The City of the Beast or Warriors of Mars

by Michael Moorcock

I took him by surprise. It saved my life and cost him his.

  He stumbled backward for a moment.

  I thrust rapidly at his throat. The point met flesh and he fell with a great roar of baffled rage.

  I knelt beside him as the life bubbled from him. I could not save him. We both knew he was going to die. Shizala came and knelt by him, too.

  "Why, Telem," she said, "why did you do such a despicable thing?"

  He turned his eyes towards her, speaking with difficulty.

  "It was an expedition I undertook in secret more than a year ago. I thought I would try to discover what had happened to your father. Instead, I was captured and brought to Horguhl."

  "You were brave to attempt such a thing," I said softly.

  "She—she seduced me somehow," he said. "She told me secrets—dark secrets. I became completely in her power. I helped her plan the final stages of the attack on Varnal. I deliberately went to Varnal at the time of the attack, knowing that I would be asked to carry a message for help to Mishim Tep and your other allies." He began to cough horribly, then rallied himself.

  "I—I could not help myself. I expected you to be defeated, but you were not. Your folk learned that I had not taken the message to Mishim Tep—m-my father asked why I had not. I—I could not reply. People talked—soon it was common knowledge that I had betrayed Varnal, though—though none knew why. It was that woman—it is like a dream—I—I am a traitor and a fool—she—she—"

  He raised himself up then, his eyes staring blankly out at nothing.

  "She is evil!" he cried. "She must be found and killed. Until she is, all that we love and hold valuable on Vashu will be in danger of corruption. Her secrets are terrible—they give her an awful power! She must die!"

  And then he fell back—dead.

  "Where is Horguhl?" Shizala asked me.

  "I do not know. I think she has escaped—but to where is a mystery. This cavern-world is not fully known even to the Argzoon!"

  "Do you think he exaggerated—that his mind was clouded?"

  "I think it possible," I said.

  And then, quite suddenly, she was in my arms, sobbing and sobbing.

  I held her close, whispering words of comfort into her ear. She had been through incredible hardships and terrors and had borne them all bravely. I did not blame her for crying then.

  "Oh, Michael Kane—oh—my love!" she sobbed.

  I could scarcely believe my ears. I felt that the day's trials had turned my brain!

  "Wh-what did you say?" I asked softly, bewildered.

  She controlled her sobbing and looked up at me, smiling through her tears. "I said, 'my love'," she repeated. "Michael Kane, I have loved you ever since we first met. Remember, when the mizip chased you?" I laughed and she joined in.

  "But that is when I fell in love with you," I gasped. "And—I thought you loved Telem Fas Ogdai!"

  "I admired him—then," she said, "but I could not love him—particularly after I had seen you. But what could I do? Tradition had bound me to him and I could not break with tradition—"

  "Nor would I expect you to," I said. "But now—"

  She put her arms around me and I drew her close. "Now," she breathed, "we are free to marry as soon as the betrothal day can be arranged!"

  I bent to kiss her and then realized that I was not yet sure how the battle had gone.

  "We must see how our men are dealing with the Argzoon," I said.

  She knew nothing of what had happened—or at least little. Quickly I told her. She smiled again and slipped her hand in mine. "I will not be parted from you again," she said. I knew I should have left her in the tower—or better still in the aircraft, where she would be safest—but I could not bear the thought of something else separating us. The aircraft reminded me of the time we had flown together over the Argzoon camp and I asked her why she had left the security of the ship.

  "Did you not realize?" she asked as we moved down the steps, hand in hand. "I wished to help you—or die with you, if that was to be. But when I got there you had already done your work and gone!"

  I squeezed her hand affectionately and with gratitude. I knew the rest from Horguhl.

  In the street we discovered that the Argzoon were laying down their arms, evidently losing all stomach for fighting now that they had learned their Queen had fled.

  Towards us, marching in excited triumph, came a detachment of warriors headed by Movat Jard and Carnak, the ex-slave.

  We waited to meet them and I felt suddenly weary as I realized that we had won and that I need do no more fighting that day.

  Tired as I felt, my heart was bounding with gladness. We had won—and Shizala had promised to be mine. I wished nothing else!

  Then, suddenly, Carnak came rushing forward, a smile on his lips and his hands outstretched.

  "Shizala!" he cried. "Shizala-is it really you? What are you doing here?"

  She looked puzzled, not recognizing the bearded man. I wondered if it was an old friend and hoped it might not be some previous fiance or someone who would shatter my happiness!

  "Carnak—you know Shizala?" I said in surprise.

  "Know her!" Carnak laughed heartily. "I should think I do!"

  "Carnak!" It was Shizala's turn to laugh. Is that your name? Is it?"

  "Of course!"

  I watched with some jealousy, I don't mind telling you, as the older man took my Shizala in his arms. And then all was revealed in a single word.

  "Father!" she cried. "Oh, father, I thought you were dead!"

  "So I would have been in a very short time had it not been for this young man with the strangesounding name—and this fierce savage, his friend." Carnak cocked a thumb at Movat Jard.

  Shizala turned to me.

  "You saved my father's life?" She hugged my arm. "Oh, Michael Kane—the House of Varnal owes its very existence to you!"

  I smiled. "Thank you—if it did not exist I would be a very sad man."

  Carnak patted my shoulder. "What a champion—I've known none like him in all my days—and I've known some good warriors, too."

  "You are a fine warrior yourself, sir," I said.

  "I'm not so bad, young man—but I was never so good as you." Then he looked regretfully at his daughter and me. "I can see that you feel—umsome emotion for one another. But you realize, Shizala, that there is nothing you can do about it?"

  "What?" I was almost beside myself with horror at this. What new factor had arisen to become a barrier between my love and me?

  Carnak shook his head. "There is the matter of the Bradhinak Telem Fas Ogdai. He—"

  "He is dead," I said. I felt relief. Of course, Carnak knew nothing of what had happened recently. Quickly I told him.

  He frowned as he listened. "I knew the lad was headstrong—and I knew Horguhl could use those eyes and that voice of hers to put anyone in her power—but I never thought that the son of my oldest friend could . . ." He cleared his throat . . . "It was, in a sense, my fault—for he came to see if I still lived, a prisoner, with the intention of saving me." Carnak—or the Bradhi of Varnal, as he was— shook his head. "We shall tell his father that he died on our behalf," he decided. "As, in an indirect sense, he did."

  He looked at us and smiled. "Then you can announce your betrothal as soon as we return to Varnal, if that is what you wish."

  "It is what we wish," we replied in unison, smiling at one another.

  It took only a short time to round up the rest of the demoralized Argzoon and it was decided that we three—Carnak, Shizala and myself—should leave the Black City in the charge of Movat Jard, thus making the Argzoon's defeat less bitter. We announced that Movat Jard was temporary ruler of the Argzoon until some vote could be taken after a treaty had been drawn up.

  Realizing that the Argzoon had been led to this situation by Horguhl's schemings, we were not as hard on them as we might have been.

  Soon we were entering the aircraft, bidding farewell for the moment to Movat Jard.

  Carnak
took the controls of the ship and guided it through the difficult twists and turns of the tunnel leading to the open air.

  Soon we were passing over the Wastes of Doom, over the stunted forests, the wide river, the wilderness and the Crimson Plain.

  The journey took many days, but we spent it making plans for the future, discussing all that had passed while we had been parted.

  Then soon we were hovering over Varnal. When the city discovered who we were, it went mad with joy and we were received with great ceremony. The betrothal was fixed for the following day and I went to my old room that night in a state of tremendous happiness.

  But after all this came the bitterest blow of all. It was as if Fate had decided to make me go through all those trials simply to snatch away my reward at the final moment—for, in the night, I felt a strange, familiar sensation come over me.

  I felt my body seeming to break apart, felt as if, once again, I was drawn across space and time at fantastic speed. Then it was over and I was lying down again. I smiled, thinking that it had been a dream. I felt a light on my eyes and thought it must be morning—the morning of my betrothal.

  I opened my eyes and looked into the smiling face of Doctor Logan—my chief assistant at the laboratories!

  "Logan!" I gasped. "Where am I—what has happened?"

  "I don't know, professor," he said. "Your body is a mass of scars—but you've put on extra muscle from somewhere. How do you feel?"

  "What has happened!" I repeated loudly.

  "You mean this end? Well, it took us about seven hours, but we finally picked you up again on some funny wavelength—we thought we'd lost you altogether. Something went wrong with the transmitter. Some jamming, perhaps—I don't know."

  I got up and seized him by his lab coat.

  "You've got to send me back! You've got to send me back!"

  "Hey—your experiences haven't done you any good, prof," one of the technicians said. "You're lucky to be alive at all. We've been working for seven hours—you were as good as dead!"

  "I still am," I said, my shoulders sagging. I let go of Logan's coat and stood there looking at the equipment. It had taken me to a place of high adventure and a lovely woman—and it had brought me back to this drab world.

  I was hustled away to the sick bay and they wouldn't let me out for weeks what with the doctors and psychologists trying to discover what had 'really' happened to me. I was judged unfit for work and they'd never let me get near the transmitter, of course—though I tried several times. Finally they sent me to Europe—on extended leave.

  And here I am.

  Epilogue

  AND that, substantially, was the testament of Professor Michael Kane, physicist and swordsmanscientist on Earth, warrior on Mars.

  Believe it, as I believed it, if you will. Do not believe it if you can.

  After hearing Kane's story I asked his permission to do two things.

  He wanted to know what they were.

  "Let me publish this remarkable story of yours," I said, "so that the whole world might judge your sanity and truthfulness."

  He shrugged. "I suspect few will make the correct judgment."

  "At least those few will be right."

  "Very well—and the other request?"

  "That you let me finance a privately built matter transmitter. Can it be done?"

  "Yes. I am, after all, the inventor of the machine. It would require a great deal of money, however."

  I asked how much. He told me. It would make a large hold in my income—really rather more than I could afford, but I did not tell him that. I was ready to back my faith in his story with a great deal of money.

  Now the transmitter is almost finished. Kane says he thinks he can tune it to the correct frequency. We have worked like dogs for weeks to complete it, and I hope he is right.

  This machine is in some ways more sophisticated than the first one, in that it is really a type of 'transceiver' being permanently tuned on this special wave.

  Kane's idea is that if he can return to Mars— however many centuries in the past it lies-he will be able to build another machine there and thus travel back and forth at will. That side of it seems, perhaps, a little too ambitious, but I have developed a great respect for his scientific mind.

  Will it work?

  I do not yet know. As this manuscript goes to press, we still have a week or so in which to test the machine.

  Perhaps, soon, I will have more to write about the Warriors of Mars?

  I hope so.