The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 04

by Anthology

  And as they advanced and knelt and rose and cast their offering of flowers before the glowing statue, they continued to chant the harmony which had first reached Croft's ear.

  "Zitu, hail Zitu! Father of all life! Who through thy angels Give life and withdraw it, Into our bodies—out of our bodies; God—the one god— Accept our praise."

  The chant died and the singers turned back behind the curtain, which swung shut as they passed. Croft left the temple and stood on the top of its broad approach, gazing across the river at the vast white structure which he had first seen at a distance that morning, and which now stretched directly before his eyes. It came to him that this was the capital of Aphur—the palace of Jadgor. He willed himself toward the far-flung white pile.

  It was built of a stone he did not know, as he found when he came down to the broad, paved esplanade before it. But the substance seemed to be between a marble and an onyx, so nearly as he could judge. It stretched for the best part of a mile. Now he gave attention to his immediate surroundings—the vast towers on either side of the monstrous entrance, heavy and imposing and each flanked by guardian figures of what seemed winged dogs, whose front legs supported webbed membranes from body to paw.

  Croft passed between them through the entrance where flowed counter streams of Palosians, on foot or dashing past in gnuppa-drawn chariots, trundling on two wheels, and driven by men clad in cuirasses and belts with short swords.

  He entered a vast court, surrounded by colonnades, reached by sloping inclines and stairs and paved with a dull red stone. Here stood more the chariots before the doors of this or that office of state. Blue porters moved about it, sprinkling the pavement with cooling streams of water from metal tanks strapped to their shoulders and fitted with a curved nozzle and spraying device. This was the heart of Aphur's life, Croft thought, gave it a glance, and set off in quest of Aphur's king.

  He passed through vast chambers of audience, of council, or banqueting and reception, as he judged from the furnishing of each place. He passed other courts, marveling always at the blending of grace with strength in the construction of the whole. Finally he paused. He was getting nowhere. He willed himself into the presence of Jadgor without further search.

  Thereafter he was in a room, where, beside a huge wine-red table, two men sat. The one was Prince Lakkon, whom he knew. The other was even a larger man—heavy set, dark of complexion, with grizzled hair, and a mouth held so tightly by habit that it gave the impression of lips consciously compressed. His eyes were dark as those of a bird, his nose high and somewhat bent at the middle of the bridge. The whole face was that of a man of driving purpose.

  Aside from that, however, there was little of the king about him since he was clad simply in a loose, white tunic, out of which his neck rose massive, below which he sat with clenched fist. "Cathur must still guard the gateway with Aphur, Prince Lakkon! Let Zollaria plan. Cathur's mountains make her impregnable now as fifty years before. Had Mazhur been other than a low-lying country she had never fallen victim to Zollaria's greed. But Cathur must be assured in her loyalty to the state."

  "Her loyalty?"

  Jadgor set his lips quite firmly. "Scythys is king—a dotard! Kyphallos is what—a fop—a voluptuary, as you know—as all Tamarizia knows. When he mounts the throne—as he doubtless will since there seems none to oppose him—what will Zollaria do? Cathur, since Mazhur was taken, stands alone—secure in her mountains, it is true, but alone, none the less.

  "Fifty years ago Zollaria meant to take Cathur as well, and she failed. The capture of Mazhur, save the territorial addition to her borders, gave her nothing at which she aimed. True, she has now a seaport at Niera, yet to what end? We hold the gate and the mouths to all rivers opening into the sea. Yet has Zollaria ceased to prate of a freedom of the seas? You know she has not. With Kyphallos on Cathur's throne, will she seek to gain by craft what was denied to her arms?"

  "But Kyphallos himself?"

  "Kyphallos!" The heavy shoulders of Aphur's monarch shrugged. "List yet, Lakkon! Zollaria is strong. Cathur stands alone. Cathur guards the gate. Aphur could not hold it alone. Think you our foemen to the north have ceased of their ambition or to plan or prepare, while Tamarizia wounded by Mazhur's loss, has licked her wounds for fifty years—and what now? Tamhys is one who believes in peace. So, too, do I, if peace can be enjoyed without the sacrifice of the innate right of man to regulate his own ways of life. Yet were I on the throne at Zitra, do you think I would ignore the possible peril to the north? No! I would prepare to meet move by move should the occasion arise."

  "And your first step?" Lakkon asked.

  "To make sure of Cathur," Jadgor said.

  "How?"

  Jadgor leaned toward his companion before he replied. "I would take a lesson from Zollaria herself. Lakkon, Tamarizia is a loosely held collection of states, each ruled by a nominal king and a state assembly. And those assemblies in turn elect the central ruler—the emperor of the nation—to serve for ten Palosian cycles.

  "Zollaria is a nation ruled by one man and a cycle of advisors, whose word is ultimate law. How was that brought about? By intermarriage—by making the governing house of Zollaria one, bound wholly together by a common interest without regard to anything else save that. Hence, let us make the interests of Aphur and Cathur one, and let us not delay."

  "By intermarriage?"

  "Aye. With the right princess on Cathur's throne Kyphallos might be swayed, and certainly nothing would transpire without our gaining word."

  "You have such an one in mind?"

  "Aye. I plan not so vaguely, Lakkon. I would give him the fairest maid of Aphur to wife. Your daughter Naia."

  "Naia! Your sister's own child!" Prince Lakkon half rose from his chair.

  Jadgor waved him back. "Stop, Lakkon! She is beautiful as Ga, the mother of Azil. It is because of her Kyphallos comes to Himyra now. I, Jadgor of Aphur, sent him the invitation with this in mind for Tamarizia's good. The betrothal must be agreed upon before he returns, Lakkon. I speak as your king."

  Prince Lakkon's face seemed to Croft to age, to grow drawn and somewhat pale as he bowed to his king's command. He looked to Croft, indeed, as Jason knew he himself felt. Naia—the woman he himself loved—was planned a sacrifice to policy of state.

  Lakkon rose slowly. "King of Aphur, I shall inform the maid that she is chosen a sacrifice," he said. "I know her mind. She loathes this Prince of Cathur in her heart."

  "Yet other women have sacrificed themselves to their nation in Tamarizia's history," Jadgor replied.

  "I shall place the matter before her in that light," Lakkon informed him, and turned to leave the room.

  Croft left, too, flitting out of the palace and once more taking up his own purposeless wandering about the town. Here and there he made his way among the life of Himyra, torn by an agony of thought. Yet not for one instant did the tumult in his senses cease as he passed from scene to scene. And so in the end thoughts of Naia seemed to draw him back in a circuit to Lakkon's palace where was the girl herself.

  He reached it and paused outside its doors. They were open. The copper-hued chariot drawn by the four plumed gnuppas stood before them, with Chythron back of the reins.

  Bazka, too, stood between the open leaves of the portal, and across the crystal pavement, leading to them, Lakkon was leading Naia toward the coach.

  While Jason watched, Aphur's prince and his daughter entered the conveyance and the great doors closed. Chythron spoke to the gnuppas and they sprang into their stride. Quite as he had done that morning Croft entered the carriage and crouched on the padded cushion where Naia already reclined.

  For a time as they turned toward the city gate, which they had entered that morning, silence held between Prince Lakkon and his child.

  Lakkon broke it himself at last. "All is arranged as you thought best, my Naia?" he inquired.

  "Aye, my father." She turned her eyes. "The messengers have departed to the mountains for the snows. The servants are
cleaning. I have ordered the tables set in the crystal court, inside the hedge, and I have arranged for a band of dancers and musicians on the appointed day."

  "And the robe. You did not forget the new robe?" Lakkon smiled.

  Naia shook her head, her eyes dancing. "It will be ready on the seventh day from this."

  "That is well," Prince Lakkon said. But he sighed.

  And suddenly Naia's face lost its light and grew sweetly brooding. She stretched out a rounded arm and touched him on the breast. "You are tired, my father," she said, edging nearer to him. "The day with Uncle Jadgor has left you weary."

  "Aye, somewhat," Lakkon confessed. With a swift, yet powerful gesture, he reached out and swept her into his arms. "Naia, my daughter, thou knowest that I love you well," he said.

  Croft quivered in his being. It seemed to him he was looking into Lakkon's heart and reading there all his lips held back. But Naia seemed not to sense any deeper reason than the mere love between them expressed. "Know that you love me?" she repeated. "Think you I could doubt it? Did you not give me my life? Do we not love what we create—so long as it comes from ourselves?" she nestled her head in the hollow of his corded neck.

  Above that gold-crowned head the man's face worked. "We were happy the day of thy birth, thy mother and I."

  And now it seemed that at last the woman sensed some trouble unexpressed in the mind of the man. Very gently she released herself and sat up on the padded cushion. Her almost purple eyes looked full into those of her parent. "Concerning what did you speak with Uncle Jadgor today?"

  "Concerning thee."

  "Concerning me?" To Croft every line of Naia's figure stiffened.

  "Aye." Prince Lakkon sat up. He spoke swiftly, briefly, and paused. Yet ere he paused he had fully outlined all King Jadgor planned.

  "No! Father, unsay it! Give me not to that beast!"

  "Hush!" Prince Lakkon stayed her. "Chythron will hear your outcry."

  "Chythron!" she exclaimed. "Not Chythron but all Aphur—all Tamarizia shall hear my outcry against what Jadgor intends—every woman in the nation shall give thanks to Azil and Ga, that she stands not in my place."

  "Think not I wish it," her father said. "Yet can I not deny the truth of Jadgor's words, or that the union of the houses of the two states would work for Tamarizia's great good."

  Naia was panting. "Tamarizia's?"

  "Aye, did you not comprehend what I said concerning the welfare of out nation?" Lakkon asked.

  She shook her head. "I—I think horror must have dulled by understanding," she said. "Explain to me again."

  Prince Lakkon turned and suddenly swept aside the purple curtain which draped the side of the coach. He flung out an arm and pointed straight to where the dull red walls of Himyra still shone in the afternoon rays.

  "Behold Himyra, jewel on the breast of Aphur," he cried. "There she lies. Think you I would have given ear to Jadgor's plans save for that? But for Tamarizia and that glory and honor which are hers and have been for a thousand cycles of our sun, a true son of the nation must sink all thoughts of self, must live, if by living he can serve, or should it serve better, must—die!"

  "And I must live for her—with—Kyphallos?" she whispered tensely as Lakkon once more paused.

  "If you can win him—hold him—sway him—with Jadgor on the throne at Zitra you will have made Tamarizia strong."

  "I—will have made—Tamarizia—strong. What am I against Tamarizia?"

  "You are my daughter and I love thee," said Lakkon, Aphur's prince.

  "I know." Naia crept to him and laid herself in his arms. "I know," she murmured after a time of silence.

  Lakkon's arms tightened about her as the coach swung along. Her arm crept up and stole about hims neck. Crouched invisible, Croft turned his gaze from the man and woman to stare out between the fluttering curtains.

  The road came to an end in a mountain valley, open toward the east and so unveiled a fresh scene of beauty to Jason's eyes. Here was a country palace, gleaming white above a series of terraced gardens which rose from the shores of a tiny mountain lake. Toward it Chythron guided his steeds along a private drive which branched off from the highway they had traversed thus far.

  As though the turning had been a signal, Naia loosened the embrace which held her and sat up, still without speaking, before Chythron brought his team to a stand. Then, as in the morning, Prince Lakkon helped her to descend and moved beside her up a low, broad flight of steps to reach the portals of their home.

  At their heels Croft followed on. His eyes swept the scope of the valley so far as he could mark it from the steps. Groups of the wooly, sheep-like cattle he had seen in Himyra fed in the lush grass of mountain meadows. Cultivated fields stretched out before his eyes. At the top of the steps he turned briefly and looked off to the east. There his eyes caught the glint of distant sun-kissed water—the Central Sea, of which Prince Lakkon had spoken, he now believed.

  Then the portals before which Lakkon and Naia stood swung open, and once more a blue native appeared. Beside him was a monster beast, similar in all respects to those Croft had seen harnessed to the tiny trams in the cargo tunnels. It marked the advent of Lakkon and Naia with a slow wagging of its tail, and, suddenly rearing, laid down its front pawls on the girl's shoulders.

  She spoke to the creature softly, and when it dropped back at her command, she patted its head. Then she withdrew to her apartments, and Croft noted that the layout of this country estate was much like the city palace. He followed Naia, then withdrew when he learned that she was about to bathe in the walled pool.

  Croft waited without the wall, while twilight fell and the sound of soft splashings came to his ears. But when Naia came forth, freshly attired, he pursued her every step like a shadow, was by her through the evening meal, dogging her steps when she once more sought the quiet of her room, and bade her maid, Maia, leave her for the night.

  Now, as the flaring oil lamp, with its guttering wick little better than a candle, was extinguished, the room lit only by the light of the Palosian moons, Naia knelt before a winged figure on a wine-red pedestal.

  "O, Azil, Giver of Life," she whispered, "must this be forced upon me? O Ga, Mother of Azil—thou virgin woman, whom Zitu ordained the one to give an angel life, that he might speak to men of Zitu himself and teach them how to live, do thou intercede for me! Thou knowest woman guards the sacred flame, which is life itself, so that it burns clear and never ceasing. Must that flame in me be quenched? Ga the Mother, Azil the Son—Azil the Angel—hear ye my prayer!"

  She ceased and knelt on, silent, with hands clasped and lovely head bowed down.

  And once more it seemed to Croft that his senses went spinning, eddying, whirling around. Azil the Giver of Life. Ga the mother of Azil the Son. A Virgin and a Child. And Zitu the father—God. She prayed to them. Should that prayer go unheeded or unheard? He tore himself free from the spell of the kneeling figure, and with no definite purpose in his going save to remove himself from a privacy he felt he must no longer intrude, went blindly out of the room.

  Chapter IV

  Yet once outside the mountain villa, Croft knew where he wanted to go. It was back to Himyra—back to the palace of Lakkon itself—to be alone with his thoughts. To that point, therefore, he once more willed himself. After a time, out of all his agony of spirit, there came to him a prompting impulse as to his future course. Something seemed to urge him to go on, to learn all he might of Palos and its people, of Tamarizia and its history, its manners and customs, its government and laws, and more particularly the true state of things in Cathur and the truth concerning Kyphallos, son of Cathur's king.

  To Cathur then would he go. Thereafter, followed a week in which Jason Croft, disembodied spirit, literally went to school, an unknown scholar who listened to the recitation of classes and the lectures of grave professorial men clad in long robes of spotless white. Geography held his interest mainly at first. He learned that Tamarizia lay upon a continent holding itself comple
tely surrounded save for the narrow strait, a vast central sea, studded here and there with islands, the major of which, Hiranur, some fifty miles long by twenty wide, was the seat of the imperial throne at the city of Zitra. The Tamarizian states bordered this central ocean—or had done so before the Zollarian war had wrested Mazhur, on the extreme north shore, from the original group of states.

  East of Mazhur lay Bithur. South of that was Milidhur, completing the eastern side of the Central Sea. Aphur joined Milidhur on the west—its name literally meaning "the state to the west," and south of Milidhur and Aphur was Nodhur, gaining outlet for its commerce by means of the river Na.

  Cathur lay west of Mahzhur, north of the strait, to the outer ocean, completing the circle. Its name might be translated as the battleground, which, in fact, it was, Zollaria having more than once sought to conquer it.

  From geography he turned to sociology and science. He found out quickly that the Tamarizians used a metric system, numbering their population by tens and dividing the national census on the basis of thousands and tens of thousands, each thousand unit having a captain and each ten thousand a local governor. Their day was twenty-seven hours long, their year longer than that of Earth, but divided into twelve periods or months, each in their belief ruled over by an angel designated by a symbolic sign.

  They used a system of social castes, to which the naturalized descendants of the Mazzerian nations belonged, being purely a caste of the lowest or serving type. The trades of fathers descended to sons, instruction in crafts and arts being largely by word of mouth alone. They had a bard or minstrel caste, a caste of dancers wholly female in its circle.

  A Palosian year was called a cycle, a day a sun, a month a Zitran—or period set by Zitu. There was a priesthood and a vestal order of women. Also, there was an order of knighthood, to which belonged men of noble blood or those raised to it by kingly decree for some signal accomplishment in the arts or sciences or some other service to the state.