by Earl
He tore his eyes away from their gargoyle countenances, to look around. His heart leaped as he saw Helene, at the side, held firmly by the arms. She called his name, but he had to ignore her, playing his part. He tried to tell her with his eyes that he was supposed to be a renegade helper of Queen Mu in the plot against Shorraine.
Queen Elsha, playing her part, spoke: “These are two men who have grievances and will help fight against Shorraine.”
One of the black-skinned satyrs, set off from his fellows by a mitre-like hat, leaned forward in a carven seat, rolling his redly gleaming eyes over them. He smiled slowly. It was evil incarnate.
“You lie!” he stated, in hissing English. “I read your mind, before, with my astral projection. We are masters in such things. The big man is Barry Carver, here in the attempt to rescue Val Marmax!”
SO suddenly and completely exposed, Carver’s instinctive reaction was to jerk out his heat-gun. But two of the demon-beings had already leaped like deer and wrested it out of his hand. Then they held his arms in viselike grips. Tyson was similarly disarmed, beside him.
Queen Elsha stood in mute dismay. Carver saw that now, clearly, she understood how she had been duped and led on by the enemy, to her own undoing.
The leader of the satyrs thrust his brutal face forward.
“I am Sha-tahn,” he announced, “ruler of Phoryx. These are my lieutenants”—he pointed down the line—“Zoroaster, Belial, Beelzebub, Python, Asmodeus, Merizim, Apollyon, Astoroth, Mammon. You have heard the names before, Earthman?”
Carver gasped. Those were the names of all the evil “gods” in man’s religious history. And Sha-tahn—was that Satan! What mad riddle was this, more baffling than anything else in Shorr?
The satyr ruler answered, in part. “We have been able to project our astral images into Earth—by a psychic science you would not understand—and in some manner sway the lives of men, in the past. But soon we will sway them completely. You, Barry Carver, have made it possible, with the secret of magnetism. Look!”
He swept an arm and some of the satyrs stepped back. Beyond them, as Carver peered closely in the dim lighting, he saw Val Marmax for the first time. He reclined on a couch, eyes closed, breathing slow. Around his head, almost obscuring it, was an astral-shadow, pulsating like a mental leech feeding. And it was! Nearby, scribbling busily on thick slates, a dozen satyrs recorded the telepathic messages from the astral prober.
Carver lurched forward angrily, but the satyrs held him back. He realized what they were extracting from Val Marmax’s mind—the secret of Spot-penetration!
Suddenly the satyrs stopped writing. The astral shadow vanished as one of them punched a switch on a panel. Val Marmax sat up, dazed. Agony leaped into his eyes, mental agony. He spied Carver, started, and then shook his head.
“They have the secret, Barry!” he groaned. “I tried to resist—” He began sobbing brokenly.
“Yes, and from the girl we have already extracted another secret,” spoke Sha-tahn, “relating to the Earth war—that a Japanese army marches to the Indian sea!”
Carver jerked. Did these devils—literal devils—plan to help the Dictatorship Coalition?
Partly reading his thoughts again, Sha-tahn nodded.
“When we have penetrated the Spot, we will smash all opposition to that army. We will bring victory to their side, helping in other campaigns. It will be an easier way to gain dominance of Earth—our long-awaited aim. We will bargain with the Dictators and become Earth’s new—religion!”
He was leaving much unsaid, Carver sensed. Something unspeakably horrible lay behind his matter-of-fact plans. Rage shook Carver. “You have no right to meddle in Earth’s affairs!” he shouted. “You don’t belong in Earth!”
Sha-tahn grinned evilly. “We have had more to do with Earth’s affairs than you know. Have you ever heard of a man possessed of the devil? Possessed of our astral projection! Many of your conquerors of past history were guided by us, in that way. But they always fail, at the last. This time, they won’t!”
He waved his arm to another dark corner of the chamber. Carver saw a line of men, humans, standing stiffly. Their eyes were wide, unblinking lips straight, features emotionless. A word flashed in Carver’s mind—zombies! Mindless, dominated creatures—possessed of the devil! Poor unfortunates who had staggered through the Spot from Earth into evil Phoryx.
CARVER’S eyes flicked down the line and then stopped on one figure. Angular face, lick of hair over the forehead, small mustache—Hitler! No, he must be wrong, mad to think so! He looked again and knew he could not be mistaken. Carver staggered in the realization. The demigod whose assassination had precipitated the great conflict on Earth—alive here in Phoryx! Madness!
Then Carver remembered the peculiar circumstances surrounding the former dictator’s assassination. His plane, flying over the Sahara on a visit to newly gained African colonies, had been attacked, shot down, in a deep-laid assassination plot. But when the wreck of his plane had been located the next day, all bodies were accounted for except his! Obviously, he had survived the crash, staggered away and reached Shorr, exactly as Carver had.
“You see?” said Sha-tahn. “I have military Earth minds for leadership in the campaign, to bring about a smashing victory for Dictatorship. Beside the man you know stands Genghis Kahn, from the past, who, unknown to your history, was exiled to the desert and reached Shorr. And those others—generals and conquerors all. They will rule Earth, and we of Phoryx will be its—religion!”
Carver’s mind rebelled. It was all such a frightful maze, involving Earth’s past, present and future. Phoryx, a literal hell, whose spawn of evil would soon burst out over Earth like a poisonous tide!
And, in the final analysis, Carver himself was to blame.
“But enough!” barked Sha-tahn. “Take the prisoners away. We will check the Spot-penetration data. If it works, they will be killed. We will have no more need for them. They are dangerous alive.” He turned, “As for you, Queen Elsha—”
“You deceived me!” she shrilled. “You told me the love philtre would give me his devotion till the end of time. Its effects were over the next morning. That is why I betrayed you!”
Carver had to admire her sudden defiance, in the face of a probable death sentence.
“Rash creature!” said Sha-tahn calmly. “I wanted to test you. I can make the philtre to last longer—weeks, years. I will give you another chance, Queen Elsha. Go back to Shorraine and reduce its defenses. It must still be destroyed.”
The queen’s manner changed instantly, from fear to wild hope. “And Barry Carver will then be left alive—for me?” she demanded.
The being known as Sha-tahn hesitated and then nodded, but with a hidden mockery in his eyes that Carver saw. He thought of warning the queen against trusting a—devil. But he shrugged. He knew the queen’s treacherous nature wouldn’t listen to reason. Besides, it wouldn’t make any difference to him, in any case.
The Queen of Mu looked at Carver, with a rapt, eager gaze. Then she whirled, on her way back to further betrayal of Shorraine.
“Witch of hell!” hissed Carver.
Queen Elsha stopped, glanced at him once, then went on, leaving the room.
Carver looked around. Was it hopeless to think of escape from these fiends? He caught Tyson’s eyes, saw the question in them and the spirit or daring. They had come in the attempt to rescue Val Marmax, against odds. Why not try it now? Carver winked slightly.
AS their captors pulled at their arms, to conduct them away, Carver braced his feet and jerked free. Tyson did the same and the two launched themselves at the guards holding Helene and Val Marmax. Carver jabbed at the nearest satyr’s ugly face, evading his clutching hands, and was grimly satisfied to see him rock on his heels. Then he swung from the floor and knocked him cleanly off his feet—or hooves.
“Take that, you black—” The crack of Tyson’s hard fist on an unprotected chin supplied the rest. Tyson continued to revile them, punctuat
ing his words with lightning jabs.
The satyrs fought back clumsily, crowding around. They were inordinately light, despite their bull-like build, and knew nothing of the art of fistfighting. Squealing and shouting, they milled about, exposing themselves to stiff-arm punches that made their necks snap back.
Carver felt a grim pleasure as his powerful blows found their marks. Human brawn was decidedly superior to the demon-people’s futile efforts. With their sudden, unexpected onslaught, the two Earthmen were able to dear the space around Val Marmax and Helene.
“Come on!” panted Carver. “To that side door—” He grabbed the girl’s arm and leaped in that direction.
“Look out—guns!” screamed Helene.
Some of the satyrs had drawn wicked looking tubular weapons and were aiming them. Then Sha-tahn’s bull-voice roared out:
“No! Take them alive!”
Carver had not stopped running. Just as he had figured, they would be safe from weapons. Sha-tahn would not kill them before he was sure the Spot-penetration had been solved.
The four Earth-people reached the wide, open doorway and dashed through into the corridor beyond. Carver had no idea where it led to, but they must keep their freedom and hope for a break. When they were half way down the hall, figures came at them from ahead. But human figures!
Dull-eyed, moving stiffly, they blocked the passage. And from behind came the sound of hooves beating against the hard floor, in pursuit. Caught!
Carver peered narrowly at the men blocking the way. Slaves of the demonpeople, they were. But they were humans behind it all. “You men!” he barked at them. “Help us!”
They did not answer, hardly seemed to hear. They had the look of hypnotized automatons. They made no move to clear the way. In fact, they crouched forward menacingly.
“Sorely you’d help us rather than your masters!” raged Carver, but they stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly.
“No use!” cried Val Marmax. “Their minds are enslaved!”
“Then here we go through them—” Carver lowered his head and charged, Tyson following promptly. There were six of them but they offered little competition to the two berserk fighters. By the time the satyrs had come up from the rear, their party was through.
“Poor devils!” panted Tyson. “Hated to hit them. Like striking dumb animals.”
They ran fleetly down the dim hall, with the satyrs close on their heels. A large circular chamber opened before them, with several cross corridors leading out again.
A satyr stood at the wall, speaking into one of a series of small horns set among numerous studs and switches. From the several corridors, at the same time, came more of the mind-dominated human slaves. Carver’s mind, sharpened by the danger they were in, clicked with lightning inspiration. He leaped at the lone satyr, who turned with a snarl, and rammed his fist against his chin with all the power of his shoulders.
The satyr slumped against the wall and sagged like a stuffed dummy, his head lolling from a broken neck.
THEN Carver thrust his face before the same horn into which the satyr had been speaking. “Stop!” he yelled. “Do not harm the Earth-people!” Exultantly, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the men rushing at them had obediently stopped. They were under his control, through an amazing instrument that somehow ruled their minds!
Thus, when the satyrs came up, they were met by their own slaves, in battle, as Carver rapidly gave orders through the horn. Tyson yelped in pure joy. “That’s holding the fort, Barry! Now, if we can find a way—”
He stopped and choked.
Carver whirled and saw something black and tenuous around his head. One of the astral shadows! Then three more darted down from the roof. Carver reached for a wave-gun that wasn’t there in his belt, and then tried to beat off the shadow that crouched down on his head. His hands passed through the astral shape, unhindered.
And then he felt his brain on fire as something dug into it with mental fingers. Helene and Val Marmax stared at him in hopelessness. They could not fight off that which had no physical being, nor could they shake their minds free. Carver tried, with all the will at his command, till the sweat started out on his brow. But the weird psychic force threw a suffocating cloud over his mind. He relaxed, numbly.
Sha-tahn’s voice came to them, through the astral contact, with the sheer clarity of telepathy. “You have amused me in your efforts to escape. I’ve used the astral force as a last resort. You will not escape Phoryx. Go now, to your prison.”
Under the dominance of the astral force, which firmly gripped their centers of will and locomotion, the four captives stepped into one of the corridors. Like robots they marched along, with the black shadows perched over their heads like incubi. Carver felt the bitterness of defeat. He tried to step close to Helene, touch her hand comfortingly, but even that was denied him. Phoryx, he realized, was truly a—hell.
Imprisoned together the four humans looked at one another in despair. Val Marmax sat with his head bowed. Tyson strode up and down, cursing under his breath. Helene shuddered in Carver’s arms. He mechanically patted her back, but his mind was elsewhere. It seethed tortuously with the incredible revelations of Phoryx, city of hell.
“I can’t believe it!” he muttered. “Have these demons been behind all the devil-worship and mal-practice in human affairs since history began?”
Val Marmax nodded.
“Their science has delved deeply into mental phenomena—telepathy, telekinesis, astral projection, clairvoyance. They were able to reach men’s minds, even through the Spot, and play havoc at times. The Babylonian devil-cults, pagan religions, Medieval supernaturalism, your own Salem witchcraft debacle—all were manifestations of their intrusion into Earth’s affairs by their psychic science. The alchemists, astrologers and other pseudo-scientists often worked under their domination. The love-philtre, with which they bribed Queen Elsha, is a strange formula of theirs somehow able to upset human emotions. Evil by nature, they can only think of creating evil on Earth.”
“IT’S a sort of scientific explanation,” mused Carver, “for all the unexplainable things in human history.” He thought of something. “They’re perfect satyrs of Greek mythology. What’s the connection there?”
“They once invaded Earth directly,” the Atlantide admitted. “Some unknown genius of theirs penetrated the Spot, about three thousand years ago. Some hundreds of them went through. We of Shorraine attacked, blew up the machine and its inventor with it. Those in Earth tried to build up a great pagan religion, but it died when they died, and survived only as mythology.
“But no bones of their have ever been found,” objected Carver.
“Their bones don’t ossify,” returned the scientist simply. He went on. “All other tales of vampires, ghosts, gnomes, specters, demons, genii, and various supernatural monsters are a result of their astral projections roaming earth, in strange shapes and forms.”
“But what has been their purpose?” puzzled Carver, trying to rationalize. “It seems rather—pointless.”
“Pointless?” echoed Val Marmax. His eyes went bleak. “Short is a poor world. Earth is rich. They have been trying, all that time, to find some way of making the astral projections gain substance and live on Earth. Earth alchemists and so-called necromancers were unwittingly helping them all the time. It follows closely some of the actual Earth literature about demons in another dimension. Incantations and exorcising were an attempt to gain the Earth dimension through strange psychic-laws our science doesn’t reveal. Luckily, it was not so easy to give their astral projections actual Earth life. The closest they came to it was from absorbing freshly split human blood. Hence their instigation of wars—and the institution of human sacrifice in pagan religions!”
Carver felt stunned, nauseated.
The Atlantide resumed. “But the few astral projections who did gain substance died quickly, or were killed. Here in Shorr, their method of reproduction is of that type—totally non-sexual. They send out astral form
s. These wander over Shorr, absorbing the blood of newly slain animals. Years later they are ‘matured’—have substance. But on Earth, they have always failed, since their astral projections through the Snot were weakened. Yet they want Earth. They would even accept its death-cycle, because they could increase their numbers limitlessly—at the expense of human lives.”
“So our penetration of the Spot by magnetic means falls right in line with their plans,” muttered Carver. “They will invade Earth—in person. They’ll multiply, murder off humans—” He stopped, appalled at the stark picture.
He shook his head. “Good God! I brought all this about! Why didn’t I die out there on the desert—”
“Barry!” Helene’s cool, soothing voice cut off his half fevered recriminations. “Certainly you can’t be blamed. If it’s anyone’s fault, blame Queen Elsha!” She shuddered. “I’ll never forget her blazing eyes, there at the laboratory, with the demon-people at her back. She said rather than kill me on the spot, for stealing your love from her, she’d let me be a slave in Phoryx!”
Val Marmax ground his teeth, coming out of his apathetic stupor. “She’s more evil,” he pronounced, “than Sha-tahn himself, for betraying a whole world!”
“And now she’s gone back to Shorraine,” Tyson hissed. “In one way or another she’ll weaken its defenses. The demon-forces will attack. With Shorraine out of the way, they’ll be free to conquer Earth. Then, with their puppet dictators in power, they’ll gradually wipe out the human race! And all because of a woman!”
CARVER said nothing. What could one say of a beauteous creature who dared all for love? Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Madame Du Barry, all faded into insignificance beside her. History repeating itself, in the rise and fall of empires. Only this time it might be the final chapter in human history. She had destroyed the most.
But Carver couldn’t forget her final glance at him, there before the satyrs. Nor could he interpret it. It had been a strange mixture of yearning, promise, even remorse.