Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria

by Lin Carter

  “Use some of your magic, Wizard. Get us out of these chains and put a sword in my hands.”

  Sharajsha sighed.

  “They have fastened my hands apart,” he said. “I cannot touch my sigils to use them. We shall have to wait until the guards free my hands.”

  “When will that be?”

  “The noon hour, perchance, when they come to feed us.”

  “They will not feed us,” Sumia interrupted. “Since we are the destined sacrifices of Yamath, we shall fast until the hour of the New Year, so that we may be pure for the burning.”

  Thongor cursed.

  “It is bad enough to sacrifice us to their filthy god—must they starve us as well?”

  The girl stared at him and laughed. “Never before have I heard a man complain more about his empty belly than about his approaching death!” she said.

  Thongor shrugged. “That I am a prisoner condemned to death is something I cannot help or change,” he said. “And I refuse to waste thought by worrying about that which I cannot change. But I cannot help feeling hunger!”

  “Cease thinking of your belly, then, and think about our chances of escaping from this vile place,” the old wizard suggested.

  “Karm Karvus is still free and aloft in the airboat,” Thongor observed. “Perhaps he will try to rescue us.”

  Sharajsha thought about that for a time, then reluctantly shook his head.

  “He cannot know where we are kept. And one man alone can hardly penetrate into the secret, closely guarded places of a city filled with enemies. No…he is now in the same position as I was when you were captured in the Scarlet Tower of Slidith. And he will doubtless do exactly what I did then: simply wait above the city for some sign.”

  There seemed nothing else to say in answer to that.

  * * * *

  The day passed slowly. But, gradually, it did pass. And after many hours of slow-paced time, the shadows of evening began to gather and the hour of the festival and sacrifice drew ever nearer.

  Thongor had heard of this Lord of the Flame, but the cults of the Southlands were alien to him. He held a simple faith in Gorm the Father of Gods and Men and scorned the worship of lesser beings. Sharajsha, who had peered deeply into the mysteries, informed him that this Yamath was no god at all but a demon—in fact, he was another aspect of the Triple God of Chaos, and brother to Slidith the Lord of Blood. The Yellow Druids who ruled Patanga were doubtless allied to their crimson-robed brethren in Tsargol by the Sea. Thongor growled a curse. These iniquitous Druidical brotherhoods were devoted to evil and agony and fear, and they had attained very great power over the Nine Cities of the West. It was time their power was crushed underfoot, as a man crushes the head of a venomous serpent with a boot-heel…

  Eventually the hour of sacrifice came. A troop of Patangan guards came to strike off their shackles and escort them to the great Fire Temple where they would die.

  For lack of any better scheme, Thongor had planned to erupt into action the moment his hands were free. He had few hopes of fighting through a throng of armed and wary men, but it was better to fall in battle than through drawn-out torments. The guards, however, gave him no opportunity to resist. His wrists were manacled before the dungeon chains were loosed, and a heavy chain was set between his ankles.

  Worst of all, Sharajsha’s arms were bound in such a way that he could not employ the magical powers of his talismanic rings. He met Thongor’s questioning gaze with a weary shake of the head.

  Thongor released a deep breath. “Well, at least we shall die in the company of friends,” he said grimly.

  “That is something, at least,” the old wizard smiled.

  “Come!” the otar of the Patangan guards said with a leer of venomous mockery. “The flaming altars of Yamath await the three of you, the God’s most honored guests. And the God is impatient.”

  There was nothing else to do. They went out of the cell, ringed about with naked blades. Up an endless flight of stone steps they climbed, and down corridors of polished yellow stone…into the great Hall of the God.

  It was a gigantic circular room. Above their heads the enormous dome lifted for two hundred feet, its curved vastness broken by huge windows of colored glass. At the far end of the circular hall, Yamath stood in the form of a brazen idol ten times the height of a man. The bald head was horned and a great fanged mouth grinned beneath eyes in which small flames had been lit. The altars were held in the cupped hands, which rested on the idol’s lap. They were also of brass, hollow, and beneath them furnaces raged. The victims would be chained nude upon these altars and roasted alive. Thongor set his jaw grimly as the guards marched them across the vast floor toward the towering idol.

  They passed between rows of Druids in yellow robes, chanting praises to their obscene deity. Magnificently gowned nobles watched silently, behind the rows of Druids. Thongor saw pity on the faces of many of them as they watched their young Princess go toward death. But the nobles were unarmed, while each priest wore a long, curved sword and archers were ranged along the walls.

  Sumia walked proudly, head high. Her small, slippered feet carried her without faltering to the base of the idol. There the Yellow Archdruid halted them. Vaspas Ptol was gorgeous in jeweled robes of yellow velvet, but the beauty of his apparel could not hide the vulture-like greed of his cold eyes, his hooked beak of a nose, nor the cruel twist of his lipless mouth.

  “Here you make your choice, fair Sumia,” the Yellow Druid rasped coldly. “Either accept my embrace and reign beside me on the throne of Patanga…or go into the fiery embrace of Yamath, from whence there is no return. Choose well!”

  Sumia, from her small height, smiled up into his leering face and laughed lightly.

  “I would rather die a thousand cruel deaths than marry a man I do not love,” she said. “And for you, Vaspas Ptol, I feel no love. Only contempt—disgust—revulsion. You are not a man. You are a cold fire that scorches and slays everything that lives about you.”

  The Druid’s cold eyes went ugly. He gestured to the priests and they bore her forward. Thongor and Sharajsha were brought along behind the Princess.

  The idol of Yamath was fashioned so that it seemed to be sitting upon its crossed legs. The altars were contained in its lap, and the draperies of brass that clothed it in the likeness of a loincloth were formed into a flight of steps that led up to the altars. It was up these steps that the three prisoners were led. There they were turned about, facing out over the crowded hall and bound upright to metal poles that passed through their manacles. Here they would stand in full view of the celebrants while the altars were heated.

  Drums boomed and trumpets rang out, echoing through the domed hall. The Archdruid ascended a platform beside the idol’s gigantic knee and began to singsong the rituals of preparation. Having chained the three sacrifices to the poles, the guards lifted a trap door that led into the interior of the idol, and went within to stoke the furnaces that would heat the brazen altars red-hot.

  Thongor said nothing to his comrades as they gazed out over the audience. But the great muscles in his back and arms began to swell. The slim pole passed up his back through one link of his wrist-chains. He was pulling upon that link with his terrific strength, seeking to snap it.

  Bowls of incense were set afire, sending swirling, pungent clouds of purple smoke through the room. Gongs and drums thundered. Lines of yellow-robed figures dipped and swayed in a barbaric dance.

  “I cannot reach my sigils,” the wizard said softly. “If my wrists were not bound apart, I could touch my magic rings and free us in an instant.”

  “We are bound too far apart for me to reach your hands, or perhaps I could remove one of your magic rings and you could tell me what to do,” Sumia said.

  Thongor grunted; “Courage!” The great muscles of his broad shoulders were leaping a
nd writhing like bronze serpents as he applied the terrific leverage of his arms against the unyielding iron pole.

  He had built the strength of those shoulders with long years of exercise—swinging and hewing through a dozen wars, hefting the mighty broadsword of his homeland. Now he needed every atom of iron strength those muscles contained!

  Behind them the altars were heating up. Thongor could feel the heat against the skin of his back. His muscles knotted and tensed with supreme effort. Droplets of sweat stood out upon his brow and slid wetly down his powerful arms.

  Now three priests were coming up the steps to fasten them to the blazing altars, now red-hot behind them. As they gathered about Sumia, preparing to strip her naked, there was a sharp gasp from Sharajsha.

  “Thongor—look! Upon the platform where the Archdruid stands! Your sword and the Sword of Nemedis as well. They must plan to hurl our possessions into the flames of Yamath along with us!”

  The sight of his familiar, beloved Valkarthan broadsword lent extra strength to Thongor’s efforts. His face grew congested and purpled with the intensity of his straining muscles.

  A priest took hold of the collar of Sumia’s gown and ripped it away. One pearly-white breast was laid bare. Sumia stared ahead of her, her dark eyes enormous in her pale face. A shiver of anticipation ran over the faces of the priests. The Druid licked his thin lips and reached out—

  A sharp metallic twanggg rang out, so loud that it was heard the length of the hall. The strained and weakened link had at last yielded to Thongor’s barbarian thews!

  His hands free, Thongor was upon the priests with one catlike bound. He tore the Druid’s hands from Sumia, picked the kicking and squirming figure up with one hand to throat and one to crotch, and hurled him upon the altar! There was the sizzling, crackling sound of human flesh frying, and the shrill unearthly screech of the Druid filled the hall with terror.

  Thongor hurled the other two priests from the platform, dashing them against the stone pavement far below. Then he was loosening the chains that bound Sumia’s slim wrists. Using the iron hilt of a priest’s dagger for a lever, he snapped the links of her manacles and freed her, then turned to do the same for Sharajsha.

  Pandemonium raged. The temple became a madhouse of whirling, shouting people. Priests and guards rushed up the steps of the idol. On the platform near the God’s knee, Vaspas Ptol called down the curses of Yamath upon the blasphemers who had dared fight free from the embrace of the Fire God.

  Thongor put the dagger into Sumia’s hands and shoved her toward Sharajsha so that she might free the old wizard while he turned to fight off the oncoming priests. He sprang to the head of the stair and kicked the first priest in the face, smashing his nose into a bloody ruin. The Druid fell back, knocking others from the stair.

  Thongor snatched up a fallen sword and hewed down two guards. His savage war song thundered through the shrieking chaos of the hall as the red sword rose and fell. He slew four before the blade broke upon a steel helmet. He flung the broken hilt at a man’s face and sprang back from the rush. Now his fists swung out, cracking heads and spilling bodies off the platform. Boiling with a berserk fury, he swept men off his back and hurled them upon the fiery altars. He seized one guard by the ankles and swung him around like a great living club of flesh, knocking a dozen men flat. He released the man and he whirled across the room, thudding into a knot of priests. The barbarian was in his element—a good fight!

  Sumia had freed Sharajsha, and the wizard joined the battle. Bolts of white fire sprang from his lifted hands, setting yellow robes and guards’ cloaks afire. Sharajsha took the head of the stair while Thongor retreated, and cast bolt after bolt of magic flame down, clearing away the guards.

  Thongor poised at the edge of the idol’s knee—and dove into space. He landed catlike upon the platform where Vaspas Ptol crouched, white with fear and outrage. From the platform Thongor took up the half-completed Star Sword and his own great blade. Before he could turn to slay the priest, the Yellow Druid had picked up his skirts and jumped off, landing in the milling crowd below. Thongor roared with laughter.

  Then the great windows of colored glass far up in the dome above crashed in with a deafening music of splintering glass, and a thick rain of knife-sharp shards fell into the crowd. The gleaming silvery shape of the Nemedis floated over the hall, her weird form striking mad panic into the hearts of the people—priests, guards, and nobles alike. The airboat descended to the idol’s knees, where Sharajsha, his gray beard flying and lightning spewing from his upraised hands, had held the stair while Thongor went to recover the enchanted Sword.

  As the hall rapidly emptied of its terror-stricken throng, who fully believed the very Gods had descended in transcendent wrath, Sharajsha helped Sumia aboard the floater and then they descended to floor level so that the giant barbarian could clamber aboard.

  Thongor sprang onto the deck, magnificent in the fiery light, naked and grinning, smeared with blood, brandishing a sword in either hand.

  “Karm Karvus!” he roared. “Never was I so glad to see your face! Now, for the love of the Gods, let us get out of this place before Sharajsha brings the roof down with his magic lightnings!”

  He tossed the magic sword to Sharajsha and they clung to the rail as Karm Karvus set the Nemedis’ prow rising sharply into the air. Within a few seconds they were out through the shattered windows and over the crowded, panic-filled streets of Patanga.

  “North and west, Karm Karvus.” Sharajsha commanded. “We must reach the Mountain of Thunder before dawn, for the old year has ended and the new year begins—and in a few days the Dragon Kings will summon the Lords of Chaos from their dark abode beyond the Universe, to trample all of Lemuria down into the slime from which it rose!”

  The glittering craft rose steeply in the air and shot over the roofs and towers of Patanga, vanishing into the northern sides, bearing with her the hope of the world.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Mountain of Thunder

  He beat them back with a broken blade, half drowned in the roaring tide,

  But the great black spear drank deep as it sank in Thungarth’s naked side.

  Yet ere the Son of Jaidor fell, and ere his strength should wane,

  The broken Sword of Nemedis had clove the Dragon’s brain.

  —Diombar’s Song of the Last Battle

  Sumia sank exhausted on the cabin’s small bunk, pale and trembling from the danger and exertion. Sharajsha brought her a cup of wine, and they rested as the floater drove through the midnight skies and Patanga gradually diminished behind them.

  “Wizard!” said Thongor. “I’ll taste a goblet of that drink as well, and so, no doubt, will Karm Karvus.” The Tsargolian locked the controls and turned to join them.

  “I feared I had looked my last upon both of you,” he said, relieved. “When you did not signal for me to descend and pick you up I became fearful for your safety. And as the hours passed, I became certain you were captured—or slain. And then I saw the excitement in the great Fire Temple, and even at my height some noise of battle came to me… So on the chance that it might be Thongor of Valkarth behind this commotion, I descended and entered the Temple.”

  “Well for us that you did, Karm Karvus,” the Valkarthan grinned, tossing aside his empty goblet. “And now, bid greetings to our guest, the Royal Sumia, rightful Sarkaja of the City of Fire. Her throne has been usurped by a Druid, even as was that of the late but not lamented Drugunda Thal!”

  Karm Karvus bade Sumia welcome and turned to Sharajsha.

  “Were you successful in forging the Star Sword before your capture?” he asked.

  The wizard nodded. “Aye, or else why journey to Sharimba, the Mountain of Thunder?” He displayed the jagged blade proudly. The Princess, who had recovered from her exhaustion, and who now looked lovelier than ever with the warm rose col
oring her creamy pallor, had been attempting to follow this conversation.

  “Was it that you stole this sword?” she asked. “Was that why you were condemned to the altars beside me?”

  Sharajsha explained to her the plot of the Dragon Kings and related something of their adventures until the present, while Thongor cleansed and bound his wounds.

  As they ate an impromptu meal from the floater’s stores of dried meat and cheese, Sharajsha questioned her.

  “Since it would be foolish in the extreme for you to return to Patanga, Princess, where shall you go? Has the House of Chond friends in nearby cities?”

  “Nay,” she said warily. “Let me accompany you on your voyage. The Yellow Druids have driven into exile the Houses that might have welcomed the daughter of Orvath Chond.”

  “It will be less dangerous for you to return to the arms of Yamath, God of Fire, than to venture with us, Princess,” Thongor said. “We voyage into unknown perils, for we know not what forces the last of the Dragon Kings can bring against us. In the long ages they have spent in their remote and hidden fastnesses, Gorm alone knows what terrors they have brewed.”

  “I should rather remain with good and true friends,” she said firmly. And that was that. No arguments they could muster forth could sway her stubborn determination.

  All were long since wearied, and with this matter resolved, they made ready for slumber. The only bunk was given to the Princess of Patanga, and the others stretched out on the cabin’s floor, rolled in their cloaks. They slept for hours as the floater hurtled ever northwards. Below its silvery keel the curving, silver ribbon of the river Saan traced a winding path through forest and field, past the walls of Kathool and on, ever farther and farther north, into the foothills of the Mountains of Mommur.

  Thongor awoke after a time and took the controls, lifting the slim craft above the towering piles of rough black rock. These mighty ranges of mountain and cliff were at the very heart of Lemuria. They stretched from the marshes of Pasht in the West to the plains of the Blue Nomads in the East, a stupendous wall of rock thousands of vom in length. And therein were the dark waters of the Inner Sea of Neol-Shendis in which the Dragon Isles were known to lie.