Sojan the Swordsman

by Michael Moorcock

  A brief count found two sailors suffering from wounds where the talons of the sea-people had ripped them, while three more men were missing, obviously dragged down by the sea-people.

  “We should reach Rhan in a day,” said Nornos Rique.

  “Or the bottom,” broke in Andel gloomily.

  But the monotonous day ahead was broken only by the screaming of seabirds as they passed the outlying islands of The Immortal Theocracy of Rhan as it was called. This “immortal theocracy” was now little more than Rhan itself and a group of four islands inhabited mainly by primitive tribes, most of whom dwelt in the interior, anyway, and had probably never heard of Rhan.

  As they neared Rhan, Sojan felt misgivings. Would they succeed in carrying out their plan? Or would their perilous journey be in vain?

  It was with these odd questions in his mind that he followed his friends down the gangplank and through a series of narrow lanes to a private house owned by a society known to those few holding positions of trust in the Hatnorian Empire as the “Friends of Hatnor”. These ‘friends’ were generally native Hatnorians carrying forged or, as in some cases, real papers giving false names as well as assumed nationalities.

  Three long knocks and two short ones three times repeated gained them admission.

  As they walked along the narrow corridor to the main living room they began to feel just a little more secure, even though they were deep in the heart of Jhambeelo, the enemy’s city.

  But as the door swung open and friendly light flooded into the dark corridor they were taken aback!

  “Hello, Sojan,” grinned Red. “I don’t think I’ve met your friends?”

  “By Vit! Red, how did you get here before us?” cried Sojan.

  “Simple. I flew!”

  “What? No airship could make the distance.”

  “You’re quite right. I didn’t come by airship. Banjar, here, brought me!”

  For the first time the comrades noticed what appeared to be a hunchbacked, rather tall, man with piercing blue eyes and aquiline features. Golden-haired, he possessed a complexion of a darker gold. Sojan was astonished. Could this be one of the fabled Golden Men of Zylor?

  “To snap the bow in half,” said Red, using a term common on Zylor which means roughly — ‘To cut a long story short’, “Jik, Wanwif, Selwoon and myself succeeded in staving a rather large hole in the bottom of the Purple Arrow. Naturally enough, it was not long before we were beginning to regret this as water was rising steadily in the hold. Then, as we were all good swimmers, I thought that the only way to escape drowning would be to enlarge the hole and get out that way. So in turns we widened the hole and, with a great deal of difficulty, pulled ourselves under the keel of the boat and up into the open water. We lost Wanwif, I’m sorry to say. He didn’t make it.

  “Well, after that we found that we would have been better off drowning in the ship as there was no sight of land. I learned afterwards that we were in the Black Ocean and this didn’t help as the stories I’ve heard of the Black Ocean are anything but cheerful. But believe it or not, after swimming in a westerly direction for an hour or so, we were picked up by a little fishing vessel, oared only, manned by some natives of Yoomik which is the largest of the Rhanian group next to Rhan itself.

  “The people looked after us but soon we got weary of hanging around their village and decided that an exploratory trip into the interior of the island would be the only thing to break the monotony. We trekked for several days until coming upon the village of Banjar’s people — the Ascri.

  “The Ascri at one time were enslaved by the Rhanian Priesthood and still bear a grievance against them. It was Banjar who, when he had heard that I believed you were going to Rhan, suggested that he fly me there. We landed at night and made our way to Rhan. Banjar’s people are advanced in many of the crafts and sciences and they have an asset which helps them tremendously. Show Sojan and his friends your asset, Banjar!”

  Banjar grinned and stood up. Unfolding a pair of huge wings.

  “My people, I believe, are descended from the ancient winged mammals who used to live on Zylor. Just an offshoot of evolution, I suppose. But one which has proved of great help to my folk who can travel great distances at great speeds and although we are few in number, we can elude any enemies by leaving the ground and escaping that way. As my friend says, ‘It is a great asset’!”

  Formal introductions were made and food eaten but when this was finished Sojan spoke to Red.

  “Have you managed to find out anything which might prove useful to us, Red?”

  “I have indeed, my friend, I have found out something which, with your courage and skill and a great deal of luck, will save the world from chaos!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Prisoners in Stone

  RED’S PLAN WAS simple enough. Members of the secret society of the ‘Friends of Hatnor’ had found an ancient plan of the Great Temple which was both chief place of worship and the centre of the Priesthood’s rule in Rhan. There were three tunnels leading into it. Old sewers, long since disused. Two were cul-de-sacs, having been walled up. But in the last, the walling had been a hasty job and the bricks used to seal it had collapsed. However, these tunnels were still guarded at the other end. Some said by Palace Guards — but others said simply that they were guarded by “something”. Even if the foe was human it would take an incredibly brave man to venture the rotting tunnels.

  “Why not an army?” asked Andel. “Surely a great many men would be safer than one?”

  “Safer, yes, but certainly not so secret. Every action we make must not be detected by the Priesthood — otherwise we are lost. We can only make a very wild guess at what power these Old Ones wield and it is our aim to stop them using it — not bring it down upon our heads — and the rest of the world’s heads, also.”

  “I see,” said Parijh, “then let me be the one to go. I offer not out of heroics — which are extremely bad taste in any case — but I am more accustomed to stealth than these sword-swinging barbarians with me.” He grinned.

  “Ho! So that’s what we are, are we?” roared Andel. “I’ll have you know…”

  But the comrades would never hear the rest of Andel’s forthcoming witticism for Red broke in: “Be a bit quieter, Andel, or you’ll have the whole of the Rhanian Soldiery on our heads!”

  “Sorry,” said Andel.

  “No,” continued Red, “I think Sojan should go. He is better for the job than anyone else. He has barbarian training, he is cat-footed, lynx-eyed and can hear a sword sing in its scabbard a mile away. I think he will succeed in getting through more than any other man in our company!”

  “Then it will be I, that’s settled,” said Sojan with satisfaction. “When and where do I start?”

  “You start now, and I will lead you to the entrance of the tunnel. I suggest that you carry a rifle, an axe, your shield and your long sword. Half-armour would be advisable, also.”

  “Then I shall take your advice.” Sojan laughed and proceeded to don borrowed half-armour. This consisted of greaves for his limbs, a breastplate and helmet. Then he was ready and prepared to follow Red down winding backstreets to a small turning near the Great Temple. Here, Red lifted a rusted cover to reveal an equally rusted ladder leading down into darkness.

  “Good luck!” was all he said as Sojan slipped down into the gloom and sought about for hand- and footholds on the age-worn rail. Then the lid was replaced and Sojan found himself in utter darkness.

  Down he fumbled, sometimes missing footing where one of the metal bars had rusted away, once nearly falling when his groping hand instead of closing on solid metal closed on damp air. But at last he was on the uneven floor of the disused sewer, peering into the gloom. He followed the wall along for what seemed an age, stumbling over fallen bricks and refuse. At last he sensed an obstruction ahead and he unsheathed his sword and felt the reassuring butt of his heavy pistol in his hand. On he went, past the fallen wall until suddenly — there was no more tunnel. Or
so it seemed. His right hand, which had been groping along the wall, touched nothing. But after the first brief shock he grinned to himself. This was the turn of the tunnel. Soon he would meet the Guardians.

  And meet them he did for, with a soul-shaking shriek, two of the mysterious guardians were upon him. Huge reptilian things, red-eyed and red-mouthed with teeth reaching a foot long and razor-sharp.

  Sojan, shocked by their sudden attack, took a step backwards, hitched his rifle to his shoulder and fired straight into the mouth of the foremost beast. It shrieked again but still came on. Hastily he dropped the rifle and replaced it with his heavy axe and long sword. But before the beast reached him it had stumbled and fallen with crumpling forelegs, writhing in a fit of agony which ended with one abrupt shudder of death.

  The other monster was checked for a moment, sniffed the corpse of its companion and then voiced another spine-chilling shriek which was half hiss and half human cry. Sojan met it with sword lashing and axe whining through the air about his head. Back went the monster but it returned in an instant, clutching at Sojan with its claws which almost resembled human hands — though hands with six-inch steel talons on the ends of each finger. Sojan stumbled backwards, his axe cutting and hacking at the hideous thing, his sword slashing into its throat again and again until at last it was down in a death agony that lasted minutes.

  Pausing to wipe his weapons clean of blood and to pick up his rifle, Sojan moved on down the tunnel, feeling a little more cheerful now that he knew his foe and had conquered it.

  And, abruptly, he was at the end of the tunnel and a similar steel ladder, in better condition, leading upwards. Warily he clambered up. Rifle, axe and shield strapped across his broad back and his sword firmly clenched in his teeth.

  There was a metal cover here, too, and he lifted it cautiously to be blinded for a moment by the sudden gleam. He had been so long in darkness and the semi-darkness of the tunnel that he blinked hard for several seconds until his eyes became accustomed to the light.

  Silently he eased his body through the narrow hole and just as softly replaced the cover. He was in a lighted corridor with torches on either side. The corridor was short and had a door at each end. Which door? He decided immediately to take the door leading farthest away from the tunnel. At least he would be a little deeper into the Temple and nearer the Inner Chamber in the centre which housed the Old Ones.

  Gradually he pushed the door until it swung open. He thanked the Gods of Light that it had not been locked.

  Down another corridor he sped, cat-footed as ever, wary hands on sword and rifle, his armour glinting in the torchlight and his shadow looming black and huge on the wall.

  Most of the priests would be at rest, he knew, but it was equally certain that guards would be posted at strategic points and absolute caution was necessary. He had a rough plan of the Temple printed in his mind but the maze of corridors which he was following and which ran deeper and deeper into the heart of the Temple were complicated and were probably of more recent origin for the map had been very old.

  But cautious as he knew he must be he was certainly not slow. For every heartbeat counted. He had to reach the chamber of the Old Ones somehow and discover who — or what — they were and what their motives were for allying themselves with the evil Priesthood of Rhan.

  The murmurs of voices. The laughs of men. The clank of sword-scabbard against armour. At last, a guarded entrance. Was he near the strange sanctuary of the Old Ones?

  The men’s backs were to him. This was not the time for heroics, for a cry would mean discovery; and discovery he must avoid. He raised his rifle and brought it down on the head of one guard while with his other hand he chopped at the back of the other man’s neck. They both collapsed without a murmur. Looking up and down the intersecting corridor to make sure he had not been seen, he grabbed the two bodies by their loose clothing and pulled them back into the shadows. No time to hide them. And no time to hide himself. For the clank of steel-shod feet resounded down the corridor. He hugged the wall and prayed to his ancient gods that he would not be discovered.

  Sojan heard the steps come nearer and nearer, and then, miraculously, fade away again. Risking discovery, he peered round the wall and saw another passageway. Down it strode two guards of the infamous High Priests of Rhan, the rulers of the place. Cat-footed as usual, he followed them. This corridor was not very well lighted but, unlike the others, it had doors set in the walls.

  Sojan hoped that one of these would not open.

  Suddenly the priest stopped.

  “Wait here,” Sojan heard him say. No time to think, now, he must act. Into the nearest apartment and pray to Vit that it was unoccupied.

  Luck! The rooms were empty. These, Sojan could see, were the apartments of the High Priests. No monkish sparsity of furniture here. The rooms were lavishly furnished and decorated. Grinning, Sojan bounced down onto the bed and breathed a prayer of relief. Then he was up again and taking in his surroundings. On one wall hung several of the long flowing robes which the High Priests wore.

  One of the customs of these men was to go veiled — to give them a little more security from the assassin as well as an air of mystery, Sojan guessed. As individuals they could also slip from the Temple and mingle with the people without fear of being recognised. This was one of the reasons why the people of Rhan were so easily kept in subjection by the evil Priest Rulers.

  But there was a chance, though Sojan knew it was a slim one, that he could don one of these robes and enter the Inner Chamber and meet the mysterious Old Ones face to face.

  Quickly he slipped into the robe, stuffing all but his sword and pistol under a nearby couch and hoping that they would not be discovered. The weapons he kept were well hidden by the folds of the robe and he could keep his armour on.

  Out now, and down the passage, past the lounging soldiers who sprang to attention and saluted him with their untypical Rhanian salute — clenched fists against temples and a short bow from the waist.

  Sojan acknowledged the salute by a curt nod of his head. The veil hid his features entirely, and if he was unmasked by some mishap, only the other High Priests would know whether he was a fraud or not. So, comparatively safe, Sojan moved along the corridor towards the huge, metal-studded door which was the portal to the Inner Chamber.

  It was unlocked, and the guards on each side of it stood away respectfully as Sojan opened it.

  At first he could see nothing, the room was lit by one torch which cast shadows everywhere. Then, from the corner of the large chamber, a voice spoke. It was a voice of infinite weariness, full of lost hope and the knowledge of an eternity of despair.

  “Why trouble us again, Priest? In the past we did your bidding willingly, not knowing to what evil uses you put our power. Then we were locked away here. You threaten us with destruction and tempt us with promises of freedom. What are we to believe?”

  Sojan realised that instead of the evil forces he had expected, here were prisoners; slaves rather than allies of the Priesthood.

  “I’m no priest,” he said, “if I knew who you were I might help you even!”

  “Is this another trick, Priest?” murmured the voice, although this time there was a little hope in it.

  “No trick. I’m the sworn enemy of the Priesthood of Rhan. I represent the rest of Zylor, who have no wish to become enslaved by the Rhanians and their horrible ‘religion’. Yet rumour has it that you are allied with them.” He squinted into the darkness. “Who or what are you?”

  “They hold us in their power. We were forced to do their bidding. We are the first inhabitants of Zylor. We lived here before ever the shining ships of humanity sprang from distant worlds in a desperate attempt to reach other habitable planets. They thought that the end of their world had come. As it happened their world did not die, but it was too late then, they had taken all their knowledge out into space with them, and in the long passage across the galaxies much of their knowledge perished, for the journey took centuries
to complete.

  “By the time the new generations reached this planet, their ancestors had died and Man had to start again, almost from the beginning. These men, who called themselves ‘Lemurians’, lived peacefully with us for many hundreds of years and we helped them as much as possible, for we are a very ancient race and had more knowledge than even the ancestors of the Lemurians, although of a different kind — for while Man concentrated on improving his material condition, we concentrated on improving our minds and could control mighty elements with our wills. Eventually the Lemurians became frightened of us and sent us away (there were only a few of us living in far-flung settlements then; now we are even fewer).”

  “But how did you become the slaves of these priests?” asked Sojan. “What happened?”

  “Although there were many men who feared us and called us Things of Evil and similar names, there were others who began to worship us for our powers, calling us gods and setting up altars and temples to us.

  “Just as some men are foolish and susceptible to flattery, so some of our number were equally foolish and began to think that perhaps they were gods after all. They dwelt in the temples and had sacrifices made to them and took part in meaningless rituals. The priests soon found their weaknesses, however, and decided that they could rule the people if they frightened them by telling them of the wrath of the gods, the end of the world, the good of their own particular branch of religion and the evil of the others. Divide and Rule was their principle and that was how we and the rest of the humans were controlled. By deviously setting one cult against another they succeeded in capturing us and imprisoning us.” There came a long, sad pause, then:

  “I was one of those foolish ones… Our contemporaries have long since left this planet in search of another, uninhabited by Man. It has become clear to us that with Man we cannot live in peace, at least not with freedom.

  “You may have read in your history scrolls of the mighty Theocracy which dominated the world at one time. Rhan is now all that is left of the Theocracy — a remnant of a great and terrible nation!