Spider Desert

by Ernst Vlcek

  Automatically I turned away. Often enough had I been forced to witness what happened to the unfortunate victims who came in contact with those gleaming strands. Prontier could not be helped anymore. All I could do was forge ahead to the other end of the suspension bridge.

  There two powerful Arkonides were waiting for me, who promptly relieved me of my weapons.

  The same fate had already befallen Fratulon, and I heard him cursing and complaining about this shameful way of treating a physician and surgeon.

  “No need to get worked up about it?” said a man with a deep, resonant voice. “We’ve left you the tools of your profession—and besides, you can’t fight sicknesses with a sword.”

  Several men laughed. I was shoved through a passage into a room that was illuminated by two torches. There I saw six men forming a ring around Waccor and Fratulon. One of them was of average height but had an unusually powerful physique. This Arkonide wore chest armour like Fratulon, and as I came in he was in the act of tossing the sword, Skarg, to one of the other men.

  Fratulon whirled around swiftly and caught the weapon by the hilt before the other man could grasp it. I reacted instantly and landed a heavy blow into the midsection of the startled man next to me, whereupon I relieved him of the sword he had taken from me. Then I sprang forward, shoved my way through the men forming the circle, and placed my back to Fratulon, who had already taken up his battle stance.

  From a safe distance the muscular Arkonide asked him: “Have you come here as a medical man or a barricade buster?”

  “For the very reason that I come to you of my own free will in the capacity of a doctor, I will not permit you to treat me as a prisoner?” said Fratulon. “If you need my help, I’m willing to give it to you. But when you want my Skarg, instead, I’m forced to take it from you.”

  The husky Arkonide who seemed to be the spokesman was nonplussed for a moment, but then he laughed. “Your words have impressed me, Sawbones?” he said, appreciatively. “You have a right to keep the sword. You know you have to excuse my actions here. I’ve been dealing so exclusively with bandits and bums that I’ve forgotten how you’re supposed to treat a gentleman. My name is Plyturon. May I make amends with a handshake?”

  Fratulon was so hesitant about taking the preferred hand that a questioning frown came to Plytoron’s brow.

  “It could well be?” Fratulon explained, “that the local disease is contagious and can be transmitted by contact.”

  Plyturon laughed again. “Ah yes, the disease! It’s definitely not transferable or by now we’d all be down with it. But come now, I’ll take you two to Komyal. It’s a pity that Prontier is no longer alive. The Voolynesian would have liked very much to talk to him.”

  “His death is no great loss,” interjected Waccor quickly. “This sawbones and his helper have had his full confidence. They know plenty about the Professor and can tell everything to Komyal that he wants to know about him. Of that I am certain.”

  “Well, if that’s the case?” said Plyturon, “then we can forget Prontier.”

  Fratulon’s quick glance at me was a confirmation that we were thinking the same thing. Waccor must have told Komyal about Prontier’s treasure—and he had probably just now tried to apprise Plyturon of the fact that we knew where the treasure had been hidden.

  We were led into a windowless chamber the other entrances of which had all been walled up. One half of the vaulted hall was lighted by ten torches. The other half lay in darkness and was separated from the rest of the room by a crenellated wall that was about as high as a man’s head.

  In the centre of this wall was a portallike structure reaching to the ceiling, and its gates were standing open. Between these open gates was located a strange kind of vehicle—or at least that was the best designation I could find for it.

  It consisted of a giant bowl, about 2 meters in diameter, which was supported by 4 wheels and 6 articulated supports designed for forward locomotion. Within the bowl lay a gelatinous mass of something that appeared to be pulsating.

  “Komyal,” said Plyturon, “here is the medico and his assistant.” When he had finished making this announcement, he drew back to the wall.

  From the bowl emerged a large pseudopod, in the densified end of which a human face formed. The eyes stared at us, the mouth moved and spoke in perfect Arkonide. “I should have thought that you would respond more quickly to my call, Sawbones. If you had departed immediately after receiving my radio message you would have had to arrive here long before sundown.”

  “We were held up, Komyal,” answered Fratulon. “First we lost our dune rover, after which we ran into a fight with the Zagors, and finally we fell into the hands of Lay Manos’ band. But I hope that our help doesn’t come too late. Where are the men who have become afflicted by this epidemic? I’ll be glad to take care of them at once.”

  “There’s no epidemic, no plague, no disease at all?” answered Komyal. The pseudopod with the human face turned to one side as the Voolynesian added: “In sending out that distress call I was merely doing my friend, Vafron, a favour. Is this sawbones the man you are seeking, Vafron?”

  Behind the crenellated wall loomed five figures which could not be distinguished in detail because of the poor illumination there. But they were quite recognizably humanoid, in fact Arkonide.

  One of these men said: “Yes, this sawbones, Fratulon, has fallen into my trap.”

  9/ AMBUSH IN THE HALL OF SPLENDOUR

  The greatest danger of all had been prepared for only in theory.

  Fratulon had put Atlan through countless tests to prove himself. Those proofs which called upon his psychic capabilities seemed to balance out equally with those which challenged his physical qualities. It was important for Atlan to have a quick mind, but it was much more important for him to know how to handle himself with weapons. He must be capable of defending himself in every type of situation.

  This was an additional reason why Fratulon took him along on dangerous missions where not infrequently the outcome could be a matter of life and death. So far, Atlan had withstood every test and had overcome every danger. It was a good point of departure for the battles for his existence which were yet to come.

  But Fratulon was not certain whether or not Atlan could also pass the test, alone and unaided, against Orbanoshol’s special bloodhounds. For these coldblooded bounty hunters were deadly, stronger and more dangerous than all the opponents that Atlan had encountered so far.

  * * * *

  The distress signal had only been sent out in order to lure us into a trap! And fools that we were, we had just blindly bumbled our way into it.

  In this light it may even have been a blessing that we were held up by our encounters with the Zagors and Lay Manos’ group. Otherwise, we might long since have been dead. On the other hand, we might have become more cautious and suspicious had we not been distracted by these other events.

  At the moment, however, the question of who this Vafron might be and why he had drawn us into this trap was unimportant. I drew my sword at the same moment as did Fratulon. Waccor jumped back from us and joined Komyal’s men who stood along the wall. I calculated that our chances with them were fair since they were only equipped with swords like ourselves.

  “Come on, you scoundrels!” shouted Fratulon. “You’ll find out that the private bellystitcher of the Tatto, Armanck Declanter, knows his way around with something more than a scalpel!”

  “Stop!” cried Vafron. He had taken a few steps out from his concealment and was holding up his hand peremptorily. And now I saw that he was wearing a tattered uniform of the Arkonide Fleet. “Komyal, tell your men they are to make no use of their weapons!” He had turned to the Voolynesian, who had exuded a number of extra pseudopods which now extended from their container bowl. “Our agreement was that you would deliver the doctor to me alive.”

  The Arkonidemoulded mouth of the Voolynesian entoned: “He belongs to you, Vafron. None of my people will harm a single whisker of this T
atto’s physician. I myself am interested in keeping him alive.”

  Vafron looked in surprise at the pseudohead of the creature. “Strange that you should suddenly take interest in him, Komyal?” he said. “I’ve paid you for delivering me Fratulon unharmed. But your words almost sound as if you wanted to go against this agreement now.”

  Komyal’s simulated face revealed an almost human grin. “By no means, Vafron. But the point in time of that delivery will be decided by me. Before I hand him over to you, there are a few things I wish to find out…”

  “I’ll not have you haggling and bartering over me!” shouted Fratulon angrily. “Just come on! We’ll see if you are a match for me and my assistant!”

  The only one who accepted the challenge was Plyturon. He drew his sword and took a professional battle stance. “Fratulon?” he said, with a malicious smile, “you look to me like a man who’s carried a victory wreath or two from the arena in his time—but I must confide that I was also a gladiator.”

  “Get back, Plyturon!” commanded Komyal. “No blood will be spilled in this room today! And you, Fratulon, shall see that you have no choice but to surrender to me without resistance.”

  When Fratulon turned to face the Voolynesian he found that he could not tear his gaze away from him again. I saw a change come over Sawbones. His face tensed and twisted as though he were being subjected to a superhuman force, as though he were marshalling all of his strength to combat something that had seized him.

  It was evident to me at once that an uncanny power was being projected from the Voolynesian, which had brought Fratulon under its spell. Even though I was aware of this I glanced at Komyal—and was also unable to break loose from his gaze.

  The formless, colloidal thing flowed over the edge of the bowl to the floor and glided with a wavy motion toward us. Komyal had extended two pseudopods. One of them had formed itself into a human face; on the end of the other one an oversized giant eye took form.

  A magical force emerged from this eye. I could neither turn my gaze away from it nor think clearly. I was devoid of my own will, and though I sought to think of other things and to turn away from the glowing, iridescent eye, it was to no avail.

  Fratulon was worse off then I was because it was on him that Komyal was concentrating his hypnotic powers. Out of the corner of my eye I had a blurred impression of my old Sawbones trembling and falling to his knees. He was using every effort of will to combat the influence that had taken possession of him.

  “You cannot oppose me, Fratulon?” I heard the Voolynesian saying. “You must obey me. You will tell me everything I wish to know from you.”

  “No… Fratulon’s lips murmured almost inaudibly.

  “Yes!” said Komyal firmly. “You will truthfully answer all of my questions. I will ask nothing else from you. It is too bad that Prontier is not alive, for I would have been able to extract the desired information much easier from him. But even you will tell me what I wish to know!”

  “I… will do it!” whispered Fratulon.

  The amorphous mass of living substance had almost reached us. Now the giant pseudoeye rose higher until it was on a level with Fratulon’s face. “You have knowledge of a treasure that Prontier has obtained?” asked Komyal.

  “Yes, he told me everything about it!” said Fratulon. He spoke as though blurting everything out would free him from a terrible pressure. The words fairly bubbled from his lips. “In Zagooth he has made many valuable finds and has hoarded them in his stronghold. But they aren’t there anymore. Prontier distrusted his men—and with good cause, as it turned out. Waccor betrayed him to Lay Manos and the Manolian stole Prontier’s daughter, Azhira, in order to hold her for ransom and get the treasure in exchange. The exchange is supposed to take place at dawn…”

  “There is an interesting development?” observed Komyal. “So Prontier had decided to accede to Manos’ demands?”

  “Yes, he had no other interest than to see his daughter again?” Fratulon blurted out. “After Ardelo took his fall, we sent Ice Claw as the mediator to the Manolian. He was to transmit to him the conditions of the transfer…”

  “And what is the gist of those conditions?”

  “At dawn, Lay Manos is to bring Azhira to Marauthan’s main reception hall. That’s where we will hand the treasure over to him…”

  “That you will not do!” interjected Komyal scornfully.

  I saw the luminous eye begin to darken as the Voolynesian flowed back to his dish vehicle. As the hypnotic effect of the giant eye faded away, I began to emerge from its grip proportionately and regain the ability to think clearly.

  My first clear realization was the fact that Fratulon had not broken down even under the pressure of hypnosis. He had tricked the Voolynesian by appearing to reveal everything he knew, but the ruse had actually enabled him to dodge many questions of a more dangerous kind. I couldn’t help marvelling at old Sawbones. Although he had not been able to avoid the hypnotic power of the Voolynesian entirely, he had nevertheless succeeded in imparting to him more or less what he wanted to let him know. He had only transmitted those details which tied in with what we had planned.

  Fratulon put on a show of breathing heavily and balling his fists in feigned anger. “You outsmarted me, Komyal?” he said. “But don’t think that makes you win the game. Even if you know that the treasure is hidden in Marauthan’s reception hall, it won’t do you any good. You won’t be able to salvage it because Lay Manos will be there before you.”

  “I have often questioned just how tough Lay Manos’ outfit really is?” said the Voolynesian. “Until now I have put off putting his alleged strength to the test, since there was no reason for it. But now I have a good excuse to bring that braggart his destruction. Vafron, I’ll show you how it’s done around here to become the ruler of the Marauthanian ruins.”

  A faint smile touched Vafron’s sharplined features. “I’m not at all concerned with governing the inhabitants of these ruins?” he said. “When I requested all the groups here to unite themselves under my command, I only did it so that I could back myself up with as many men as possible. There was no way I could know that Fratulon would dispense with the support of Declanter’s troops and that he’d come into the ruins comparatively alone. I’ve never had the intention of being a resident here. The ruins are all yours. And now that you’ve gotten what you wanted and Fratulon is of no further use to you, you ought to turn him over to me. I ask for nothing more.”

  “He’s yours?” Komyal asserted. “But I’m not quite through with him yet. He has to accompany me to the reception hall. Once I’m in possession of the treasure I’ll hand him over to you.”

  “I’m warning you, Komyal, don’t press this game too far?” said Vafron threateningly.

  The Voolynesian remained unimpressed. “If you simply must try your strength against somebody, Vafron, then save it for the fight with Lay Manos’ men. And if it means so much to you to keep this Fratulon of yours alive, then you’d better keep a sharp eye on him I’m holding you responsible for that—that he doesn’t escape, and that nothing happens to him.”

  Vafron’s cold eyes turned to Fratulon as he said: “I’ll take care of him alright!”

  In that moment I was wondering whether or not these two men had known each other in the past and maybe had an old account to settle between them. But as I examined Fratulon’s profile carefully I saw that his face was devoid of expression.

  * * * *

  “I’ve never seen Vafron a single time in my life?” said Fratulon. We had arrived at the loftiest of the coneshaped edifices. He spoke to me the first time since leaving Komyal’s stronghold.

  “So what’s bothering you about him?” I wanted to know.

  “I’m just asking myself how Vafron is supposed to keep an eye on us when he doesn’t even show himself?” answered Fratulon.

  We had covered the distance from Komyal’s hideout to the building with the reception hall by way of the labyrinths. This offered the advantage that
we didn’t have to fear falling into an ambush by the Zagors, because in that portion of the labyrinths which lay under the ruined city the reptilian creatures were seldom seen. But Komyal had chosen the Zagooth route primarily so that Lay Manos’ men would not be able to observe the deployment of his fighting forces. It was intended that the Manolian should move unsuspectingly into a trap—exactly as Fratulon and I had figured it out in the first place.

  Our main problem was how to elude our guards in order to free Ice Claw and Azhira, who certainly must have been left behind in Lay Manos’ lair because the latter would probably be too shrewd to bring them here. Yet the fact that Komyal’s men continually surrounded us was the lesser difficulty. Fratulon seemed to be more concerned about the fact that Vafron held himself in the background even though he was responsible for our safety.

  Since Fratulon didn’t express himself about it on his own accord, however, I approached him on the subject directly. “What do you think of Vafron?” I came right out and asked him.

  “I can’t quite figure him out?” Fratulon replied.

  I persisted: “He seems to me to be more dangerous than Komyal and Lay Manos put together.”

  “In any case, he’s dangerous to us?” was all he would say.

  Komyal had 8 powerful men to carry him in his dish container although its wheeled base had its own motive power. I wasn’t quite sure whether the motor was defective or if he had himself carried merely to show off his power.

  I was inclined to believe that the Voolynesian possessed the heaviest striking force within the ruins. For after all he was in command of 50 men, which was certainly at least twice the number that Manos had at his disposal.

  There could actually be little doubt about the outcome of the forthcoming battle. Komyal not only had a superiority in numbers; he had the greater tactical advantage. While his men could carefully prepare themselves for what they knew they’d be facing, Lay Manos was unaware of the ambush.