Sojan the Swordsman ; Under the Warrior Sky

by Michael Moorcock

  Booloo walked among the crowd. Men and women reached out to touch his hand. I was uncertain of what to do, so I slipped off Butch, and to stay within custom, got down on my knees as well, realizing that I had not realized Choona and Booloo were royalty of some kind.

  As I dropped to my knee, Booloo grabbed my arm and indicated that I should rise. He yelled out to the people.

  “We return. And this man, Brax, saved me, and then Choona. He fought with us to help our people. We are, as far as we know, the only survivors, thanks to him. We owe him our lives. Honor him.”

  A great cheer was thrown to the sky and I was lifted on the hands and backs of the crowd and carried inside the city of Goshon in a manner of much pomp and circumstance.

  I had presumed Booloo and Choona were some kind of King and Queen of Goshon, but I soon learned otherwise. They were in fact, prince and princess, brother and sister. Their parents were King and Queen.

  I’m going to pause here to explain something about the people of Goshon, and I presumed it was true of everyone on the world of Juna. There were no old people. There were children, but no one who was elderly.

  I was to discover from Choona that her people lived to be thousands of years old. They aged only slightly, and when their time came, unless of course they were felled by violence, or the rare disease, they just ceased to live; died and crumbled into dust.

  To put it mildly, I found it strange.

  But I had a suspicion that the very air and pollen here that had given me my new muscles, reflexes, shaper senses, may well have made me like my newfound friends, and perhaps more so. And considering that a day here was much longer than those on Earth, and therefore a year was much longer as well, a person’s life span could be near immeasurable. It was merely a surmise, but from the way I felt, and having noticed that old scars from my sword training on Earth had disappeared, I suspected I just might be right.

  But what was most exciting to me was this simple, and now obvious, fact: Choona was Booloo’s brother.

  I was given nice private quarters in a large building, that was, I presume the equivalent of a palace. It was a several stories up. It wasn’t the highest spot in the place, but it was tall. It was comfortable. There was a large window, minus glass, that overlooked the city. A cool breeze rolled through it and the air tasted like a sweet dessert.

  For a bed there was a huge hammock fastened to the ceiling. The furniture, including the hammock, like most things on this world, was constructed of plants.

  After I was shown my room, food was brought. I sat and ate, felt considerably better and refreshed. I was finishing up a large gourd of that liquid that reminded me of milk, but which I found far more refreshing, when three young women came in. They were beautiful, as they all were. They wore only loincloths, and they spoke to me in their musical language. Many of their words were foreign to me, but I was beginning to understand more and more.

  It turned out they were there to bathe me. They pulled back a curtain from an area I hadn’t bothered yet to investigate, and behind it was a deep tub. They pulled one of two long ropes and water began to gush from a spout and fill it. It was hot water, and as it flowed into the tub it steamed and hissed. A moment later they pulled the other rope, and from a spout on the opposite side cooler water gushed.

  The women immediately set about trying to determine how to remove my clothes. I resisted. Slightly. And then showing them how buttons and zipper worked, I let them undress me, remove my shoes, and help me into the tub. Once I was seated there—the water feeling wonderful on my skin—they removed their loincloths and climbed in with me, took vegetable sponges from the sides of the tub, and went about scrubbing me. The sponges not only felt good, but they provided a light soap. They washed my hair, and much to my embarrassment, and simultaneous delight, they scrubbed every inch of my body. They seemed fascinated with the hair on my chest, and elsewhere. When they finished they wanted me to return the favor, and being within their hospitality, I felt I couldn’t deny them, and didn’t want to. I went about making sure they were very clean.

  When we finished bathing, they climbed out of the tub laughing like babies at bath time, and produced from a nook in the wall a huge towel, handed it to me, then grabbed others for themselves.

  I was being dried off by one of the women, while a second stood behind me and dried my hair. I was just about to pass into a heavenly realm, when Choona entered the room and smiled at me.

  “Was your bath satisfactory?” she asked.

  I felt an embarrassment that she didn’t share. I think I flushed a little. “Yes . . .” I said. “It was quite refreshing.”

  “Good,” she clapped her hands, and the women, like crows startled on a fence, moved away from me and folded the towels and departed, left me in all my naked glory.

  Choona appraised whatever physical assets I might have with a bold examination that made me feel more than little uncomfortable. I did my best not to show it, realizing their customs were nowhere as prudish as those from where I came.

  As for Choona, she was dressed quite differently. Her long hair was well brushed and cascaded over her shoulders like a mountain fire running down hill. She wore a white cloth over her breasts, tied behind her back, exposing her stomach. Her navel was circled by a painting of blue and yellow stars. She wore a gold sarong. On her feet were fine sandals that looked to be made of leather, but from my experience on this world, I determined were most likely made of some vegetable material.

  “Come,” she said.

  Being nude, I eyed the folded towels, but finally gave in, and boldly followed her, resisting the desire to cover certain parts of my anatomy with my hands. She led me to a large closet, opened it, and took out a white cloth. She brought it to me, and proceeded without comment to wrap it between my legs and around my thighs. It was a loincloth. I just stood there stunned.

  Finished with this project, she went back to the wardrobe and threw the doors wide so that I might see what was hanging on a rod—a series of colorful robes. She paused, picked out a long, hot pink one, turned with it and held it before me.

  I might be nearly nude, but I wasn’t going to wear that garish thing. I shook my head. She grinned and hung the robe back in place, and finally settled on a dark blue one. She came over with it, and standing behind me, held it so that I might slip my arms through the sleeves. Then she came around front and pulled it across me and fastened the belt. It fit very comfortably. She then returned to the wardrobe and picked up a pair of sandals from the floor. They looked too small, but she came over and dropped down on one knee and measured them against my foot. They were, in fact, too small. She grabbed them at tip and heel, tugged gently. They stretched like chewing gum. I slipped into them. They were soft and the bottoms of them were warm; they were like living tissue. They wrapped comfortably around my feet. It was easy to figure they were not only designed for comfort, they were constructed in such a way that climbing and leaping from limb to limb could be accomplished without slippage. My tennis shoes had served me, but these were even better designed to move about amongst the trees and vines of this world.

  She took my hand and led me to a chair, and had me sit. In front of me was a mirror. It lacked the reflective quality of those on Earth, but it was a mirror nonetheless, crude as a sheet of shiny metal, though I doubted it was metal at all. She picked up a short, sharp stick—the only way I can describe it—and used it to part my hair. There was also a brush there, and though it was a little rough on my scalp, it served the purpose of putting my hair into a kind of do. Considering my hair had not been that long, but was now quite long, I had some idea of how long I had been here. But, my beard had still not grown, though I could see there was a faint outline of it. I decided that it had not ceased growing at all, but for some odd reason facial hair didn’t grow that well here. I couldn’t make the sense of it.

  I also had learned from my bath with the ladies that body hair was not that prevalent on women, and I decided it was most likely the
same for the men, and this was why they had such an interest in my chest hair, and that which grew otherwise.

  The way Choona had combed my hair made me look a little too much like a rooster, so I borrowed the brush and whipped it into something that resembled my simple, parted, and otherwise left alone, style at home.

  I could see Choona in the mirror, studying me. She turned her head, pursed her lips, nodded.

  “I like it,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You are to be formally introduced to the King and Queen, my mother and father, and honored for saving us.”

  “I would love to meet them, but no honor is necessary.”

  “For us, it is a necessity.”

  My ability to absorb the language seemed to increase by the hour. I was glad of that when I went before the King and Queen.

  I said that people don’t age here, but they do age in the sense that people reach adulthood, and once there, they begin to age slowly until they might look as if they are forty or so, but a very healthy forty. In fact, I didn’t see one overweight or infirm person amongst them. I attributed that to their diet, which was mostly, and perhaps exclusively, made up of plants and plant derivatives, many of which appeared to be high in protein.

  So, when I came before the King and Queen, they were among those who had grown to that appearance, fortyish. The King was dressed in great finery, gold and silver robes with strands of pink threaded throughout it, and the Queen, who looked very much like Choona, though her hair was longer, almost to her waist, was dressed in equal finery.

  I was led to them with great procession, a blowing of horns and a thumbing of two stringed instruments that made a sound that I was uncertain I could ever comfortably accustom myself to.

  Choona and Booloo escorted me, she on my right, he on my left. I went before them, and copying Choona and Booloo, I knelt and dipped my head, then rose up and stood before them.

  I won’t bother with all they said that day, but it was flattering and pleasing, and I was given full citizenship in Goshon, and then there was a ceremony of some sort, the particulars I was uncertain of, followed by music and dancing. I was given an excellent meal, and then it was over and I was led back to my room. I followed these events with a short nap.

  When I was awakened by Choona, she was dressed in a short, loose tunic with a thick, yellow sash, thrown across her shoulder that supported a sheathed sword at her hip. She tossed a dark tunic on the bed, along with a harness similar to hers, and told me it was time to go to work.

  Though I had been honored before the King and Queen in a hall filled with hundreds of people, most of them royalty, I was now being drafted into the service of their military. It too was an honor, according to Choona. It suited me fine. I was a fighting man, and on my world I had been like a tiger in a cage. Here, I could follow my true course, as instructor of the sword and hand-to-hand combat.

  Chapter Nine

  A Cultural Problem

  When I was before the warriors, they eyed me with what I can only call suspicion. I didn’t blame them. It was the way of the fighting man and woman, for their warriors were of both sexes, to doubt the skills of an outsider that had been placed in a role of authority without having earned it in front of them.

  Their former general, for lack of a better word, was a man named Tallo. He came forward and looked at me in a manner that I didn’t mistake for friendly.

  “I know you are something special to the princess. I respect that. But, you are nothing to us, and you are nothing to me. Yet.”

  I grinned at him. “Shall we work out a bit,” I said. “Just you and I.”

  He smiled. “Why not.”

  A circle of warriors formed around us, and many of them moved back to where there were arena seats and seated themselves there. Tallo drew his sword and I drew mine.

  “Shall we?” I said.

  “First blood,” he said.

  Tallo moved. And let me tell you, he was quick. Very quick. He was the fastest swordsman I had seen, with the exception of my instructor, Jack Rimbauld. But speed isn’t always the answer. It is an important part of the equation, but distance is also important. He was the first to attack, and his speed, as I said, was impressive, but he had to cover six feet to touch me with the sword. I had but to move a few inches to parry, and as soon as I did, I glided over the ground like a bullet, lifted the pommel of my sword under his chin and knocked him down. And out.

  There was a murmur from the crowd of warriors. I sheathed my sword and lifted him to a sitting position, and placed my knee in the small of his back, and reached over and pushed my hands up and down on his chest to revive him. It was actually a technique to revive an unconscious person from being choked out, but I had found that it was also good for bringing a knocked out person around; it let their bodies know they should be awake.

  When Tallo revived, shook his head, he tried to stand, and I helped him. On his feet, he reached out with one hand and clasped my shoulder and dipped his head. He said, “I am your servant.”

  Moments later, I began their training.

  Day in and day out, I showed them the art of the sword. Don’t misunderstand me. They were warriors. They were willing and they were serviceable with their weapons, and they had a number of methods, techniques I had not seen before. But they were lacking in discipline. Here in Goshon, training was regular, but somewhat lax.

  Tallo became my right-hand man. I used him to show my approach. The Goshon warriors fought not as a unit, but as individuals. In battle, they chose whoever they wanted to fight, and fought on a personal basis. They had a good initial attack, but from that moment on, they were defensive. It’s a good way to be, but there are times when the other is appropriate, and in war, more so. I taught them there was more than just a quick initial lunge, like Tallo had tried on me.

  The Goshon sword is not a short sword, nor is it a long sword. It is, frankly, any length the user chooses. I changed that. Soon I had them all bearing three-foot swords. I taught them patterns akin to that of the Romans; it was methodology Jack Rimbauld had made me study. I taught them to hold their ground by pressing together behind a shield. Before I started training them, some had shields, some did not. Now, I insisted everyone bear a shield. I also taught them that when they were no longer on flat “ground,” or Father Tree, as they called what was beneath them, they should resort to a more free style of fighting, but with an awareness of teamwork and the concept of staying as close together as possible.

  I went at this work with great and joyful deliberation, discovering as I went better and better methods for them to be warriors, better methods for fighting the Juloon, which was their name for the giants, and the Norwat, the mantis-like creatures. One of these methods was the use of the long spear, or pike. I taught them that in the case of the giants, it was better strategy to cut them down from below instead of trying to reach their vital organs with spears and swords. Instead, the cutting of muscles behind the ankle and calf, and thrusts to the arteries inside the legs, were essential methods of bringing the giants down to size, causing them to fall and end up on their faces, or at the least, on their knees where new opportunities were available. The lungs, liver, heart, throat, eyes. All the vital points. For that matter, a good thrust to the artery inside the leg, especially close to the groin, could end a fight immediately, as your victim would bleed out in seconds.

  At the end of each day of training I ate with the men and women in the mess, for there was no segregation of sex, but when they returned to their barracks, I returned to the quarters Choona had arranged for me. I felt somewhat guilty about this, but no doubt the softness of my bed, and the fact that each night Choona joined me there, made it a lure I could not resist. We had fallen into this pattern quite naturally, as if we had known each other all our lives.

  Each night, before bed, I would strip down nude, and Choona would watch as I meditated, the way Rimbauld had shown me. After a time, she too would strip down and join me. We alwa
ys chose the middle of the room, in line with the window through which a sweet breeze came and cooled, and invigorated us. I did my best to explain to her what it was I was doing, and how I was doing it. She was a quick study. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t feel I had that much to teach her.

  It was a nice life, but I knew it would not stay nice forever. The reason for this was simple. War was coming. The Juloon and the Norwat were constantly waging war against the city of Goshon, taking slaves for food, and far worse reasons. It would soon happen again. The reason for this was Dargat, which loosely translates as The Masters. These were the plant-squid-like things I had seen on the backs of their necks and skulls. They were the ones who directed things. The giants were dangerous enough, but on their own they were not particularly organized. Some years back, The Masters and the Juloon had made a sort of unspoken pact. The Masters supplied the brains and the will, and the Juloon the muscle. The Norwat were the scavengers, the low among the low.

  “The Juloon and the Norwat, they are the yuloo for the Dargat,” Choona explained to me.

  “The what for the what?” I said.

  It took a bit of explaining, but apparently, yuloo is a word for a kind of worm that eats its own excrement, makes houses of it, and births its young in piles of the same. It’s a large creature, and smells, and isn’t edible, which was something I ascertained well before Choona finished explaining them to me.

  After this insult, she explained The Masters to me in greater detail, and finally, The One. To put it in as small a nutshell as I possible can, way out where the woods grew the thickest, where the woods were chopped and burned and used without worry, because they grew back so incredibly fast, there was a group of plant beings. I know no other way to describe them. Large, plump, white plants with vines, thick as octopus tentacles, with suckers on their tips; I’ve described them before, clinging to the backs of the giants’ necks. The creatures on the backs of the giants’ necks were a kind of hive mind, and they were in turn ruled by a creature that Choona called The One. The One was of their sort, but like a Queen Bee, a creature that lived off Goshon slaves by fastening to them with its tentacles and sucker mouths. It sucked their blood, and brains, bone marrow, and energy; it took from their very core of being until they were withered shells, dead and useless. Some of the humans were kept to breed with each other, to keep a supply of food when The Master’s lackeys were not raiding Goshon. Simply put, they farmed the humans for The Masters and The One, and the giants got a portion of the stock, and the mantises got the scraps.