by Lin Carter
The brilliance ebbed; the figure solidified from gold light. With a thrill of awe he looked upon a mighty form of superhuman beauty—a proud, eternally youthful face, hawklike in its beauty, wild and fierce and free, crowned with a silken mane whose flowing locks floated like vapors on the wind. The figure, manly, heroic, superbly proportioned, was nude but clad in veils and webs of brilliance. From shoulders, back, hips and brow nine great wings grew, and the eyes that blazed down upon him were fiercer than twin suns.
He knew it for none other than Althazon, the Herald of the Gods, for he had seen the marble likeness of that superb and nine-winged form in the temples and had read of the Divine Messenger in The Scarlet Edda, wherein were compiled the sacred and prophetic scriptures of Lemuria.
The radiant being smiled and hailed him in a voice like great winds. “Belarba, O Warrior of the West! The Father of the Gods hath dispatched me unto the Shadowlands to bring thy spirit-self for judgment before the Throne of Thrones.”
Thongor gravely acknowledged the greetings of the messenger, knowing that his decision to throw away the Sword of Light had been the proper course of action. “I am ready,” he said.
“Then come, O Hero of Patanga, for the King of the Stars awaits thee in his mighty Hall.”
The flight was a titanic quest through the star-thronged Universe. The bright-winged figure bore him up from the crest of the mountains and they flew aloft on thundering pinions while the Land of Death fell away beneath them. Great winds roared about them as they clove the air asunder. Darkness came, that vast and limitless Night that lies in ebon gulfs between the shining suns . . . blackness such as mortal man hath never known, nor shall, till that far distant day when his great fleets sweep up from the bosom of this world and dare the darkness and the deeps beyond the stars.
Thongor felt the winds die, but a sensation of unthinkable speed assaulted his senses. He was aware of a velocity beyond measure or knowledge. In the blinking of an eye that whole vast realm wherethrough he had wandered and adventured dwindled to a fleck of dust and was lost in the bleak immensities of the stellar void.
Vast wings beat about him and his black mane flowed behind, but he knew that still was his mind bemazed with analogue and symbol. Bereft of the body, his spirit-self quested in regions beyond the reach of the senses, yet his merely human mind was not capable of seeing and grasping the realities of this region, and hence interpreted the meaningless nerve-signals in familiar terms. He knew the bright being who bore him through the star-spaces was not really bewinged as some lowly fowl of earth and air, nor did those shining pinions flap in truth, beating against the winds that blow between the worlds. But how else to grasp the sense of flight, save in recognizable symbols?
Now was the universe spread out about him, like the ransom of a thousand emperors in burning jewels, heaped and strewn on black velvet. More stars than ever he knew adorned the breast of heaven dazzled him with their supernal splendor.
Many were blue-white, like scintillant diamonds, but others shone topaz-yellow like the eyes of lions, grass-green like glowing emeralds, or scarlet as bright rubies. Colors beyond name or number blazed about him in gemmed magnificence . . .
Now, as they ascended with unthinkable speed to a higher coign of vantage, he could see the stars were caught up in vast curving arms that formed a spiral of dazzling glory. Thongor’s primitive people were ages from a science of astronomy, and knew naught of galaxies, but now he looked upon that tremendous wheel of light we call the Milky Way.
Suns flashed past them, swelling to rondure as they ascended, roaring by like blazing furnaces, and dwindling behind them. Marvelous comets hurtled past in arches of pale light, as if the hand of some supernal artist, dipping his brush in liquid light, had drawn a radiant curve across the dark canvas.
Planets sped past beneath them, and some were dead husks of frozen stone while some weird ocean worlds of limitless seas wherein enormous dragons fought and fed. Others were forest-worlds where towering armies of great trees marched rank by rank from pole to pole. And some were desert where naught moved but the whispering wind rustling over scarlet and ochre dunes of eternal and endless sand. But some, he caught a fleeting glimpse, were green and fertile worlds and very like unto his own far, half-forgotten world, where manlike beings, or beings risen from other creatures than the simian, ruled in splendid cities or fought in cataclysmic wars that laid whole continents in ruin.
Now the galaxy shrank behind them to a tiny fleck of light, and its near neighbors thundered by . . . galaxies by the score and the hundreds, rivers of suns, oceans of worlds, galaxies in their thousands and their millions streamed past as countless as the bubbles that rush over the brink of some cosmic Niagara.
Yet still onward they flew, and on, through the jeweled immensities of night. . . .
After a time, Thongor became aware they had crossed some subtle barrier. The darkness through which they now ascended was veined with faint light that was not of the billion, billion suns, for those lay beneath them like a colossal sea of stars that stretched from the brink of infinity to the edge of eternity.
They had gone behind the stars and Thongor stared now at sights whereon no intelligence would ever gaze, in a place to which came naught that could ever return to tell the wonders they had looked upon.
The sky arched above them, filled with a haze of faint dim hues, moving mists of colored light straited and granular and very different from the light that shines on men in their worlds of matter. They had quested beyond the very universe to realms of pure thought. And before them rose a shining land, an island of glory that Thongor had glimpsed from afar with the eyes of the spirit when the Lord Pnoth had raised him to the heights of the mountain that he might look upon the Hall of Heroes where the shades of the valiant dwell forever.
It opened before them. Golden summery fields and velvet meadows where bright rivers ran and strange beasts roamed and birds and fabulous monsters known to no earthly mythology flew and fought and dwelt.
These were the Shining Fields, he knew, where heroes wandered and warred forever in the eternal springtime of an endless youth whose clean strength could never dim to faltering age, but stood forever bright and unbroken.
Here they roamed on quests beyond imagination, for goals untold in legend, or battled in magnificent wars, or feasted in a realm where satiety was unknown.
Somewhere among those glittering ranks below, he knew his grandsire, Valgoth, his mighty father, Thumithar, and the bold, strong brothers of his youth, dwelt forever beyond death—they and other stalwart champions as well, Valkh the Black Hawk, the father of Thongor’s people, and the heroes of Nemedis and the First Kingdoms of Man, and that gallant band of victors who fought and conquered the Dragon Kings of Hyperborea in The Thousand Year War, Jaidor and Khorbane and Diombar the Singer, Konnar and Yggrim, and all the great Sons of Phondath the Firstborn, whom Gorm molded from the dust of the earth in the days when the world was new.
And he would take his place among them, he knew, to dwell in the Shining Fields forever.
Amidst the bright land rose a vast structure hewn of beautiful light. They flew towards it across the Land of Heroes and as they neared, Thongor knew that he looked upon the Palace of the Gods, and a great awe gripped him and he was beyond speech.
They flew over a murmuring forest of darkly golden trees and gently as a settling leaf, Althazon the Herald of Heaven descended to stand on a hill that rose from a quiet meadow that lay sleek and glossy like rich satin, starred with small unearthly flowers.
Here the Divine Messenger bade him farewell and was gone in a thunder of glittering plumes.
Thongor stood alone and looked upon the Palace of Paradise.
The mind of mortal man could not conceive of its radiant beauty. Its unearthly splendor was such that his mind could find no analogue to represent it. So it stood, crowned with sky-tall towers, a blaze of bright beauty, beyond description. Like frozen music it was, or an epic song hewn of utter light, or a tapestr
y of woven thunders.
He went down the gentle slope of the hill towards it, through sweet-scented grasses where strange flowers nodded, and crossed the meadow towards the bright battlements in a golden twilight where immortal birds sang softly.
Chapter 15: THE LORD OF THE THREE TRUTHS
The Winged One lifted him away
Above the worlds in soaring flight—
Beyond the ramparts of the Day,
Beyond the battlements of Night.
To where the Gods in splendor dwell
Above the thronged and mighty suns;
As one ensorcelled by some spell,
He stood before the Timeless Ones.
—Thongor’s Saga, Stave XVIII
The floor beneath his feet was like a sea of glass. Black as night it stretched away from him into dim vastnesses. And, as if he hung suspended in space above the universe, gazing down he saw that within the glistening surface of the crystal pave points of light flashed like remote stars.
Here, where he had expected infinite light, was a dim mystic gloom, murmurous with echoes, mysterious with limitless vistas veiled in darkness and ever-deepening shadows. Perhaps, he thought, the splendors herein are so brilliant as to be beyond brightness; here, where Glory sits, is light so intense that it seems as darkness to the astounded sense.
The hall about him was tremendous. Mountains could have sheltered beneath that arching dome of shadows above. Pillars so thick about that one could not grasp the fact of their rondure soared unendingly into the darkness of infinite heights above.
All was silence and gloom and vast shadowy immensities. He strode forward across the glistening crystal of the night-starred floor, and, after a time whose internal he could not measure, he came into the very midst of the Hall.
Were those—thrones? In the dimness he could not make them out, but towering shapes rose in a vast circle. They seemed . . . untenanted.
One throne, if thrones they were, stood mightier than the rest. Shaped from some vast jewel, it seemed, but his eyes could see nothing in this mystery of shadows, where forms and shapes twisted away, eluding precise definition. He looked upon dimensionless and immaterial enigmas beyond human comprehension.
He became aware of a Presence.
The central throne, vaster than the others, held a Darkness. A cloud without shape or substance, a blur beyond sight. But within it an Intellect vast and calm and ageless observed him. A Brilliance, so intense that it seemed to him dark, was throned in that titanic chair.
And a Voice spake.
Strangely—in this place of strangeness—it did not thunder as had the voice of Pnoth, neither did it roar like the rushing rivers of the wind as had the voice of Althazon. It spake softly, quietly, as might one man speak to another that stood close by. Almost was it a whisper—and he had expected the thunder of ten thousand trumpets.
Perhaps, even as there is a light so brilliant that it can be perceived only as darkness, so is there a voice so mighty that it seemeth almost to be of the silence . . .
“What have you learned?” It asked.
He paused before answering, gathering his thoughts. He made no salute or obeisance before the Throne, for he could think of so gesture humble enough wherewith to acknowledge that he stood before Utter Majesty. Hence he stood straight and tall, as a man should stand, erect and proud in the Presence of Him Who Molded Man. And his answer, when it came, was spoken boldly in a clear voice.
“I have learned the lesson of the sword,” Thongor said to his God. “I was puzzled that the sword should be set in my path, and knew there was a reason for this, that I was to learn something from it. First I discovered that I did not truly need the sword at all—that the ability to stand before fear, to crush it down, to summon courage out of it—these were enough wherewith to conquer. I learned also not to despise fear, for courage cometh out of it.”
“That was the First Truth,” the Voice said quietly.
“But I questioned the meaning of what I had learned,” Thongor confessed. “Since everything I met in the Land of Shadows was the echo or reflection of its counterpart in the Lands of Men, I wondered how this truth applied to the world from whence I had come. Well did I, of all men, know that in my world dangers and enemies are all too real . . . they do not vanish like empty shadows before a display of courage, as the Ogre of Fear vanished when I conquered my own fear, whose outward semblance it was.”
“And what did you learn from these thoughts?”
Thongor frowned, striving to phrase his muddled thoughts clearly. “I . . . I think that I was meant to come to this conclusion: that the First Truth applies even to the real and physical terrors of my world as well. That it does not really matter, from the viewpoint of the gods, if one conquers and slays the dangers that one faces with courage. That true victory is not won only by him who walks away alive from a struggle. That, in the sight of the gods, the man who fights boldly and with courage and determination in a right cause is always the victor, whether he conquer or be conquered in the end. I learned, in other words, not to dread defeat, for victory sometimes cometh out of the midst of it!”
“That was the Second Truth, and a greater than the first,” the Voice said calmly, and Thongor felt an enormous relief go through him. He had come two-thirds of the way; one last trial lay before him.
“And have you learned anything more?” the Voice asked gently. He nodded hesitantly. “The truths that I have learned during my sojourn in these strange, symbolic realms of the spirit seem to connect into a sequence of logic. Nothing here can be taken at its face value; everything I have seen or experienced is but a semblance and a symbol of an inner reality. Hence, since the Laws of Life seem to be that differing states are but the observe of each other and not the opposite of each other—since courage grows out of fear, and victory is found even in the very midst of defeat, I am led to believe that life cometh out of death itself!”
There was a long interval of silence before the Voice again spoke.
“That was the Third Truth, and the greatest truth of all,” the God said softly. “Know that you alone of all men have searched out and captured in words The Three Truths. We are very proud of you, Thongor of Valkarth.”
Thongor frowned. Something was lacking—there was another link to the chain of reason he had slowly and painfully forged. What was the inescapable conclusion now forced upon him by the sequence of the Truths? Of course.
He turned to face the throne once again. Now he stood on the threshold of a daring revelation.
“There is one thing more, Lord,” he said gropingly. “Since first I entered these curious realms, the realization of it has been growing stronger within me. Now I must know the truth of it at last—and I bring the question of it before you, the Lord of Life.”
“Ask what you will,” the Voice whispered.
Thongor drew a deep breath. “Since first I stepped between the Shadow-Gates, questions have risen within my heart. Always have I been taught by saga, myth and tale, that the winged War-Maids bear the souls of the valiant through the skies to the Hall of the Heroes. But such was not the case with me, who came before the gates as a wandering phantom and strove to find my own way unto this place where I might stand before thy throne.”
“Yes? Speak on, and be not afraid.”
“I was not struck down to death by the sword of an enemy or by the ills of the flesh nor the accumulations of age,” he continued. “And I have learned in this place to take nothing at face value, not even, I suppose, the simple fact of my presence here. Hence am I forced to the conclusion that—I know not how it be, nor why, but—I am not dead!”
The darkness stirred. Brightness seeped from it. Reality swayed and became transparent. The solid floor underfoot became insubstantial. He could see through the floor as through a thin veil of dimness. The walls, the prodigious columns, the gloom-thronged and vaulted dome far above, even the mighty thrones in their colossal circle became as a film of shadows.
Thongor did no
t know what was happening, but he felt no fear. His own spirit-self was become insubstantial too, was become as a shape of mist, a wisp of vapor, floating on the face of the deep. Far below him he could see the billion-starred expanse of the vast universe outspread. It rushed up towards him, expanding with fantastic speed. Stars hurtled by like biasing rockets—worlds and moons rushed past like the froth on the surface of a rushing river—all of the limitless universe roared about him thunderously. Yet still could he hear, above the clangorous music of the universe, the small, soft, quiet Voice as it whispered to his sense a truth more astounding than all those he had yet learned—nine words that confirmed his most incredible suspicions, and set his reason reeling with a storm of questions. Nine words that rang and echoed through his mazed, bewildered mind—
“That, too, is truth, Thongor. You are not dead.”
Then, as he hurtled down, as the cosmos flashed by all about him, a fantastic panorama exploded before his astounded gaze.
He saw the mighty Universe of Stars roll up like a scroll. The Gates of Eternity swung open to receive his flashing spirit and the silent shadow of his Companion.
He was bound on a new voyage . . . to the End of Time.
Chapter 16: A BILLION TOMORROWS
Now had the mighty quest began—
Ages unfolded to his sight—
The epic of the Tale of Man
Rose out of darkness into light!
—Thongor’s Saga, Stave XVIII
He looked down upon the world, as it was in the beginning. A vast and whirling cloud of cold matter spinning through aeons of time. Veiled in cosmic dust, he watched the whirling mass condense slowly into Being.
The great sun burned raw and young. Shouting tongues of flame leapt from its fiery surface. Not the warm golden sun he knew, but a thing of new white fire, as it had been in its youth before the worlds were made.