The men were proportionately taller, equally as broad, their faces more savage in expression; and all, even in the comparative safety of their own village, were armed with various weapons—a stone knife in a skin girdle, or a short stoneheaded spear carried in one brawny hand; or a stone ax; or a knotted club; but I saw no missile weapons such as bows and arrows or slings; nor did any of the warriors bear shields.
I saw myself as one of their number; knew myself as Ran Kron, a savage youth, a mere stripling not as yet a warrior; still untried, longing, yearning, looking eagerly forward to that time when I might stand with these hard-faced warriors in the whirl and tumult of a battle, that I might prove myself a man.
Wherefore I exercised at all the warlike pastimes and practices and in my spare time haunted the abode of old Juhor the Snake, the tribe’s most highly skilled weapon-maker.
* * * *
To return to this present time in which I now write—I realize how difficult it is to make plain just how I knew all this which I’ve just described. All that I can say is—I did know. The same difficulty is confronting me in regard to what now follows. I can only write it as I knew it to be occurring while I was living in that phase of my existence. I knew my own experiences. But I knew, too, the experiences of others, insofar as those were intertwined with my own. So from here on, for a while at least, I must write in the third person instead of the first person, singular…
* * * *
Juhor the snake, old, bent, crippled, and incredibly wrinkled, looked up from his work of chipping and polishing at the head of a green-stone war-ax he was making. A crafty gleam shone, transient, in his one good eye, as he beheld the tribe’s mightiest fighting-man passing some few yards from where he, Juhor, sat at the door of his stone hut.
“Ho, Athak, Great Warrior! Athak the Swift! Athak the Strong! Athak the Terrible! Come and see!”
The gigantic, frowning war-chief turned shortly and strode to where sat the tribal weapon-maker.
“Well?” he snarled.
Juhor the Snake indicated the well-nigh completed jade ax-head.
“What of that, O mighty one?” he asked with the pride of a master craftsman.
Athak inspected it critically, with the shrewd scrutiny of another master craftsman, which he was, albeit no weapon-maker but a user of them instead.
“Put a handle to it,” he commanded.
“Not yet,” Juhor objected. “It is too heavy for its size. No warrior could wield it for very long. In steady fighting it would soon tire the strongest arm.”
“A lie,” snarled the surly giant. “It could not tire my arm to use it through a whole day’s steady fighting!”
“Not all men are as Athak,” flattered the old man.
“That is true,” nodded Athak. “Put a handle to it, and we will see how heavy it is. Soon shall I return. Have it waiting.” And with that he strode off.
Juhor the Snake smiled slyly to himself. Things were going well for him, very well indeed. So, carefully and skillfully and patiently too, he tugged and strained at the wet rawhide lashings which, drying, would shrink and bind helve and head till both were as rigid as if but one piece.
Some two hours later the shadow of Athak fell again athwart old Juhor’s gnarled and twisted body. The old weapon-maker looked up in feigned surprise.
“The ax,” Athak demanded, shortly.
Juhor indicated it where it leaned against his door-post. Athak closed his huge fist about the thick, tough oaken handle. A smile of ferocious pleasure came over his usually stolid features the instant he lifted the weapon, while into his eyes came a covetous light such as nothing in all his life had ever aroused before.
“Truly, a weapon worthy of even me,” he rumbled. “Its price, O Juhor?”
“Canst thou pay it, O Athak?”
“Whatever be the price, I will pay it. That ax shall be mine!”
“Thine after it be paid for,” nodded the cripple. “Neither thou, O Athak, nor any other in this tribe shall own that war-ax till it be paid for.”
“No?” Athak sneered. “Look now, Juhor the Snake. In my grasp is thy handiwork. Since the price be so great, what shall hinder me, Athak the Terrible, from testing it on that old skull of thine? So shalt thou lose ax, price, and life all together!”
Juhor gazed calmly up at him.
“What shall hinder, O Athak the Fool? Only this! With every stroke, as I worked I breathed a charm, a curse, on the head of him who should possess that ax unearned. Strike if thou wilt. Juhor is old and crippled, and can not prevent thee!” Athak hurriedly stood the ax against the wall and squatted down by Juhor.
“Nay,” he rumbled, “I did but jest, old man! Name me the price I must pay for that wonder-ax. It will go hard with me if I earn it not.”
“It is a long tale, Athak the Chief,” said Juhor. “I must tell it in mine own way. Hast time and patience to listen?”
“Aye,” grunted Athak. “Time enow, patience too, so be it ends in my ownership of that ax.”
“Harken, then!” Juhor settled himself more comfortably, relaxing perceptibly indeed, for up till that moment he had not been sure if Athak would prove to be the man he, Juhor, had hoped for; or if it would be necessary to tempt some other mighty warrior with the bait of that great jade-headed war-ax. For a long moment the gnarled old cripple sat silent; then:
“As a little boy, O Athak, dost recall that in those days Juhor was tall and straight and a warrior even as thou art now?”
“War-chief thyself, for a while,” Athak nodded, “if I recall aright.”
“True, O Athak! And now—Juhor the Snake, as thou seest! Broken, twisted, old and ugly. Maker of weapons and—dealer in magic, among other things. But in those days whereof I now speak, I was young, strong and restive. In war, Juhor was the foremost; in peace, unable to sit day by day while the women worked. Nay, I hunted big animals, and was a crafty hunter, too. Also I traveled much, visited other tribes, and strange sights did I see.
* * * * “One soft summer I journeyed far to the northward. Into a country of hills came I finally. Snow-crowned were those hills, robed in forests of pine and spruce and hemlock; and the lakes of water, which were many, were very beautiful to behold. So pure were the waters that they seemed black to one looking down into them from a height. Oh, a very fair country, Athak, but inhabited by a race of devils in the semblance of men.
“For as I slept one night on the banks of a small lake, all unaware that foes were nigh, the light of my fire was observed by watchful eyes. And I awoke at the dawning with two strong warriors atop of me! Of course I struggled, but to what avail? Two had leapt on me, but a dozen more stood ready to aid them, were there need. So they bound Juhor, and bore him, trussed like a wild beast, to their tribal village.
“A hundred houses of stone were in that village. A high stone wall enclosed them safely. Only one gateway pierced that wall, and it was so narrow that two men with spears might easily hold it against a strong war-party.
“Into the largest building they bore me and threw me into a stone-floored room. Afterward I learned that the building was their temple, where, with horrible rites, they worshipped their devil-god.
“For a day and a night I lay there, bound hand and foot; hungry, too, although I was filled full with rage; but to tell truth, fearsome also, for I knew not what fate lay before me; albeit I could guess, to some extent; and my guesses were not of enjoyable matters—to me, at least.
“When on the second morning there entered one bearing food and drink, I believed for a moment that I was dreaming, or had gone mad and was seeing that which was not.
“But then she spoke…
“And to my enchanted ears the sound of her voice was as the song of birds in the golden springtime of the world. The sight of her was like to the glory of the sun in the first bright hour of the day. Tall she was—not squatty as are our women—full-breasted, strong, yet shapely in body and limbs. Blue were her eyes—blue as were the waters of the I mountain lake where I
was captured. Pink were her cheeks as are the blooms of the wild roses. Scarlet were her lips, even as the blood from a fresh-dealt wound; no snow shine in the light of the full moon ever gleamed so brightly as did her strong white teeth; and her head was crowned with a great mass of hair red as the flames from a burning pitch-pine log—hair that fell almost to her feet.
“Forgotten were food, drink, hunger, captivity, apprehension; and I knew but one desire…
“Her I wanted, and her I would have; aye, though afterward I died ten deaths of torture before I were finally slain.
“With one powerful surge I burst the rawhide bonds against which I’d struggled in vain all through a day and a night! And she did not flinch, nor did she manifest aught of fear as I rose to my feet. Her blue eyes lit with a flame matching my own fire! Her scarlet lips smiled approval and she laid one finger, cautioningly, on her lip, in token of silence. Setting down the vessels of food and drink, she came, unfalteringly, straight into my opened arms.
“‘O Man of Might,’ she whispered—for their language is very like to ours, and I could understand her fairly well—‘you have taken my heart in your keeping. Yet how shall it profit us? I am the Red Witch of Ugdarr, the ‘God-Who-Eats-Human-Hearts!’ I am sworn, virgin, to his service; and you, O Strong One, are destined to provide his next meal!’
“For a bit I stood afraid. To die in battle was one thing, but to die helpless, a sacrifice to some devil-god named ‘Ugdarr’, who ate human hearts… Then I caught fast hold on my waning courage.
“‘When and how do I?’
“‘Three moons hence,’ she said sadly. ‘Four times in the year—and the last time was but a few days before you came. You will be fettered by one ankle atop of the great stone altar at the feet of the image of Ugdarr. You will be given any weapon you may select—ax, club, spear or knife. Three young warriors, desirous of proving themselves before the assembled tribe, will attack you, one at a time, armed with a similar weapon to your choice, but their ankles will not be bound! If you wound one so that he falls to the ground, his heart will be torn at once from his breast and given to the village dogs as something unfit for Ugdarr. But even should you slay all three, still are you doomed. You have but one advantage. They may wound you till you can not stand longer, but slay you outright they dare not. To be acceptable to Ugdarr, your heart must come from your yet living breast while you still breathe, however feebly. And—the tribe will eat your flesh!’
“‘No hope of escape,’ I whispered through dry lips.
“‘None,’ she replied drearily.
“In my heart I swore that if I might not escape Ugdarr’s hungry maw, at least I would make a mock of him… And I did, Athak!
“Each day thereafter she came bringing food and drink, for part of her service to Ugdarr lay in feeding Ugdarr’s victim. And the devil-god wanted his sacrifice well nourished, that his heart might be more of a dainty morsel.
“Not long dared she tarry at any one time during the daylight hours, but again and again in the dead of night, when none suspected, she crept to my side and we lay in each other’s arms till the first gray hint of dawn…and I knew, finally, that I had made a mockery of the devil-god Ugdarr…
“Young was I in those days, Athak! I had no thought for the woman, whether or not her tribe would mete out vengeance upon her for daring to give herself to me—me, the captive destined for Ugdarr’s gullet; her, the virgin priestess who had violated her office; but later I was to think—oh, many, many times!
“For one night we were discovered, despite all her imagined caution. An old, old man, servant also of the devil-god, whose office it was to cut out the hearts of the sacrifices, became suspicious. Nay, he came not alone, but with a dozen ugly-faced warriors at his back…
“Surprised as we were, in store for me was another surprise when, before all the tribe at the following noon, that old man pronounced our dooms.
“‘The man-captive is no more fit for Ugdarr’s sacrifice,’ he said sternly. ‘He shall be tortured thus—he shall be tied to a post and each member of the tribe, from the youngest child to the oldest man or woman, shall throw at him one stone each. If still he lives, maimed as he will be, let him be borne to that place where first he was found and there left with the curse of Ugdarr upon him. Should he die, there’s an end. If he lives, then he is free to go whither he will, save to return to this village. But should he crawl back here, then he shall be burned, slowly, to ashes.
“‘For the woman who was a maid—this! Witch of Ugdarr she was, and Witch of Ugdarr she shall remain till the child reach adolescence. Then shall she rear it to serve the god. If a boy, he shall become a priest. If a girl, she shall take her mother’s place as Witch; and then this evil-doer who preferred the caresses of a captive to the favor of the great Ugdarr shall be bound at Ugdarr’s feet and there she shall be stoned to death by the tribe—and the village dogs shall devour her body. I have spoken.’
“So, O Athak, you behold Juhor the Broken One! ‘Snake’ they name me, partly because I have wisdom and magic of a sort. But at first they so called me because I crawled one day into this my native village—how I made that long, terrible journey, broken, shattered, maimed, warped and twisted as I am, I know not. It was all a horrible torment like a dreadful dream of the night. Yet I did it, my brain aflame with but one idea—vengeance!
“Now, O Athak, Great War-Chief, thou knowest the price of the ax—the beautiful green-stone war-ax! Not with that ugly wooden handle, either, but with this—’’ and Juhor held up a long, finely carved handle of pure ivory! Athak’s eyes fairly blazed at the sight. He could hardly speak.
“Ax and handle, mine, if—’’
“If thou wilt make war upon the tribe of Ugdarr, slaying man, woman and child, save only the Red Witch and her—my—our—child: bringing her and the child, if both still live, here to me…
Athak nodded briefly.
“I am War-Chief,” he said quietly. “The warriors and the young men will follow where I lead. I take the ax with me. Wielding that, not even this ‘Eater-of-hearts’ Ugdarr himself shall withstand the war-frenzy of Athak the Strong!”
“I said,” old Juhor pointed out, “that the ax must be earned ere it be possessed. Otherwise a curse—”
“Athak has never lied yet! He does not begin now, even to gain that wonder-ax! It will be earned! Thy price will be paid as soon as I can rouse the warriors and reach that devil-god’s village. But I use that ax in the fighting, or I stir not a single step on thine errand!”
For a long while Juhor stared at Athak. Then he nodded as if fully satisfied at what he read in the eyes of the great war-chief.
“The ivory handle from a mammoth’s, tusk shall be fitted ere morning,” he promised. “In Athak’s grasp shall the magic war-ax earn its own purchase price, Juhor has said it!”
The exultant yell pealing from Athak’s throat startled the entire village, And Ran Kron, the untried stripling who aspired to the status of a warrior; sitting anigh and hanging breathless upon every word falling from the lips of Juhor the Snake, saw his opportunity and promptly grasped at it.
“Ho, Athak the Great Chief,” he cried boldly. “Here is one for thy war-party!”
Athak stared contemptuously at the slight figure.
“Girl with the semblance of a boy,” he jeered. “Thy mother made a mistake…”
And a lightning-swift lunge with a slender white flint knife in the hands of the infuriated youth well-nigh despoiled old Juhor of his long-plotted vengeance, then and there.
“Thou fool ten times accursed,” shrilled the old weapon-maker. But Athak laughed, a hearty, roaring bellow wherein was no trace of anger.
“Nay,” he told Juhor. “Let be! None are born full-grown and proven! The boy has the heart of a warrior. Even thus would I have replied to a like insult. He marches with the other fighting-men!”
* * * *
The next night the old men sat in a circle, thumping on the snakeskin-headed war-drums, and the old
women in a still larger outer circle banged and clattered cymbals of flat bone plates from the shoulder-blades of the larger animals.
The old men chanted and the old women shrilled at intervals, while every male of fighting size and age danced and leapt and pranced and shouted boastfully, waving and brandishing their weapons. Finally, as the fire in the center of the circles died down, each man tossed his weapon on to a pile in the dancing-space in token that even as the weapons were all together, so would each man be at one with all the others of the war-party. Athak, as leader, tossed his newly acquired jade-headed war-ax atop of all of the rest, so that when the weapons were lifted, his would be first, even as he was first in command. As his wonder-weapon—the tale of which had already been bruited about the village—fell atop of the rest, the warriors broke into their deep-voiced battle-cry:
“A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”
Athak was a good leader. Never once did the war-party see any one, nor were they seen by any wandering hunter from the morning they left their native village until they sighted the walls of Ugdarr’s people. It called for craft and strategy to achieve this, but Athak’s brain was equal to the task.
The first intimation in the gray dawning that the people of Ugdarr had of enemy proximity was the deep-toned:
“A-Houk! A-Houk! A-Houk!”
Into the undefended gate surged the men of Athak’s band—for two skilled spear-throwers, at Athak’s command, had crawled close an hour previously, while yet it was dark, and had made sure that the two men guarding the gateway slept the last long sleep.
Counter-yells arose of:
“Hah-Yah! Yah-Yah!”
And out from their huts like a swarm of angry hornets poured the men of Ugdarr. After all, it was not an all-day battle. At most, there were some hundred or a hundred and fifty savages locked together in one wild whirl of clubs, knives, spears and axes—a struggle in which quarter was neither asked nor proffered.
The Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK™, Vol. 4: Nictzin Dyalhis Page 14