Sojan the Swordsman ; Under the Warrior Sky

by Michael Moorcock

  The look of astonishment on the captain’s face was ludicrous. He immediately recognised the companions who, since their conquest of the Priest Rulers of Rhan, had become Zylorian heroes.

  “What—what—?” was all he could get out at first.

  “How’re you fixed for fuel, friend?” laughed Sojan.

  “We—we’ve got a full tank, sir, but how . . .?”

  “Then head for Hatnor,” grinned the adventurer. “We’ll explain on the way.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sons of the Snake God

  Who seeks to set foot in Dhar-Im-Jak?”

  A harsh voice rang across the harbour to the merchantman Kintonian Trader, which rode at anchor there.

  The captain cupped his hands into a megaphone and roared back at the soldier.

  “Sojan Shieldbearer, late of the court of Nornos Kald in Hatnor, mercenary swordsman! Seeking employment!”

  “I’ve heard of him. Very well, we need good sword arms in Dhar-Im-Jak, tell him he may land!”

  Traani, the captain of the Trader, called down to Sojan who sat sprawled in his cabin.

  “They say you can land, Sojan!”

  “Right, I’ll get my gear together.”

  Ten minutes later, a tall figure stepped on to the deck of the ship. His long fair hair was held back from his eyes by a fillet of metal, his dark blue eyes had a strange, humorous glint in them. Over a jerkin of green silk was flung a heavy cloak of yellow, his blue breeches were tucked into leather boots. Upon his back was slung a long and powerful air-rifle, on his left arm he carried a round shield. From a belt around his waist were hung a long vilthor and a pistol holster. Sojan the Swordsman was looking for work.

  Later that day, in an inn near the city centre, Sojan met the man to whom he had been directed when he had told the authorities of the harbour what kind of employment he was seeking.

  “You’re looking for employment in the ranks of the regular military, I hear? What qualifications do you have?” he said.

  “I was commander of the Armies of Imperial Hatnor for nearly a year. In that time I succeeded in stopping a rising in Veronlam, a similar rising in Asno, I organised the Poltoonian barbarians when Nornos Kald was deposed and restored him to his throne, I and four others were instrumental in utterly destroying the would-be conquerors of Zylor—the Rhanian Theocracy. I have been involved in several minor border wars, but of late things have quietened down and I thought that I would try my luck somewhere else. I heard of the impending war between the city states of Dhar-Im-Jak and Forsh-Mai and decided that I would like to take part.”

  “I have heard of you, Sojan. Your remark about Rhan jogged my memory. I feel that you would be a great asset to us. We need more professional soldiers of your calibre. As you know, both Dhar-Im-Jak and Forsh-Mai have been on friendly terms for hundreds of years, neither of us had any use for regular armies. Then about a year ago this new religious cult took over the ruling of Forsh-Mai and quickly formed an army of soldiers, spies, trouble-makers and all kinds of undercover men. We seem to have an epidemic of religious cults! The quickest way of turning friend against friend, eh? Only recently our own spies brought us news that, as we suspected, Forsh-Mai was preparing to march into Dhar-Im-Jak and take over our republic.”

  “Have you any idea when they intend to attack?”

  “In two weeks’ time, no less, I’m sure.”

  “Then we must work quickly. I would be grateful to know what kind of command you intend giving me?”

  “I shall have to discuss that with my superiors. I will naturally let you know as soon as possible.”

  Edek rose, downed the last of his drink and, with a short nod, left the inn. Just as Sojan was rising, there came a scream from the alley. Sword out, he rushed for the door to see a girl struggling in the grip of several burly fighting men. They were obviously bent on kidnapping her and Sojan lost no time in engaging the nearest hireling.

  The man was an expert swordsman, his thrusts were well timed and it was all Sojan could do, at first, to parry them. The man’s companions were still holding the girl who now seemed to be making no attempt to get free.

  The clash of steel was music to Sojan and a grim fighting smile appeared on his lips. Suddenly he felt a hard blow on the back of his head and he was consumed by darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Castle of Kandoon

  Sojan regained consciousness in a small room, barred on both door and windows. Standing over him were two men; one held a water jug in his hand with which he was dousing Sojan.

  “So our hard-headed mercenary is at last awake, I see!” The tone was gloating. The man’s face did not belie the impression his voice gave. His thick black locks and beard were curled and oiled.

  Upon his fingers were heavy rings, his nails were tinted with gold. Sojan looked at him in disgust. The bejewelled fop signalled to his companion to throw some more water at Sojan. Instantly Sojan rose and knocked the jug flying across the small cell.

  “If your manners were as fine as the silks you wear, my friend, I should take you for some sort of man!”

  The fop’s face twisted for a moment and he half raised his hand. Then he smiled and dropped the hand to his side.

  “We’ll allow the wolf some time in which to cool the heat of his temper as water seems to be no use,” he murmured. “Come, Elvit, let us leave this place—it smells!”

  Sojan signalled to the guard who was locking the door.

  “What place is this, friend?”

  “You’re in the Castle of Kandoon, swordsman, we caught you nicely, didn’t we? That ruse in getting a girl to pretend that she was being captured was Lord Kandoon’s idea. He’s a clever one. You’d be better off to be a little more civil to him, he is thinking of employing you.”

  Several hours later, Kandoon returned with the same escort.

  “Now, Sojan,” he smiled, “I can understand your annoyance at being locked up in this place—but it was the only way in which we could—um—convince you of our sincerity when we offer you fifty thousand derkas to take command of our armies and lead them to glorious victory for the State of Forsh-Mai. We, the Sons of the Snake, will conquer all. Everything will be yours. What say you, man, is that not a fair proposition?”

  “Aye, it’s fair,” Sojan’s eyes narrowed. He decided to bluff for a while. “Fifty thousand you say?”

  “That and any spoils you can take for yourself when we loot Dhar-Im-Jak!”

  “But what’s this ‘Sons of the Snake’ you mention? Do I have to join some secret society to wield a sword for fifty thousand derkas?”

  “That is a necessary part of our offer, Sojan. We are, after all, doing this for the glory of Rij the Snake, Lord of the World and the After World, Master of Darkness, Ruler of the . . .”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll forget that for a moment. What does it involve?”

  “First a meeting of all the major disciples, myself, the General-in-Command (who will take orders from you while the conquest is in progress), my majordomo, the two priests who invent—hem—who spread the Truth of the Snake.”

  “But why this mumbo-jumbo—if you want to conquer your enemy, why not just do it? I can’t understand what you’re trying to do.”

  “Then briefly I will explain. The two cities have been at peace for hundreds of years. Men and women from the states have intermingled with each other, families have intermarried until we are virtually a single nation. Apart from the names and boundaries, we are practically the same people. We need an excuse, man, don’t you see? We can’t send a soldier to march against his brother or even his son unless he thinks that there is something worth fighting for. This, my dear Sojan, is a Holy War.” He raised a cynical eye to Heaven. “Quite legitimate. We are—how shall I put it?—spreading the Word of the Snake God with the Sword of Justice! Part of our indoctrination campaign, actually, that last bit.”

  “Religion might have been invented to justify war and for no other purpose,” mused the mer
cenary, his quick mind working. “All right! I’ll join.”

  Sojan had hit on a daring plan. “When do I become an initiate?”

  An hour later, Sojan stood in a darkened room. In front of him was a long table and at it sat men clad in robes decorated with serpents.

  “Let the ceremony begin,” he intoned.

  Now was the time to act. They had given Sojan back his sword along with his other equipment and he now drew it. With the blade humming he downed the two nearest fighters. Three left, three wary men and led by one who had been described as the finest swordsman in Shortani.

  Luckily only two of the men were swordsmen—the other was almost helpless. In the fore Kandoon, cowl flung back and his face a mask of hate.

  “Trick me, would you,” he hissed. “We’ll show you what we do to dogs who try to turn on Wise Kandoon!”

  Sojan felt a lancing pain go through him and he felt the warm blood as it trickled down his left arm. With renewed energy he launched himself at Kandoon who was taken off guard for a moment. Clean steel pierced a tainted heart and the man toppled backwards with a short death-scream.

  “Those who assume mercenaries long for war are, as ever, misguided. The best of us believe in peace above all else. Maybe I’ve taught a few greedy fools a valuable lesson.”

  And collecting his myat from where he had stabled it, Sojan Shieldbearer rode on.

  With the fake “Sons of the Snake God” exposed for what they were, what amounted to civil war was averted and the two cities resumed their friendly relations. Once again Sojan had done a major service for the cause in which every honourable soldier believed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Devil Hunters of Norj

  The last rays of Zylor’s second sun were just waning when Sojan reined his myat and stared down into the green valley below.

  He glanced at the crude map before him.

  “This must be the Valley of Norj. It seems to be unexplored according to the map. Strange that no one has ventured into it.”

  Strange it was; for, even in the dusk, Sojan could see that the valley was lush and green. A river wound through it and brightly plumed birds sang from the branches of tall trees. A seeming paradise.

  “It will make an excellent place to camp,” thought the mercenary as he guided his mount downwards.

  Later that night, he set up his camp in a small natural clearing in the forest. His myat was tethered nearby and his campfire glowed cheerily. The night was warm and full of forest smells.

  After eating his meal, Sojan climbed between his blankets and was soon asleep. It was just after midnight when the strange noises awakened the warrior. There they were again—a peculiar hissing screech and the pounding of hooves; the cries of—men, and vicious cracks of whips.

  Sojan raised himself on one elbow, hand reaching for his sword. The myat stirred uneasily and swished its great tail from side to side.

  The noises drew nearer and then subsided as they fell away towards the West of the valley.

  Sojan did not sleep any more that night but kept a watchful eye open. The rest of the night was uneventful and in the morning, Sojan cooked himself a big meal which was meant to last him the day, for he intended to investigate the noises he had heard, the night before.

  Riding slowly, with eyes always scanning the ground, Sojan soon found the tracks that the inhabitants of the valley had made. There were two distinct sets of tracks. One similar to those of a myat although with subtle differences, seemingly lighter. The others were entirely unfamiliar. Three-toed tracks like, and yet unlike, those of a bird—and considerably larger. The beast that had made them was obviously a quadruped of some kind, but other than that Sojan could not tell what kind of animal had made them—there were few four-legged birds he could think of—and none of the ones he had heard about was as large as this.

  There had been at least ten riders, and it seemed that they had been chasing one or perhaps two of these bird-beasts. Probably some kind of hunt, thought Sojan, yet what kind of men were they who hunted at the dead of night?

  Sojan rode on, following the tracks in the hope that he would find some clue to the mystery. He came across a steep inclination, the tracks ended here in a flurry of mud and blood. Then the tracks of the beasts the men had been riding continued. They had ridden for a short while parallel to the bluff and then forced their animals to ride up it.

  Sojan did the same. His heavier mount slipped occasionally and nearly slid back but eventually it had carried its rider to the top. From there Sojan saw a strange scene.

  A battle of some kind was going on between two groups of men. Near a squat black-stoned tower, five men, one mounted, were endeavouring to check a horde of armoured warriors who rushed from the tower. Beasts similar to Sojan’s myat but lighter, hornless and almost tailless stood waiting.

  The mounted man held the tethering reins of the other four animals while he cut at two of the armoured men with a battle-axe held in his right hand.

  Although the mounted man was clad in armour, the other four were dressed only in jerkins of coloured cloth and divided kilts of leather. They were unshod and carried no sheaths for the weapons, mainly swords, with which they defended themselves. It seemed to Sojan that they were attempting to escape from the armoured warriors, one of whom, dressed more richly, and darker than the others, stood in the rear and urged them on in a language which was at once unfamiliar yet strangely familiar to Sojan’s ears.

  But there was no time to ponder over this now; the men needed help and Sojan, in a more curious than chivalrous mood, intended to aid them and perhaps find some answer to the mystery.

  His long spear was out, his shield up and he forced the myat into a wild gallop down the hill, screaming to his gods in a barbarian war-shout.

  His savage thrust caught the first of the armoured warriors in the throat and stayed there, the spear jerking like a tufted reed in a storm. His sword screamed from its scabbard as he pushed deeper into the melee of cursing men.

  Taking his chance to escape while the enemy were still confused, the other men quickly mounted their beasts. Sojan was still in the thick of it, sword lashing everywhere and dealing death with every stroke. One of the riders looked back, saw the mercenary still engaged and spurred his own beast back to where Sojan fought.

  Grinning his thanks to Sojan he covered the mercenary’s retreat with his own slim blade then followed.

  Howling, the warriors attempted to pursue on foot. They were brought back by their leader’s frantic cries and scrambled round behind the building.

  The armoured rider called to Sojan in that familiar, yet unintelligible tongue, and pointed towards the East. Sojan understood and turned his myat in that direction. Behind them the pursuers were whipping their steeds in an effort to overtake them.

  Deep into the forest they rode, leaving their enemies far behind. For perhaps three hours they detoured until they reached the end of the valley where a sheer cliff rose. Brushing aside some shrubbery, the armoured man disclosed an opening in the base of the cliff.

  Ducking their heads, the six rode through, the last man carefully replacing the camouflage.

  The passage ended in several connecting caves and it was in one of these that they stabled their mounts and continued on foot to the cave at the far end. Here they slumped into chairs, grinning with relief at their escape.

  The leader, the man in armour, began to speak to Sojan who stood bewilderedly trying to understand the language in which they questioned him. Vaguely he began to realise what it was—it was his own tongue, yet so altered as to be scarcely recognisable. In an hour he could understand most of their speech and in two he was telling them how he had come to the Valley of Norj.

  “But I am curious to find out who you are—and why men hunt giant fourlegged birds at midnight,” he said. “Who were the men from whom you escaped?”

  “It is a long story to explain in a few words,” said Jarg, the leader, “but I will first attempt to tell you a little of
the political situation here, in Norj.

  “There are two distinct races living here—men like ourselves and another race whom I scarcely like to define as ‘men.’ Ages ago our people reached this valley after a long sea voyage and trek across Shortani. We came to this valley and settled in it and it was not for some time that we learned that another people lived at the far end of the valley. A race of grim, black-haired and black-eyed men, who hunted at night with steel-tipped flails and who remained in their castles during the day. They did not trouble us at first and eventually we became used to the hunts, even though they sometimes passed through our fields and destroyed our crops. We were secure, we thought, in the valley and there was no man curious enough to venture too near the black-stoned castles of the Cergii.

  “But soon men and women—even children—of our people began to disappear and the hunts became more frequent for the Cergii had found a new sport. They had a different quarry to the Devil-birds which they breed and release at night to hunt with their whips. It was then that the mangled bodies of our tribesmen began to be found . . . Lashed to death.

  “They were capturing our people—and hunting them! So it was that we declared war upon these beasts, these whom we had never harmed nor attempted to harm.

  “Over the years traitors to our race went over to the enemy and became their warriors. You saw some of them today. Our once great race dwindled and became fugitives, living in caves and, if captured, the quarry of the Hunters of Norj. Still we carry on warfare with them—but it is hit-and-run fighting at best. The four you see here were captured recently and it was more by luck than anything that I managed to bribe a guard to release them. I came last night with weapons and myats—you see the breed has changed as has our speech. Unfortunately the timing was imperfect and the first sun arose before we could make good our escape. We were seen and would all be dead or captured had it not been for you.”