The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  Meanwhile, the general populations of the two towns mingled freely; scores of women, children, and elders all gathered outside the ring to watch and to cheer on their respective local heroes in a festive, almost carnival, atmosphere. Similar contests between towns existed in Cadmia, and in my wanderings I had encountered others. As such affairs went, this one seemed notably unbloody. For that reason, I thought, if for no other, it deserved to be encouraged.

  I was not surprised to see that most of the other contestants, on both sides, were bigger than me, bulkier with bone and muscle. When we had stripped, put on the traditional loincloths worn in wrestling, and had taken our places for the event, my hosts' line was notably shorter than that of their opponents. As a relatively small man of unproven skill, I was placed at the tail of it, with the stoutest champion at the head.

  After a few speeches, mercifully short, the match got under way. Women and children cheered on the sidelines, and the elder men looked on with varying expressions.

  My hosts were somewhat downcast, though not especially surprised, when the opposition proved more powerful and our line was soon depleted. When I stepped forward, the opposing line was only a little shorter than it had been at the start, with almost a dozen men remaining. In contrast, I was the last hope for our side.

  Still, I would have been willing to lay a small wager that we were not going to lose.

  Methodically, I began to work my way through the opposing wrestlers, who, as I had expected, presented no particular problem. For a time I amused myself by throwing them in alternate directions, one this way and the next one that. I allowed each one to struggle and strain for a short time before disposing of him. Of course I grimaced and grunted at appropriate moments, trying to cloak my series of victories in an air of difficulty.

  I had gone through six or seven opponents in this fashion, creating something of a sensation in the audience. And now here came the next man in line. His body was muscular but not spectacular, his size was no greater than ordinary, and there was nothing in his face to capture my attention. Some gray was sprinkled in his dark beard, making him seem a little older than his teammates, though still far from ancient.

  Reaching out, I seized the rolled cloth belt of his loincloth with one hand, and one of his arms with the other, taking care not to crush the bones and flesh. With gentle force I pulled and pushed—

  —and found myself swept helplessly right off my feet, spinning in midair, the world's whirl ending only when my flight ended, with a great thump that left me flat on my back and staring in stupefaction at the sky.

  My head was still spuming as I scrambled quickly to all fours, then up into a kind of wrestler's crouch. My opponent was in roughly the same position, looking at me keenly, his expression indicating wariness rather than the triumph or surprise I had expected.

  The crowd around us, instead of closing in, had drawn back in apprehension. For a moment there had been shocked silence, and now there was a steady murmuring.

  Now at last I took a good look at the man who had actually overpowered me and thrown me to the ground. If he was indeed a god, and I had to assume he was, his appearance still gave no clue to his exact identity.

  There was a louder murmuring from the crowd as word spread of the remarkable thing that had just happened. From what I could overhear, I gathered that the onlookers were as amazed as I was, and no one seemed to have any idea of the stranger's identity.

  We closed and grappled with each other once again. This time it seemed to me that though my opponent's strength was absolutely fantastic, every bit the equal of my own, he was not as skilled as other men I had encountered, whose skills had of course availed them nothing.

  Here and there during my wanderings, including my earlier matches of the day, I had without even trying picked up a trick or two, simply by observing what one wrestler after another tried to do to me.

  Attempting one of these tricks now, I put something like my full strength into the effort, and was rewarded by seeing the mystery man swept off his feet, to land awkwardly and with a heavy thud.

  To judge by his expression, he was every bit as surprised as I had been—and a moment later, every bit as determined to have revenge.

  We grunted a few terse comments at each other.

  The noise of the crowd drowned out all else, as we closed and grappled for the third time.

  As sometimes happens, more often when neither contestant has much skill, the fall was inconclusive. We staggered and came down together. Before we could regain our feet and try again, eager voices were being raised on all sides. I heard that the mayors of the two towns seemed to be declaring a truce, both of them eager to conclude that the contest had ended in a draw.

  By mutual consent my opponent and I let ourselves sink back to the ground. We sat there in the worn dirt, staring at each other, while the sound of my own racing pulse in my ears gradually died away, and the heaving of my chest for air subsided. The man who had managed to throw me to the earth was wearing a little smile now, as if he was quite pleased with the result of our tussle. His face, everything about him looked staggeringly ordinary. And obviously he was waiting for me to speak first.

  I tried to speak, failed, and tried again. A third attempt was necessary before I could get out the words, "You are my father."

  The smile that great Zeus was wearing broadened, making pleasant creases in his face. I noted that somehow my father's skin was more weathered and lined than mine was, or would ever be.

  He said, in a voice that just missed being ordinary: "And you are Hercules. Every bit as strong as I had hoped you would be. Come, we must have a talk."

  Jumping to his feet, as if to make a point of the fact that he was fully recovered from our gasping struggle, he offered me a hand and pulled me up. Then he linked his arm with mine and led me away to a place where, for some reason, none of the curious onlookers followed. I could hear them somewhere in the middle distance, marveling loudly over how the pair of champions had suddenly disappeared.

  After all my efforts to bring this moment about, I came perilously close to not knowing what to say.

  "You are—" But somehow I could not get out the words.

  "I am your father. Yes, you were quite right the first time." The Thunderer wiped sweat from his face and chuckled in a very human way.

  Despite his show of jumping quickly to his feet, we were both still breathing heavily. At last I managed to find some words: "So, I have outwrestled Zeus himself."

  "Only in one fall out of three! I would not brag, upstart, if I were you." Though the words were harsh, the tone in which they were spoken told of pride and even a kind of love.

  Then the most powerful god in the Universe cast back over his left shoulder a look that was almost furtive.

  "Besides," my father said, "the less closely the world can keep track of my whereabouts, the better. In particular, the Giants are not to know anything at all of where I am, or what I'm doing,"

  I made an awkward, sweeping gesture. "This whole wrestling contest—"

  He nodded. "All designed just so you and I could have this meeting. I have taken considerable pains to arrange it. I wanted to keep it as secret as possible from our enemies, and to make sure that you would be unlikely to refuse to take part."

  "I am honored."

  "You deserve to be honored. You have done well."

  "Thank you," I said. And then: "I have prayed for this meeting."

  "That was well done." It seemed a perfectly sincere comment.

  "Do gods really hear all their worshipers' prayers?" I asked my father. "There must be thousands and thousands every day."

  "More like millions and millions, Hercules. But there is no need for the gods to hear every single one of them, because we know what they are. What they always are, have always been."

  I thought that over for a little while. "And do you, great Zeus, know the details of the lives of all your thousands of children?"

  "Zeus has thousands of offspring,
true. But without his Face in here"—and my father raised a hand to touch his forehead—"I would still be a man; and the man who now wears the Face of Zeus"—he thumped himself on the chest—"has only a very few children whom he calls his own."

  "And I—"

  "And you, Hercules, I am proud to say, are one of them."

  We talked for a time of other matters, but inevitably came to the matter of the Giants.

  We talked for what seemed a long time, and I do not remember all of what we said. But at one point, I know Zeus told me: "Mortals are always wondering why we have so often withdrawn ourselves from human affairs for extended periods. But few if any have guessed the correct answer."

  "Which is simply fear."

  "Fear indeed. A god, or goddess, appearing openly among humans will inevitably soon draw a crowd. And crowds are conspicuous and make it easy for our enemies to keep track of where we are."

  And I said to him: "Apollo told me that his true name—his first, human name—is Jeremy Redthorn."

  "I'm well aware of what the young man told you. But don't expect to hear any similar revelations from me. There are good reasons."

  "I don't doubt it, sir."

  And then my father began to talk about me. I will not set down here everything that he said, but it turned out that he knew many details of my childhood that I had imagined no one but myself would ever know.

  As soon as I had the chance, I began to question him about Hera, the goddess proclaimed by tradition to be his consort, and who, I had some reason to believe, had once sent snakes to kill me in my cradle.

  My father frowned. "Sadly, there is some truth in the story. I regret I was not alert enough to prevent it—more proof, if any were needed, of my own distinct lack of omnipotence. But that's all over and done with."

  He heaved a sigh, and his face regained cheerfulness. "Hera exists now in a new avatar—have you met her yet?—never mind, you will. No reason to think of her current version as my wife, but she and I are on good terms. No, Hercules, as far as I know, you have nothing to fear from any god or goddess."

  "That's good to know, sir." I paused, then added: "But there is one god who has much to fear from me, if I ever get my hands on him again."

  "That avatar of Death is himself dead," said Zeus. Then he added: "Of course I would have stopped the horror he committed against your family, had I known in time what he intended. But you must understand that I have my limits, too, especially since I began to encounter Giants. And you must be careful what you do to gods, even the most minor ones. Almost all of them are jealous of our power and status and want no humiliation at the hands of mortals."

  "I understand that, sir."

  "I remember the day Amphitryon flogged you with a belt," Zeus went on, smiling faintly. "That was one time when there was obviously no need for me to intervene on your behalf."

  "I should not have broken his fine dagger."

  "No, that was wrong of you. But you were very young; and I, too, have broken many things that I should not, while lacking your excuse."

  I wondered, silently, if my father had also been watching on the day when I first made love to Megan. Some part of me wanted to ask him that, but a greater part would not.

  And then there was the sad hour in which I had killed Linus. But we did not speak of that time, either.

  Now Zeus was looking at me in a way that made me wonder if he could indeed see everything that was in my heart. He said: "Today is a good day, as far as my wits are concerned. I seem to be recovering as rapidly as can be expected from my last duel with a Giant. That is why—that is one reason—I have chosen it for our talk."

  We talked, at last, about the final fate of Megan and little Hyllus. "I hope and pray," I said, "their true souls are not wandering lost, somewhere in the Underworld."

  "That much I can promise you," my father said.

  "Indeed," I said, "I was pretty well convinced that there are no true souls there. I saw strange empty images, and a few bodies that lived and breathed, as lively as my own."

  " 'We each of us owe God a death . . . ,' " said the man who was supposed to be the greatest god himself, and I had the impression that he was quoting something. "Someday, Hercules, you and I must have a talk on the subject of life and death."

  "In a way, sir," I said impulsively, "you remind me of Daedalus."

  "Do I, indeed? I take that as a compliment. I hope the Artisan would feel the same way."

  At last, so Zeus told me, he had available the results of the analysis, performed by Vulcan and Daedalus, of the Boar I had brought in alive, and of the other samples of flesh and bone from an assortment of monsters, including Antaeus.

  And he got to his feet, with the air of a king about to take his leave.

  But before departing, he said to me: "You are my son, and I am proud of you."

  "Father!" The word still sounded strange in my own ears. When he paused, I demanded: "When will I see you again? Tell me, what am I to do next?"

  Zeus shook his head. "If only I were really as all-powerful as the legends have me! All I can tell you with certainty is that I must go now, and I will see you again when the proper time has come. Meanwhile, here is another you have met, and you must go with him."

  My visit with Atlas, and my sojourn underground, had revealed to me too much of the Universe for me to any longer imagine that Zeus or any other individual might be its ruler.

  And when my father had said good-bye, I was not much surprised to see Apollo waiting for me in his chariot, ready to convey me to the secret laboratory.

  The Far-Worker and I greeted each other joyfully, and I learned with great relief that he had once again regained his mental faculties, and practically all his memory.

  He said to me: "We gods are resilient. But how many more times our minds may be so damaged, and still recover . . ." The god shook his head pessimistically.

  And yet once more, taking my courage in both hands, I boarded my friend's chariot, not knowing if we could reach our destination before some Giant's weapon, like an invisible arrow, shot us out of the sky.

  This time we flew far, and higher than before, so high indeed that my lungs worked hard for breath. My imagination peopled the earth below us thickly with Giants, towering forms who scanned the skies for targets—like hunters with bows and slings, who look for ducks. But if in fact there were any such enemies around, they could not see us, and we were not attacked.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Vulcan's Workshop

  Like everyone else I knew, I had been hearing stories about Vulcan's workshop all my life. It was one of the great establishments of legend, in which, from time immemorial, all manner of marvels had been and were still being produced. And at the end of my second ride in a flying chariot, which concluded much more successfully than my first, I was able to confirm with my own eyes the truth of some of the strangest tales.

  By the time we began our second hour of flight, I knew that we were farther north than I had ever been before. As we approached our destination from the air, there appeared before us a rocky island, bound by glaciers, a mile out from the ragged, fog-bound shoreline of a northern ocean, under the slanted light of a western sun. Gray, sullen seas beat on the sharp rocks of the little island, far less than a square mile in area. I would not have wanted to attempt to reach that goal by sea, not even in the Skyboat. Even the name of this ocean was unknown to me, and I realized that its waters were connected to those of the Great Sea only by a long, circuitous route.

  But thoughts of geography and navigation were secondary at the moment. I scarcely felt the icy wind that tugged at my hair and beard, or the warmth of the low sun in the bright sky. I was no stranger to earthly palaces, but never had I seen, and scarcely had I imagined, anything like this. Looking at the island, and the structure occupying most of its surface, I would never have guessed that it had ever been inhabited by either gods or humans.

  The location seemed to have been chosen with the idea of making the fortress
on it not only unassailable, but approachable only by gods, or by other beings with a comparable talent for flight.

  The whole building—for such my escort assured me it was—seemed little more than a huge slab of dark, slippery rock, perhaps a hundred feet high, tilted only a few degrees out of the vertical, and emerging from a rocky platform only a few feet above the level of the sea. The only sign of artifice was a few reinforcing bands of strong metal, inlaid into the otherwise almost featureless rock.

  As the chariot bore us down toward a landing on the platform base, I was puzzled at still being able to see no doors or windows in all the flat expanse of walls. There were indeed huge panels, almost flat and smooth, whose appearance from a quarter of a mile away had suggested that they might be enormous doors. But as we drew nearer still, our flight slowing almost to a stop as it neared its end, I saw that their surfaces were devoid of any lock or hinge or joining, and there appeared to be no way to get a grip to try to open them.

  Either Apollo was reading my mind or his powers of observation allowed him to determine just what I was looking at.

  "Once I tried my full strength against those portals," he informed me. "And as you see, they are still standing."

  I looked at him, and at the rock, and back to him again. "The lord Vulcan must build well, and deserves his reputation," I said.

  "Indeed he does. But this time we come with a key and know the secret of the lock."

  Apollo's pacing horses seemed to know just where to bring us down, without specific orders from their master. We landed on a small, flat space just in front of the largest flat panel that might have been a door. I believe my escort was just about to put a key into a lock (thought I could not discern the keyhole) when the door was opened for us by the life-sized figure of a slender maiden, completely nude and seeming to be made entirely of shining gold.