balcony, peering down into a courtyard where a group of guards stood ready.

  He put the megaphone to his mouth and shouted to them.

  "Commanders of the wall—to your posts. The Argzoon come." He then relayed specific orders based on what we had discussed a short time before.

  As the commanders marched away to take charge of their men and position them, we watched in awful fascination as the horde approached.

  Rapidly—too rapidly for us—they began to near the walls. We saw movement from within the city, saw warriors taking up their posts. They stood still, awaiting the first attack.

  There were too few of them, I thought—far too few!

  Chapter Five

  A DESPERATE PLAN

  AT LEAST we held the wall against the first wave.

  The whole city seemed to shake at their onslaught. The air was ripped by their great, roaring shouts, polluted by the stink of their incendiary bombs launched from catapults, and by the odor of their very bodies. Flame licked here, crackled there—and the women and children of Varnal struggled valiantly to extinguish it. The sounds of clashing steel, of dying or victorious war-cries, the swish of missiles—blazing balls of some pitch-like substance—as they hurtled overhead and dropped in streets and on roofs.

  Shizala and I still watched from the balcony but I felt impatient, anxious to join the brave warriors defending the city. Darnad had already gone to rally his men.

  I turned to Shizala, feeling moved, in spite of myself, at her closeness. "What of your remaining aircraft? Where are they?"

  "We are keeping them in reserve," she told me. They will be of better use as a surprise later."