Flash Gordon 1 - The Lion Men of Mongo

by Alex Raymond

  “Do you know if they’re alive and kicking, and where they might be?” Zarkov asked.

  Anmar gave a negative shake of his head. “We haven’t devised an attachment yet allowing us to tap the particular extrasensory ability needed to find out such information.”

  “Attachment?” bellowed the doctor. “You’ve been trying to con me, is that it? You’re not magicians at all, you’re—”

  “Exactly,” said Anmar. “Scientists.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A dozen wooden docks extended from the riverside, their far ends lost in the thick fog which hung over the river. The road leading downhill toward the wharf area was made of cobblestones, slick and black in the misty night. A small settlement had grown up at this spot on the Great River, about twenty low buildings of wood and stone, clustered randomly along the shore. Narrow lanes, some paved with stones, others merely twisting paths of mud, ran through the ramshackle town.

  Flash moved slowly through the foggy streets. Round his shoulders was the dark cloak he had borrowed from the now bound and gagged Harn. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to spot an airship around here,” Flash said to himself.

  It was his intention to commandeer the police craft, use it to fly somewhere near the capital. Then he would take Dale away from the Emperor Ming. But before he could work out the details of that rescue, he would have to get a look at the emperor’s city.

  From some of the windows of the wharf town came fuzzy yellow light. And out of one ramshackle building, smoke and noise and gruff laughter came tumbling. A crude sign nailed unevenly over the door announced this was the One-Eyed Mariner Cafe.

  A moment after Flash passed its wide open doorway, someone came flying out into the night to land with a huge thumping splash in the muddy lane.

  “We may not love Ming here,” shouted an angry voice from the cafe, “but we’ll have none of your revolutionary talk.”

  “More’s the pity,” replied the man who’d been thrown to the street. “Perhaps you didn’t quite comprehend—”

  “He needs more of a lesson, I’m thinking,” cried another rough voice.

  “Let’s teach him a good one, the shaggy rogue.”

  Flash had turned to watch. The man on the ground was big and broad, wearing a leather tunic and a short kilt-like garment instead of trousers. He had a great mane of yellow hair, a thick beard to match. And, it showed swishing as he stood, a three-foot long tail with a tuft of yellow fur at its tip.

  “Come on then,” challenged the lion man. “Let us see how you fare against Tun.”

  A large man with a spikey black beard said, “You’ve got no fight in you, you overgrown tabby.” Shoulders hunched, he came stalking toward Tun the lion man.

  But another man had materialized out of the swirling fog. He was moving silently toward the lion man’s back, carrying in his hand a short wooden club.

  “Behind you,” warned Flash.

  Without turning, the lion man dropped to his knees. His tail slapped at his unseen assailant as the man’s swung club hit nothing but air.

  Before Tun could rise, the black-bearded man leaped atop him. Another man ran from the inn to join the struggling pile.

  The man who’d tried to club Tun reached through the laces of his loose-fitting tunic and drew out a knife.

  “No, you don’t.” Flash’s right hand chopped down.

  “Hey!” The knife dropped to the mud. The man swung a blow at Flash.

  Grinning, Flash sidestepped, catching the fist. He sent the man spinning away and the fog swallowed him.

  One more big man, this one with a soiled black patch over one eye, hurtled out of the cafe and piled on. The three of them were pummeling the roaring lion man.

  “Even the three of you can’t keep me down,” roared Tun. “I’m a better man than the lot of you.” He jabbed a fist into the chest of the one with the spikey beard.

  “You’re no man at all. You’re but one step from going on all fours,” came the reply.

  As much as he wanted to get on and find the airship, Flash stayed.

  He bounded to the struggling mound of men. “This isn’t a fair contest,” he said as he grabbed hold of the man with the eye patch. “If you’re the One-Eyed Mariner himself, you’d better attend to business.” He yanked the big man free of the tangle, sent him stumbling toward the hazy doorway of the inn.

  “Much obliged,” gasped Tun. “I can handle these other two on my . . . oof.”

  A hand shoved his face down into the mud.

  Flash caught another man by the shoulders. He set him cartwheeling into the fog. Seconds later, there was the sound of a body breaking through rotten wood. A great splash followed.

  “Might as well get rid of this last one,” said Flash. He reached out toward the bearded man who was slamming Tun’s shaggy head against the ground.

  Then something hit Flash behind the ear. Hit him hard twice, then once again.

  The fog thickened and thickened, incredibly fast. Then everything turned a glaring black and Flash fell.

  CHAPTER 11

  Thin morning sunlight came through the single porthole. Flash sat up on the rough wooden flooring and looked around. He was in a small cabin in some kind of ship, and the ship was moving along the river. He could feel that.

  Slumped on the floor just beneath the porthole was Tun. His mouth slightly open, he was snoring loudly. There was no furniture in the room, nothing at all.

  Flash got himself upright. As he rubbed at the lump behind his ear, he said, “I didn’t hear that one coming at all.” He crossed, a bit unsteady, to the cabin’s thick door. It was locked from the outside.

  “Good morning, comrade,” said Tun, wakening. Yawning, he stretched his arms up. His tail brushed at the floor. “I sincerely believe I could have beaten that trio of rascals. And, with the help of a fine lad such as yourself, it should have been child’s play.”

  “There were more than three,” said Flash, grinning. “It was one of the extra ones who got the jump on me.”

  The lion man was running his big hands over himself. “I don’t seem to have any more welts and lumps than I did when I started. No, wait, here’s a nice fresh goose egg on my skull. Well, they put one over on Tun this time.” With a grunt, he rose up off the floor. “That’s who I am—Tun. My people are called the lion men, a proud and fierce race—as you’ve no doubt guessed.” He held out his hand.

  Shaking it, Flash said, “I’m Flash Gordon.”

  The lion man studied him for a moment. “I’ve not exactly seen your like before, Flash. Where are you from?”

  “From a planet called Earth,” replied Flash. He explained his mission to Tun, told him of the crash of the survey ship and of his subsequent search for Dr. Zarkov and Dale.

  “Another planet, eh?” Tun rubbed his knuckles over his tangled mane of yellow hair. “How do men live there—is there more freedom?”

  “In some places,” said Flash. “In my country at present.”

  “Have you anyone like Ming the Merciless to contend with?”

  “Not right now.”

  “I feel,” said Tun, “as do all my people, that Ming must be stopped. Nay, not only stopped but overthrown. He must conquer no further territories; he must be toppled from the rule of those he has already taken.”

  “How many ways are there of doing that?”

  “One,” answered the lion man.

  “Revolution?”

  “Aye.” Tun nodded his shaggy head. “Ming, you see, has abolished all general elections and declared himself perpetual ruler of all Mongo. He has closed down the higher courts, making himself the final judge. There is still a parliament, but they are all his puppets and lackeys.”

  “How did he come to power?”

  “There was a long period of depression and famine, much dissatisfaction. The old regime grew weak and Ming staged a coup. From then on, he has been in control of the capital,” explained the lion man. “He has built up a huge and ruthless army, a monumental pol
ice force.”

  “To bring off a revolution,” said Flash, “you need several things. Not the least of which is weapons.”

  “Aye, it is now a crime for any but Ming’s minions to possess any sort of sophisticated weapon.”

  Flash remembered his own blaster pistol. He felt under his tunic. The gun was gone. His rucksack had been taken from him as well. “Do you have any idea, Tun, who it is holding us?”

  The lion man’s tail flicked back and forth. “From the sluggish nature of our progress downriver, I’d guess we’re on a barge. A good many of the Great River bargemen transport things which are not strictly legal.”

  “What do they have in mind for us?”

  “I fear we’ve been grabbed for the purpose of being taken, by way of one of the subsidiary rivers, to a disreputable port town. There we’ll likely be sold to slavers.”

  Flash nodded, “Are we traveling in the direction of the capital?”

  “Aye,” said Tun with a glance at the porthole.

  “Good,” said Flash. “Well have to see about escaping.”

  Tun lowered his eyes, his tail curled around his leg. “I have to admit a fondness for green ale,” he said. “Nothing wrong in that itself, save that it, in my unfortunate case, makes me even more talkative than I normally am. I’ll give you a good piece of advice, Flash. Never get into a political discussion in a low waterfront dive.”

  “Or out in front of one.”

  “What I’m trying to say is I’m truly sorry an upstanding lad such as yourself got dragged into this mess simply because I couldn’t control my tongue. If I . . .”

  The heavy door creaked open.

  The man on the threshold was incomplete. He had one leg missing, his left, and one arm gone, his right. He wore wide-bottom trousers, a heavy coat with brass buttons running up the front in two rows. “You,” he said, pointing at Flash with his only hand.

  Flash watched the man, saying nothing.

  “Up above,” said the incomplete man.

  “Somebody wants to see me on deck?”

  “Aye.” He took a swaying step backwards. “Come along.”

  “What about Tun?” asked Tun. “Have you no requests for my company?”

  The one armed man flicked his wrist and a long knife appeared in his hand. “Stay here.”

  Flash stepped out of the cabin. “Who am I going to see?”

  “Captain.”

  “About what?”

  “Business,” the man answered.

  The road was dusty, cutting through dry ruined fields. Already at this early hour, the air was hot and the sun a glaring yellow. The hooves of their horses stirred up swirling spouts of dust.

  Zarkov wiped the back of his fist across his mouth. He, too, was now wearing a hooded robe. In the field to his right, he noticed what he at first assumed was a scarecrow. Not an effective one, however, since a cluster of bright green crows were pecking at it, dancing on its arms and head. Then the doctor realized, “It’s a man.”

  Riding beside him, on a roan mare, Brother Anmar said, “Executed at Ming’s orders.”

  “For what reason?”

  “His crops failed,” said Anmar. “As did many in this valley.”

  “Do you know the reason for the failure?”

  “Oh, yes. The particular kind of war gas which Ming’s airships dropped on the nearby towns and villages killed most of the growing things in this part of the territory.”

  “Ming won’t accept such an excuse?”

  “I imagine he does now,” said Anmar. “There have been fewer executions of farmers of late. This man, as you no doubt noticed, has been dead several months.”

  “Will no one cut him down from those poles?”

  “That would mean death for whoever did it,” answered the blond sorcerer. “If the Royal Police were unable to find the man who did it, they would pick one at random and execute him.”

  Smoothing his beard, brushing dust from it, Zarkov observed in his loud voice, “No way to run a planet.”

  Up ahead Brother Beltor looked back over his shoulder. “Perhaps you will be more willing to help us now.”

  Zarkov’s left eye narrowed, new wrinkles gathered on his forehead. “I’d like to see this Ming tossed out,” he admitted.

  “Such is our objective,” said Anmar.

  By the side of the road stood two naked boys. The tallest of the two, who was about seven years old, wore a dirty piece of cloth as a patch over his left eye. Each boy held a wooden bowl in scratched, dirty hands.

  “Any food, any coins?” they asked.

  Brother Igon, who was in the lead, reined up. “You beg a long way from anything.” He reached into the knapsack on his saddle.

  “We do not wish to risk the town today, sir,” said the boy with the eyepatch.

  Leaning down, Brother Beltor handed them two silver coins. “Why is that?”

  “Five men are to be hanged at midday,” explained the other boy.

  “For what crime?” asked Igon.

  “Not for any crime, sir,” said the boy. “Merely as an example to us all.”

  “We have seen more than enough such examples,” added the one-eyed boy. “Thus, we have come away from the town today to try our luck here.”

  “Well, here is some bread and cheese for you,” said Igon.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The five horsemen rode on.

  Zarkov looked back twice at the thin naked boys. After a few moments of silent riding he asked, “These public executions are held often?”

  “Very often,” replied Anmar. “Each week ofttimes, in many of our towns and villages. It is intended to keep the people docile and fearful of Ming. As you may imagine, it frequently has the opposite effect.”

  “Are we traveling as far as the next town by horseback?”

  “Aye, we still have several miles to travel ere we reach the concealed airship which is to carry us to the Forest Kingdom.”

  “Will we reach the town before midday?”

  “We should.”

  “Dressed as wandering conjurers,” said the burly doctor, “we can pass through the town?”

  “Aye, as I explained last night. In many parts of our planet, there is still a belief in witchcraft and magic,” said Anmar. “Even those who do not believe enjoy witnessing a few mystifying tricks now and again. Thus, we pretend to be sorcerers and, so far, Ming has not harmed any of our ranks. We are able to move freely across the land. Though should the emperor learn the real identity of any of us, he would be swift to act.”

  “Doesn’t anybody ever try to stop these executions?” Zarkov asked.

  “It would mean death for any who dared try.”

  Zarkov rubbed his hand across his middle. Beneath his robe his blaster was tucked in a pocket of his worksuit. Anmar, putting him on his honor, had returned the weapon before they had begun their day’s journey. “Not necessarily,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Zarkov said nothing more.

  CHAPTER 12

  The captain was crouched in the bow of the barge, with Flash’s rucksack on the deck at his feet. He was a round-shouldered man with a scarlet kerchief tied round his head. “Perhaps you and I can come to terms which will prove satisfactory to both of us,” he said in a low throaty voice.

  Flash stood at the starboard rail, studying the countryside they were passing through. It was all thick foliage, growing right down to the river edge. Great twisted roots tangled in the water, splotched with a yellow-green moss. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t wish to display this certain item out in the open here.”

  “Let’s talk in your cabin then.”

  “That’s worse,” said the captain. “Whilst they can’t always see what I am up to, they can hear better. No, this is the best spot for a confidential chat.” He squatted down lower, tapping the rucksack with his knee. “I put the one which was taken from you in here with the others. Too many have seen it as it is.”
>
  Flash turned to face him. “So you’re interested in the guns?”

  The man’s weathered face puckered. “Don’t go bawling it about in the breeze,” he cautioned. “We must be careful. Such items are, as you well know, forbidden. Were I to be found with these I’d be hanging by the neck in some public square before nightfall. Aye, it’s a great risk that I’m taking.”

  “Maybe you ought to turn them over to the Royal Police.”

  The captain’s face grew more wrinkled. “No, that is not exactly what I had in mind,” he said. “What I have been thinking on is this. How did you come by these items?”

  Flash watched him for a few seconds. “You’d like more, is that it?”

  “Aye.” His head bobbed up and down. “Even these three—why, they would bring a fortune if sold in the right place. Granted I am no expert, yet they look to me to be of the highest craftsmanship. These seem far better than anything the Royal Police have. I imagine you represent some clandestine manufacturer.”

  Flash said, “Who would you sell them to?”

  “You must know the likely customers as well as I do,” said the captain with a frown. “You, a man who’d risk smuggling this kind of thing, must know exactly who is in the market for such merchandise.”

  “I’m interested in your views of the market.”

  “Well, sir, for the quickest money I would go to the pirate bands to the south of here,” the captain said thoughtfully. “Though they will not pay near as much as Prince Barin.”

  “Prince Barin,” repeated Flash. He had heard Harn and the innkeeper talk of the man.

  “It is true that you can come by more of these?” His knobby hand stroked the sack which held Flash’s blaster pistols.

  Flash lowered himself until he was looking the captain in the eye. “I’m not sure I can trust you.”

  “Ask any man on the river,” said the captain, his voice rising. “I have been a bargeman since I was a whey-faced lad. There’s no man living who dares call Captain Norlag dishonest.”

  Grinning, Flash said, “Yet I have the notion you were planning to sell me to the slavers.”