The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

As we were crossing a small stream, he turned the chariot and brought it down for a soft landing on the grassy bank. Getting out, I promptly sat down in the grass, feeling tired in body and mind.

  Apollo said he would be back very soon, clucked to his magnificent white horses, and drove away.

  The appearance of the surrounding land struck me as restfully neutral. It was less barren than the hills we had just left, but there were no rich crops or lush forests to be seen. The scenery was soothing rather than dramatic, with gentle hills of grazing land and a few trees here and there. Such surroundings were peaceful after the wonders I had just experienced. It seemed an undemanding spot, and I welcomed the opportunity to relax.

  I dozed off, but could not have been sleeping for very long when I heard the soft rushing sound of the chariot moving through the air, and opened my eyes to discover that my companion had returned. He brought welcome food and drink, both of a quality worthy of the gods. Then we rested for a time, well out of sight of the place that had been Olympus, and well away from the immediate effects, which had been greater on my companion than they were on me, of our encounter with Atlas.

  While resting, Apollo and I compared notes on what we had seen and experienced there.

  We came to the conclusion that nothing Atlas had told us had any direct bearing on the outcome of the gods' struggle against the Giants—except possibly we now had evidence confirming our enemies' earthly origins.

  When we had reached that point in our discussion, the Far-Worker repeated his advice that I should pay a visit to the laboratory where Daedalus and Hephaestus were working with the materials that I had gathered for them.

  "I am ready to do so, Lord Apollo—Jeremy. Where is it?"

  He gestured with the piece of fruit that he was eating. "On a secret island, far to the north of here. Let us rest a little, and we'll go. They will certainly want to hear everything we can tell them about Prometheus and the strange encounter we had with Atlas. I don't doubt they'll have many questions to ask. Anyway, I have an urge to see the very latest achievements of the wizards on their island."

  When we had finished our repast, the Far-Worker leaped into his car and grabbed the reins. He gestured to me, and I climbed aboard.

  * * *

  Once more the earth swiftly fell away beneath us. As we flew, my escort told me that the two wizards of technology, one divine and one human, were anxious to talk to me as soon as possible.

  "Daedalus will want to know whether you managed to gather any new samples while you were having your encounter with Atlas."

  "I would as soon have tried to take a sample of some god's hide as to dig into that little pillar. I consider myself lucky to have come away from that meeting with my life. All I gained was—the experience."

  "That can be the most valuable prize of all."

  My companion told me that my mentors yearned more than ever to fathom the mysteries of the enemy's weapon that robbed gods of their memories.

  "I would not be surprised if Atlas was equipped with even more marvelous weapons than that," I told him. "But I saw nothing of any of them."

  The god and I continued our discussion as the chariot carried us along.

  We were flying over land, just above a patchy layer of thin clouds, and the god who was transporting me was talking to me about something when he was cut off abruptly in midsentence.

  The chariot swerved suddenly, and I had the impression that some gigantic, invisible hand had swiped at us, almost knocking us out of the sky—for a moment I did not understand that the only real impact we had suffered came from some Giant's magic weapon, which was felt in Apollo's mind, and from there transmitted through his hands and the reins to his great white horses.

  I thought that Apollo was able to recognize our attacker, for he cried out a name: "Alkyoneus!"

  Even as we lurched about in midair, my eye fell on a towering figure that stood on a hilltop hundreds of feet below us. It was a Giant, both arms raised, fingers extended and pointing straight at us. This was Antaeus writ large, the tufted hair, blank eyes, and grainy skin, equal to the worst my imagination might have done. I stared at a figure of the same almost-human shape as the Giant I had killed, standing among trees as if they were small bushes, kilted in what seemed a patchwork sail of animal skins, but enlarged, engorged, to what appeared in my shocked eyes as a height of perhaps a hundred feet.

  In a moment the weapon struck again, an invisible club whose impact seemed to be felt only in my companion's brain. Nothing happened to affect the chariot directly, nor the wondrous animals who bore it after them, nor even me, the helpless passenger. But this time the blow to the god's memory was severe enough to make him lose all control. His hands jerked awkwardly at the reins, as if he had no idea of what he ought to do with them.

  My escort was now clinging to the rail as desperately as I was. Apollo turned a strangely distorted countenance in my direction and was looking at me wildly, as if he had never seen me before. As if he did not know who I was, what we might be doing together, or where we were going.

  I grabbed him by the arm and tried to shake him, but it was like gripping a marble statue.

  In the next few moments it became plain that he had utterly lost control over his chariot. It seemed that he could only stare stupidly as the ground came rushing up at us.

  As in my battle with Antaeus, I was not directly affected by the weapon, or curse, or whatever the right name was for the thing that struck at us. But now it seemed quite possible that I was going to die anyway.

  As we spiraled lower, I was able to get one last clear look at the man-mountain who had shot us down. His great, slab-sided, rock-grained face was as blank in triumph as I supposed it would have been in defeat.

  Now we were so close above the treetops that from time to time the chariot's wheels tore at a branch. My last glimpse of the Giant showed him walking, his huge body moving with surprising quickness, as he attempted to get in one more invisible shot. I had the impression that he was uncertain of his aim, and I could only hope that this time he would miss.

  Looking at the form beside me, I saw to my horror that my god-pilot had temporarily lost consciousness. I again tried to rouse him, but failed.

  The magic team that pulled the chariot still retained their full strength. But the injury to their great master had upset them, thrown them into a panic. We were flying low now, barely skimming the tree-tops, and still performing wild gyrations.

  I grasped the reins and tried to exert control. I shouted commands at the backs of the great plunging beasts that pulled us through the air, but the animals ignored me. I might have pulled harder, but feared that if I did so, I was going to break their necks.

  In seizing the reins, I had released my two-handed grip upon the railing. As the chariot swayed back and forth, scraping tall branches in a wild ride, a sharp turn suddenly hurled me out over the side. At the last moment I grabbed desperately for something solid, but the whole equipage was already far out of my reach.

  My body was as helpless as a falling doll, but fortunately somewhat tougher. Shielding my face with my hands, I crashed violently through a screen of branches, then bounced off a trunk to hit the ground. Any normal human would almost certainly have been killed by the successive impacts, but I suffered no serious damage and a moment later was getting to my feet, feeling only a few sore spots.

  Trees stood close to me on every side, the branches of the nearest showing new white wood, splintered by the shock of my fall. The forest had swallowed me up. Flocks of disturbed birds were racketing around over the treetops; but attacking Giant, wounded god, and speeding chariot were all out of sight and sound. As far as I could tell from where I lay, they might never have existed.

  And on top of all my other problems, my club was gone. Either it had remained in the chariot, and so was possibly many miles away by now, or it had been thrown out and there was no telling where it had come down—in either case, there was little hope of finding one small log in a dense fore
st, and I was going to have to do without it. Partly to settle my nerves, and partly because I did not know what else to do, I began to make myself a new one.

  Finding a sturdy trunk of suitable wood took some time, and so did shaping it to the right size, using only my bare hands; but when it was done I had regained a measure of control over my destiny.

  Now I thought it was time to reconnoiter. On a slight rise in the forest I found a promising-looking tree and climbed it to scan the sky and the horizon for signs of Apollo and his chariot—or for the Giant, who I swore would suffer grievously for his ambush if I could catch up with him. But nothing was visible but trees and more trees. After the high-speed flight and its sudden unplanned ending, I really had no idea where in the world I was.

  My first act, on finding myself in this situation, was an amateur's attempt at magic, trying to summon Skyboat to me. I closed my eyes and concentrated fervently on the vessel as I had seen it last, in a place that must now be many miles away.

  I had no reason to believe that I was anywhere near a river, or the sea. Even if Skyboat responded to my call, there was no reason to believe that I would see the vessel again for many days. I was going to have to find my way on foot out of this trackless forest.

  I also tried to imagine the humming presence of the invisible sprite, and call it to me that I might employ it as a messenger; but I was unpracticed in all matters of magic and could not be sure I had succeeded.

  The only map of the world that I could visualize was, I feared, too woefully inaccurate to be of any use. My travels, since that distant day when I was sent out to herd cattle, had already convinced me that my early tutors had taught me practically nothing about real geography, especially with regard to those parts of the world that lay at any substantial distance from Cadmia.

  It would obviously be hopeless for me to press on and try to reach Vulcan's secret laboratory, as I had not the least idea where it was. Even in my confusion, it was obvious that regaining my homeland, or even Corycus, would entail another long journey, and something of a weary one, as it seemed likely I would be compelled to do it all on foot.

  After several days of almost aimless wandering, during which I saw few people, had little to eat, and gained no clear idea of where I was, I found myself crossing a small stream, which as it turned out represented a border between kingdoms. As I waded out of the stream and on the eastern side, I found myself confronted by a warning sign. The message, in several languages, was carved into a broad wooden panel, which in turn had been nailed conspicuously to a tree.

  KNOW BY THESE PRESENTS

  THAT ALL MEN ARE FORBIDDEN ENTRY HERE

  by order of

  HER ROYAL MAJESTY MOCTOD

  QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS

  This suggested rather forcefully that I ought to consider turning back. But over the last few days I had come to believe, though my grounds for doing so were not very strong, that the Great Sea lay in the direction I had been walking, and that my Skyboat might very well be cruising through it even now, drawing closer to me at every moment. If that was indeed the case, swift transportation might be awaiting me only a few miles deep in Amazon territory, along the coast, or up a river.

  The sign confirmed what legend had long held, that the Amazons did not much care especially for men, except as occasional partners in sex or commerce. But still I dared to hope that a lone traveler, unarmed and hungry, might be charitably received.

  Of course I could hardly be considered unarmed as long as I was carrying my huge new club. But I had invested some time and effort in its making, and I decided to wait at least until I was challenged before throwing it away.

  So I boldly crossed the river, and shortly after met a lone woman, rather elderly, gathering firewood. When I asked directions, she told me I had now entered a land called Themiscyra, on the river Thermodon, and if I followed the river downstream I would come in a few days to a good-sized city. While telling me these things my informant stared at me as if she had never seen a man before. Perhaps she was intimidated by the sight of my huge weapon; in any case, she made no objection to my presence.

  Taking the downstream path, on the theory that it must lead me eventually to sea, I soon encountered a shrine to Diana, standing at the next river ford. This gave me strong confirmation that I was really in the land of the Amazons.

  I had long known, in a vague way, as everyone did, that the Amazons were worshipers of Artemis. (That goddess, as everyone knew, was generally identified with Diana, traditionally thought to be the twin sister of Apollo. Legend called her a virgin huntress who carried Arrows and a Spear, was of a vindictive nature, and enjoyed a close association with the Moon.) If I could get the backing of Artemis/Diana, in some convincing way, then the warrior ladies ought to be cooperative.

  It was true that most humans lived their entire lives without ever encountering a god. But since beginning my wanderings, I had personally met several, and so far had had good results. So perhaps it was not strange that I began to nurse hopes of somehow confronting the goddess Diana, in this the land of her worshipers, and then making her my friend by claiming acquaintance with her twin brother.

  Somehow, in this later time when I am writing, certain legends have twisted the facts around to say that my trip to the country of the Amazons was a deliberate foray, undertaken to capture the girdle of their queen.

  I find it hard to understand how my obtaining this garment would have inconvenienced the Giants, mighty enemies of the gods, in any way. And now, as long as the subject has come up, it strikes me that this might be the time to review the whole business of my supposed Twelve labors. These are tasks which are often said to have been imposed on me—the gods alone know why—by King Eurystheus. The list is given differently in different sources, but the following sequence is widely accepted.

  1. Slaying the Nemean lion, whose skin I was supposed to have worn ever afterward. I feel I have already discussed this at sufficient length.

  2. Slaying the nine-headed Hydra of Lerna. I have said how this came about, and how, because there were credible witnesses, my fame began to grow.

  3. Capturing of the Hind (in some accounts the Stag) of Arcadia. Purely fictional. In this case, legend, unadulterated by any facts at all, provided this stag with antlers of gold and hooves of brass, and sent me chasing it for a full year in a determined effort to bring it back alive.

  4. The wild Boar of Mount Erymanthus. In this tale, as in the next item on the list, there was a good deal of truth.

  5. Cleansing the Augean stables.

  6. Shooting the monstrous man-eating birds of the Stymphalian marshes. The second purely imaginary adventure in the list. The story may have been based on a dream I once endured, though how the stuff of private dreams could be transmitted into legend is more than I can fathom, unless someone with the talents of Prince Asterion might have been responsible.

  7. Capturing of a mad bull that had terrorized Corycus. A very twisted transformation of my activities in cooperation with the prince.

  8. Ditto the man-eating mares of King Diomedes of the Bistones. Some authorities on my career omit this tale altogether, as well they might. I believe Enkidu in his own memoirs classifies it, correctly, as mere legend. Certainly unnaturally carnivorous horses (possibly something to do with centaurs) were supposed to be the property of the Thracian king, Diomedes. And I, in an effort to inflict condign punishment, fed the mares Diomedes himself.

  9. Seizing the girdle of Hyppolyte, queen of the Amazons. Most sources even name the wrong queen here. I am shortly going to introduce Her Majesty Moctod into my narrative; let me only add here, parenthetically, that the gods never really favored the idea of my marrying and settling down—I was too useful to them as a footloose adventurer. On the other hand, the Titans would probably have supported my adopting a sedentary lifestyle, had they been consulted.

  10. Seizing the cattle of the three-bodied (alternately, three-headed) Giant named Geryon, supposed to live in the island of Erythia, s
omewhere in the remote west. On my way to pillage Geryon of his cows, I supposedly strangled one Cacus, a three-headed shepherd who puffed flames and lived in a cave decorated with the bones of his victims. A number of factual events seem to be confabulated in this adventure, along with some creditably artistic lies; disentangling them would take more time than I am willing to devote to the subject.

  11. Bringing back (I think to King Eurytheus) the Golden Apples kept at the world's end by the three sisters called Hesperides. We have already seen something of the real Apples, and will see more. I think this needs no further comment from me, except that the king in his bronze box would not have had the faintest idea what to do with them.

  12. Fetching up Cerberus from the Underworld. We will soon come to the basis of this tale.

  It was said of Queen Moctod and her followers that they kept a few men around as servants; that at designated times they sought out strangers and lay with them to accomplish the reproduction of their race. Boy babies resulting from these unions would be sacrificed, or given for adoption to neighboring tribes. Each young girl suffered the amputation of one breast—generally the left, presumably in early childhood—to facilitate the use of the bow.

  An alternate version was that every girl was required to kill a man before she was allowed to take a husband. My own thought was that women meeting this qualification might soon face a real shortage of prospective bridegrooms.

  Early on in my visit to the Amazons' country, I observed some evidence that other male adventurers had recently intruded in this space presumably reserved for women only, and even that some of my own sex were still on the scene.

  One distant figure, dark-bearded and almost breastless, labored in a field, guiding a plow pulled by a cameloid. Almost certainly a man, I thought, but very possibly a slave.

  The only children to be seen were girls. If there were any pregnant warriors about, they seemed to be making an effort not to appear in public.

  Evidence of a more recent intrusion could be seen in the occasional glimpses I had of wounded women warriors, limping, or nursing the stumps of missing arms or legs; and once I saw in the distance what appeared to be a funeral, but whether the death might have been a result of recent combat I had no way to tell.