Nornos Rique himself captained the Crinja. Rique was a tall man with a face that, though not handsome, had a dependable and rock-hard ruggedness and eyes of steel grey.
The mate was, as is usual on Zylorian naval craft, either privateer or part of an authorised Navy, a cavalry captain by the name of Andel of Riss who,
although inclined to make independent decisions without consulting anyone first, was a good man in any kind of fight, and worth four of any one in the crew, who were all fine hands and who admired him and respected him as only seamen can respect a man. They would also prove this in a fight with man or the elements.
The custom of placing cavalry men as seconds-in-command of ships is not as strange as it seems and the custom evolved thus:
At one time in the not-so-ancient history of Zylor a strong rivalry developed between seamen and landsmen. It became so bad that if a war came, the land forces could never rely on the naval forces—and vice versa.
It was the idea of assigning landsmen to learn the ways of the sea and naval officers to get to know the cavalry and infantry that saved them from chaos, and nowadays the two forces worked together in perfect harmony.
Later, on the evening of the third day out of Minifjar they were sailing a sea which was similar to any other sea but which, according to the maps, was the feared Sea of Demons.
“We’d better anchor here and sail on at daybreak,” Nornos Rique decided, and he gave the order to drop anchor. The anchor chain rattled down for several minutes before stopping with a jarring clank.
“Water’s too deep, sir! Anchor won’t take!” yelled Andel.
“Then we daren’t drift. Ship oars and set sail on your course.”
“Yes, sir!”
Night fell bringing an atmosphere of decay and death which could almost be smelled or touched. But apart from this, nothing happened save a faint scraping from time to time along the side of the boat which was attributed to some heavy sea-weed or a piece of drift wood.
The twin suns rose and the green dawn came, sending shadows and streamers of cloud scurrying over the horizon. The sea was green and shone like dark jade with some of jade’s intangible qualities.
Oars smashed into it, ploughing it in bright foam-flecked furrows, and the monotonous beat of the drum began.
Sojan and his comrades ate breakfast in an atmosphere of gloom.
“It’s this confounded sea!” suddenly roared Andel, rising from his chair and crashing his fist into his open palm. “Vit! By the time this voyage is over, there’ll be men’s lives lost and most likely we’ll all be on the bottom!”
“Calm down, Andel, we’ll deal with any danger when we get to it,” Nornos Rique said.
Andel grunted sullenly and subsided.
Two depressed hours followed until:
“Vit take us!”
This oath was followed by a piercing scream which tailed off into a choking gasp.
The four men rushed on deck. Most of the crew were at the starboard rail, staring downwards to where red foam was flecked with white.
“Turn back, sir, you must turn back!” One hysterical seaman turned from the rail and rushed towards Nornos Rique screaming.
“Calm down, and tell me what happened!”
Fear was in the man’s eyes. A terrible fear bordering on madness. He babbled out his tale.
“A—a thing, sir—it crept up on Mitesh and—oh, sir—it grabbed him by the throat and jumped overboard!”
“Is that all?”
“It’s enough, sir!” murmured another of the men.
“What did this ‘thing’ look like? Who saw it clearly?”
“I did, sir.”
It was the man who had commented a second before.
“Well?”
“It was a kind of green and brown. Scaly. By Vit, sir, it looked as a man might look if his mother had been a fish!”
“You mean this animal was—human?”
“Not human, sir. But it had a man’s body sure enough. And his face was pointed, like, sir. And his eyes—his eyes were green, like the rest of him, and seemed to rot you when he stared at you!”
“All right. Thank you. Take this man below and give him something to drink!”
“Yes sir. Do we turn back?”
“No! You all knew there was danger!”
“Danger, yes sir, but not from—from devils.”
“Get below—we sail on!”
Back in their cabin, Sojan spoke.
“I’ve heard old folktales, Rique, about occurrences such as this one. Now I know why the ancients called this the ‘Sea of Demons.’ ”
“Do you think they are organised in anyway?”
“I’ve never heard of them being anything but in large numbers! If they’re intelligent they’ll almost certainly be organised in tribes of some kind.”
“Perhaps this was a warning, then?”
“I think it might have been.”
“We’d better set all guns in readiness. Those harpoons will come in useful. I had them mounted in case of meeting any of those large saurians that inhabit the Poltoonian Ocean. But it looks as if they’ll be needed for a different ‘game’ now!”
The ship’s oars began to creak again. But was the beat of the drum less sure? Were the oars a heartbeat slower? It seemed to the men standing on the poop deck that this was so.
Towards the middle of the day, the atmosphere of death grew and suddenly from the sea on four sides of the vessel the weird inhabitants of the Sea of Demons rose, squealing and hissing. Once more they attempted to board.
But this time the sailors were ready and the guns sent forth a steady stream of deadly missiles, driving the shrieking horde into the sea.
“They went quickly enough!” yelled Andel jubilantly.
“Too quickly. They’ll be more wary next time and they’ll be back at night for sure!”
And night did fall and with it strange sounds which rose from the water and chilled the blood of the men on board.
But again this time the crew were prepared and their searchlights stabbed the gloom, picking out the grotesque inhabitants of the Sea of Demons.
The crew moved forward, their yells mingling with the strange hissing cries of the sea-people. Sabres flashed in the searchlight glare and the blood of seamen and the man-like monsters mingled on the deck, making it difficult to get a footing.
The ship was a contrast of glaring light and total blackness. Men leaped from shadow into blinding glare or disappeared into murky darkness. Men’s breath was steaming in the cold night air. Men’s battle-cries pierced the shadows where light failed. And Sojan and his companions were in the thick of it, their swords lashing this way and that at their unhuman adversaries. Sojan’s war-cry spurred on the men and slowly, then swiftly, they pushed them back and the body of the last monster to invade their ship crashed over the rail to splash into the murky waters below.
There was an audible sigh from the sweating men.
“We’ve pushed ’em back once, lads, and by Vit, we’ll push them back from here to Rhan if needs be!” cried Sojan. With the thrill of victory still in their hearts, their pulses tingling with conquest, the men’s voices rose in assent.
A brief count found two sailors suffering from wounds where the talons of the sea-people had ripped them, while three more men were missing, obviously dragged down by the sea-people.
“We should reach Rhan in a day,” said Nornos Rique.
“Or the bottom,” broke in Andel gloomily.
But the monotonous day ahead was broken only by the screaming of seabirds as they passed the outlying islands of The Immortal Theocracy of Rhan as it was called. This “immortal theocracy” was now little more than Rhan itself and a group of four islands inhabited mainly by primitive tribes, most of whom dwelt in the interior, anyway, and had probably never heard of Rhan.
As they neared Rhan, Sojan felt misgivings. Would they succeed in carrying out their plan? Or would their perilous journey be in vain?
It
was with these odd questions in his mind that he followed his friends down the gangplank and through a series of narrow lanes to a private house owned by a society known to those few holding positions of trust in the Hatnorian Empire as the “Friends of Hatnor.” These “friends” were generally native Hatnorians carrying forged or, as in some cases, real papers giving false names as well as assumed nationalities.
Three long knocks and two short ones three times repeated gained them admission.
As they walked along the narrow corridor to the main living room they began to feel just a little more secure, even though they were deep in the heart of Jhambeelo, the enemy’s city.
But as the door swung open and friendly light flooded into the dark corridor they were taken aback!
“Hello, Sojan,” grinned Red. “I don’t think I’ve met your friends?”
“By Vit! Red, how did you get here before us?” cried Sojan.
“Simple. I flew!”
“What? No airship could make the distance.”
“You’re quite right. I didn’t come by airship. Banjar, here, brought me!”
For the first time the comrades noticed what appeared to be a hunchbacked, rather tall, man with piercing blue eyes and aquiline features. Golden-haired, he possessed a complexion of a darker gold. Sojan was astonished. Could this be one of the fabled Golden Men of Zylor?
“To snap the bow in half,” said Red, using a term common on Zylor which means roughly—”To cut a long story short,”
“Jik, Wanwif, Selwoon and myself succeeded in staving a rather large hole in the bottom of the Purple Arrow. Naturally enough, it was not long before we were beginning to regret this as water was rising steadily in the hold. Then, as we were all good swimmers, I thought that the only way to escape drowning would be to enlarge the hole and get out that way. So in turns we widened the hole and, with a great deal of difficulty, pulled ourselves under the keel of the boat and up into the open water. We lost Wanwif, I’m sorry to say. He didn’t make it.
“Well, after that we found that we would have been better off drowning in the ship as there was no sight of land. I learned afterwards that we were in the Black Ocean and this didn’t help as the stories I’ve heard of the Black Ocean are anything but cheerful. But believe it or not, after swimming in a Westerly direction for an hour or so, we were picked up by a little fishing vessel, oared only, manned by some natives of Yoomik which is the largest of the Rhanian group next to Rhan itself.
“The people looked after us but soon we got weary of hanging around their village and decided that an exploratory trip into the interior of the island would be the only thing to break the monotony. We trekked for several days until coming upon the village of Banjar’s people—the Ascri.
“The Ascri at one time were enslaved by the Rhanian Priesthood and still bear a grievance against them. It was Banjar who, when he had heard that I believed you were going to Rhan, suggested that he fly me there. We landed at night and made our way to Rhan. Banjar’s people are advanced in many of the crafts and sciences and they have an asset which helps them tremendously. Show Sojan and his friends your asset, Banjar!”
Banjar grinned and stood up. Unfolding a pair of huge wings.
“My people, I believe, are descended from the ancient winged mammals who used to live on Zylor. Just an off-shoot of evolution, I suppose. But one which has proved of great help to my folk who can travel great distances at great speeds and although we are few in number, we can elude any enemies by leaving the ground and escaping that way. As my friend says, ‘It is a great asset’ !”
Formal introductions were made and food eaten but when this was finished Sojan spoke to Red.
“Have you managed to find out anything which might prove useful to us, Red?”
“I have indeed, my friend, I have found out something which, with your courage and skill and a great deal of luck, will save the world from chaos!”
Chapter Sixteen
Prisoners in Stone
Red’s plan was simple enough. Members of the secret society of the “Friends of Hatnor” had found an ancient plan of the Great Temple which was both chiefplace ofworship and the centre of the Priesthood’s rule in Rhan. There were three tunnels leading into it. Old sewers, long since disused. Two were cul-de-sacs, having been walled up. But in the last, the walling had been a hasty job and the bricks used to seal it had collapsed. However, these tunnels were still guarded at the other end. Some said by Palace Guards—but others said simply that they were guarded by “something.” Even if the foe was human it would take an incredibly brave man to venture the rotting tunnels.
“Why not an army?” asked Andel. “Surely a great many men would be safer than one?”
“Safer, yes, but certainly not so secret. Every action we make must not be detected by the Priesthood—otherwise we are lost. We can only make a very wild guess at what power these Old Ones wield and it is our aim to stop them using it—not bring it down upon our heads—and the rest of the world’s heads, also.”
“I see,” said Parijh, “then let me be the one to go. I offer not out of heroics—which are extremely bad taste in any case—but I am more accustomed to stealth than these sword-swinging barbarians with me.” He grinned.
“Ho! So that’s what we are, are we?” roared Andel. “I’ll have you know . . .” But the comrades would never hear the rest of Andel’s forthcoming witticism for Red broke in: “Be a bit quieter, Andel, or you’ll have the whole of the Rhanian Soldiery on our heads!”
“Sorry,” said Andel.
“No,” continued Red, “I think Sojan should go. He is better for the job than anyone else. He has barbarian training, he is cat-footed, lynx-eyed and can hear a sword sing in its scabbard a mile away. I think he will succeed in getting through more than any other man in our company!”
“Then it will be I, that’s settled,” said Sojan with satisfaction. “When and where do I start?”
“You start now, and I will lead you to the entrance of the tunnel. I suggest that you carry a rifle, an axe, your shield and your long sword. Half-armour would be advisable, also.”
“Then I shall take your advice.” Sojan laughed and proceeded to don borrowed half-armour. This consisted of greaves for his limbs, a breastplate and helmet.
Then he was ready and prepared to follow Red down winding backstreets to a small turning near the Great Temple. Here, Red lifted a rusted cover to reveal an equally rusted ladder leading down into darkness.
“Good luck!” was all he said as Sojan slipped down into the gloom and sought about for hand- and foot-holds on the age-worn rail. Then the lid was replaced and Sojan found himself in utter darkness.
Down he fumbled, sometimes missing footing where one of the metal bars had rusted away, once nearly falling when his groping hand instead of closing on solid metal closed on damp air. But at last he was on the uneven floor of the disused sewer, peering into the gloom. He followed the wall along for what seemed an age, stumbling over fallen bricks and refuse. At last he sensed an obstruction ahead and he unsheathed his sword and felt the reassuring butt of his heavy pistol in his hand. On he went, past the fallen wall until—suddenly—there was no more tunnel. Or so it seemed. His right hand, which had been groping along the wall, touched nothing. But after the first brief shock he grinned to himself. This was the turn of the tunnel. Soon he would meet the Guardians.
And meet them he did for, with a soul-shaking shriek, two of the mysterious guardians were upon him. Huge reptilian things, red-eyed and red-mouthed with teeth reaching a foot long and razor sharp.
Sojan, shocked by their sudden attack, took a step backwards, hitched his rifle to his shoulder and fired straight into the mouth of the foremost beast. It shrieked again but still came on. Hastily he dropped the rifle and replaced it with his heavy axe and long sword. But before the beast reached him it had stumbled and fallen with crumpling forelegs, writhing in a fit of agony which ended with one abrupt shudder of death.
The other monste
r was checked for a moment, sniffed the corpse of its companion and then voiced another spine-chilling shriek which was half hiss and half human cry. Sojan met it with sword lashing and axe whining through the air about his head. Back went the monster but it returned in an instant, clutching at Sojan with its claws which almost resembled human hands—though hands with six-inch steel talons on the ends of each finger. Sojan stumbled backwards, his axe cutting and hacking at the hideous thing, his sword slashing into its throat again and again until at last it was down in a death agony that lasted minutes.
Pausing to wipe his weapons clean of blood and to pick up his rifle, Sojan moved on down the tunnel, feeling a little more cheerful now that he knew his foe and had conquered it.
And, abruptly, he was at the end of the tunnel and a similar steel ladder, in better condition, leading upwards. Warily he clambered up. Rifle, axe and shield strapped across his broad back and his sword firmly clenched in his teeth.
There was a metal cover here, too, and he lifted it cautiously to be blinded for a moment by the sudden gleam. He had been so long in darkness and the semi-darkness of the tunnel that he blinked hard for several seconds until his eyes became accustomed to the light.
Silently he eased his body through the narrow hole and just as softly replaced the cover. He was in a lighted corridor with torches on either side. The corridor was short and had a door at each end. Which door? He decided immediately to take the door leading farthest away from the tunnel. At least he would be a little deeper into the Temple and nearer the Inner Room in the centre which housed the Old Ones.
Gradually he pushed the door until it swung open. He thanked the Gods of Light that they had not been locked.
Down another corridor he sped, cat-footed as ever, wary hands on sword and rifle, his armour glinting in the torch-light and his shadow looming black and huge on the wall.
Most of the priests would be at rest, he knew, but it was equally certain that guards would be posted at strategic points and absolute caution was necessary. He had a rough plan of the Temple printed in his mind but the maze of corridors which he was following and which ran deeper and deeper into the heart of the Temple were complicated and were probably of more recent origin for the map had been very old.
Sojan the Swordsman ; Under the Warrior Sky Page 7