The City of the Beast or Warriors of Mars

by Michael Moorcock

  In the afternoon I helped the members of an engineering squad force up special barriers in places where the wall had been badly weakened by Argzoon rams and catapults.

  Turning and wiping sweat from my brow after a particularly difficult piece of manipulating, I discovered Shizala at my side.

  "You seem able to turn your hand to anything." She smiled.

  "The test of a good scientist—the test of a good soldier," I replied, returning her smile.

  "I suppose it is."

  "How is the aircraft coming along?"

  "It will be ready just before dusk."

  "Good."

  "You are sure you want to make the attempt?"

  "Certain."

  "You will need a specially trained pilot."

  "Then I hope you'll supply one."

  She dropped her gaze. "That will be arranged."

  "Meanwhile," I said, "have you stopped to thinkthat the Argzoon may have been able to arrive undetected here through the connivance of one of your 'allies'?"

  "Impossible. None of our allies would stoop to such treachery."

  "Forgive me," I said, "but though I am impressed by the code of honor possessed by the Karnala, I am not sure that all the races of Vashu possess it—particularly since I have seen another Vashuvian race almost as unlike the Karnala as it could possibly be."

  She pursed her lips. "You must be wrong."

  "Perhaps. But my explanation seems the likeliest. What if Mishim Tep were... ?"

  Her eyes blazed. "So that is the foundation of your suspicion—jealousy of Telem Fas Ogdai! Well, let me point out that the Bradhi of Mishim Tep is my father's oldest friend and ally. They have fought many a battle together. The bonds of mutual help that exist between the two nations are centuries old. What you suggest is not only impertinent—it is base!"

  "I was only going to say ..."

  "Say no more, Michael Kane!" She turned on her heel and left.

  I may tell you, I had little stomach for further fighting just then.

  Yet, scarcely three shatis later, I was part of a small body of warriors defending a breach that the Argzoon had made in the wall.

  Steel clashed, blood spilled, the stench of death was everywhere. We stood on the broken masonry and fought off ten times our number of Blue Giants. Brave and ferocious as they were, the Blue Giants lacked our intelligence and speed—as well as our burning ideal to hold the city at all costs. These three advantages just seemed to balance the savage attacks which we somehow managed to withstand.

  At one time I was engaging an Argzoon even larger than most of his kind. Around his huge throat he wore a necklace of human bones and his helmet seemed constructed of several large, wildbeast skulls. He was evidently some sort of local commander.

  He carried two large swords, one in each hand, and he whirled them before him so that facing him was rather like facing a propeller-driven plane!

  I stumbled before the force of his attack and my foot slipped on a blood-wet stone. I fell backwards and lay there while, grinning jubilantly, he prepared to finish me.

  He raised both swords to hack at my prone figure, and then somehow I swivelled my body and cut at his calves, deliberately slashing at the muscles just behind his knees.

  One leg bent and he opened his mouth wide in a great roar of pain. Then the other leg bent and suddenly he was falling towards me.

  Hastily I scrambled up and flung myself out of his path. With a tremendous crash he fell to the broken stones and I turned and finished him with a single sword-thrust.

  Luck, providence—perhaps justice—were on our side that day. I cannot explain how else we managed to hold the city against the invaders.

  But we did. Then, just four shatis before sunset, I left the wall and headed for the aircraft hangars that had been pointed out to me the day before.

  The hangars were domed buildings near the central square of the city. There were three of them, side by side. The domes were not of stone, but of some metallic substance, another alloy with which I was unfamiliar.

  The entrances were small, barely wide enough or high enough for a man of my size to squeeze through. I thought this strange, and wondered how the aircraft could get out.

  Shizala was in the first hangar I tried, supervising some male servants who were swinging one of the heavy aircraft round on davits. It was cradled in the davits, which swung slightly as they moved it.

  The strange oval ship was even more beautiful at close view. It was evidently incredibly ancient. There was the aura of millennia of existence about it. I looked at it in fascination.

  Shizala, tight-lipped, did not welcome me as I entered.

  I gave her a slight bow, feeling uncomfortable.

  A low thrum of power came from the ship. It looked more like a piece of sculpture in bronze-like substance than a vehicle. The complicated, raised designs spoke of a creative intelligence superior to any in my experience.

  A simple rope-ladder led to the entrance. I walked up to this in silence and tested it.

  I darted a look of enquiry at Shizala.

  At first she refused to meet my glance, but at length she did and said with a gesture at the ship: "Go aboard. Your pilot will join you in a moment."

  "There is not much time," I reminded her. "This should be accomplished before nightfall."

  "I am aware of that," she replied coldly.

  I began to climb the swaying ladder, reached the top and entered the ship.

  It was richly furnished, with padded couches of some deep green and gold material. At the far end were controls, as beautifully made and as finely decorated as the rest of the ship, with levers of brass—perhaps even gold—instruments encased in crystal. There was a small screen in a cabinetsome kind of television equipment which gave a wider view of what lay outside the ship than could be obtained through one of the rather small portholes.

  After inspecting the interior of the ship I sat on one of the couches to work out my plan of assassination—for that, in essence, was what it was—and wait impatiently for my pilot to join me.

  In a while I heard him climbing the rope-ladder. My back was to the entrance so I did not see him as he entered.

  "Hurry," I said. "We have very little time!"

  "I am aware of that," came Shizala's voice as she walked towards the controls and seated herself at them!

  "Shizala! This is dangerous! It is no job for a woman!"

  "No? Then who else do you suggest? Only a few pilots exist for the ships—and I am the only one available."

  I was not sure that she spoke the truth, but there was no time to waste.

  "Then be very careful," I said. "Your people need you more than I do—do not forget your responsibility to them."

  "That I could never do," she said. For some reason I thought she spoke bitterly, though I could not determine why at that time.

  Now she operated the controls and the ship began to rise, light as a feather, towards the roof. As the roof slid open, I realized how the ships left the hangars. The dark blue sky of late evening was above us. The ship's motors began to murmur with greater intensity.

  Soon we were winging over the city towards the camp of the Argzoon. We noticed that they were beginning to retreat again, as was their night-time custom.

  Our plan was simple. The ship would swoop down over the tent of the Argzoon commander. I would drop swiftly down the rope ladder. The oval tent had holes at the top, covered with thin gauze—presumably for better ventilation. The hole would just take a man. I had to drop through it and thus surprise the commander, engage him quickly and despatch him with expediency.

  A simple plan—but one that would require swift reactions, excellent timing, and absolute accuracy.

  As we began to move over the enemy camp, their great catapults sent huge stones hurtling into the air towards us. We had expected this. But we had also expected what happened next—the falling stones, of course, landed back in the Argzoon camp and the warriors naturally objected to being crushed
by the artillery of their own forces. Soon the barrage ceased.

  Within a short time our objective was reached.

  At a signal from Shizala, I went to the entrance and began to pay out more of the rope-ladder from the drum near the door.

  I darted a glance at her but she did not turn to look at me. I gazed down. I could see the Banner of the N'aal Beast stirring in the faint breeze that was beginning to blow.

  The faces of hundreds of Argzoon were watching me, of course, for they had expected some sort of attack from us. I hoped they didn't realize what form it would take.

  Looking down at them, I felt like a fly dropping into a nest of giant spiders, I gathered my courage, made sure of my sword, drawing it in a single gesture, shouted once to Shizala and swung down the rope-ladder until I was directly over the gauze-covered opening of the leader's tent.

  Argzoon were shouting and milling about. Several spears flashed past me. More then ten feet over the opening I decided it was now or never.

  I let myself go and dropped towards the tent.

  Chapter Six

  SALVATION— AND DISASTER!

  THERE was a momentary roaring in my ears and then I was plummeting through the opening, dragging the gauze cover with me.

  I landed on my feet but staggered as the air was forced from my lungs. Then I whirled to confront the occupants of the tent.

  There were two of them—a large, battered Argzoon warrior, resplendent in rudely-beaten bangles and rough-hewn gems—and a woman! She was black-haired, dark-complexioned and had a haughty bearing. She was wrapped in a thick, black cloak of some velvet-like material. She stared at me in surprise. She was as far as I could tell an ordinary human woman! What was she doing here?

  Outside came yells from the Argzoon warriors.

  Ignoring the woman, I gestured to the battered Argzoon to draw his sword. He did so with a sharp grin and came at me suddenly.

  He was an excellent swordsman and, still recovering from my drop into his tent, I was forced to fight a defensive duel for a few moments.

  I had little time to do what I had come to accomplish. I met his thrusts with the fastest parries I have ever made, returned them with thrusts and lunges of my own. Our swords crossed perhaps a score of times before I saw a break in his guard and moved in swiftly, catching him in the heart and running him through.

  At that moment several more Argzoon rushed into the tent. I turned to meet them but before we could engage the woman cried imperiously:

  "Enough! Do not kill him yet. I wish to question him."

  I remained on guard, suspecting a ruse of some sort, but the warriors seemed to be in the habit of obeying the woman's orders. They stood their ground.

  Cautiously I turned to look at her. She was exotically beautiful in her wild, dark way, and her eyes smouldered mockingly.

  "You are not of the Karnala," she said.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Your skin is the wrong texture, your hair is short—there is something about the set of your shoulders. I have never seen a man like you. Where are you from?"

  "You would not believe me if I told you."

  "Tell me!" She spoke fiercely.

  I shrugged. "I come from Negalu," I said, using the Martian name for Earth.

  "That is impossible. There are no men on Negalu."

  "Not now. There will be."

  She frowned. "You seem to speak truthfully but in some sort of riddle. You are perhaps a—a . . ."

  She seemed to regret what she was about to say, and stopped. "A what?"

  "What do you know of Raharumara?" "Nothing."

  This seemed to satisfy her. She put her knuckles to her mouth and seemed to gnaw them. Suddenly she looked up at me again.

  "If you are not of the Karnala, why do you fight with them? Why did you jump into this tent and kill Ranak Mard?" She indicated the fallen Argzoon.

  "Why do you think?"

  She shook her head. "Why risk your life just to kill one Argzoon captain?"

  "Is that all I did?"

  She smiled suddenly. "Aha! I think I know. Yes, that is all you did."

  My spirits sank. So I had been wrong. The tent did not hold some great Argzoon battle-leader. Perhaps it was a deliberate blind and the leader was elsewhere.

  "What of you?" I said. "Are you a prisoner of these folk—a prisoner with some power?"

  "Call me a prisoner if you like. I am Horguhl of the Vladnyar nation."

  "Where lies Vladnyar?"

  "You do not know? It lies to the north of Karnala, beyond Narvaash. The Vladnyar are ancient enemies of the Karnala."

  "So Vladnyar has struck up an alliance with Argzoon?"

  "Think what you like." She smiled secretively. "And now, I think, you will d—" She broke off as there came a great sound of fighting outside the tent. "What is that?"

  I could not think. It was impossible that the small force of Karnala warriors in the city had attacked the Argzoon—that would have been folly. But what else?

  As Horguhl and the Blue Giants turned towards the sound, I seized my opportunity, stepped forward and ran one of the Argzoon through the throat. I fought my way through the others and found myself outside the tent, staring into the darkness as the remaining warriors came after me.

  I ran in the general direction of the noise of battle. I darted a quick glance back above the tent, looking to see if Shizala had made good her escape.

  The ship was still there—hovering above the tent!

  Why hadn't she left? I stopped, uncertain what to do, and in a second found myself engaging several of the gigantic warriors. It was all I could do to protect my own life, but as I fought I got the impression that something was happening close by and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group of splendidly-armored warriors of about my own height break through a mass of blue swordsmen.

  The warriors were not from the city, that was plain. They wore helmets, for one thing—helmets from which nodded brightly-colored plumes. Phobos and Deimos, coursing across the heavens, gave illumination to the scene around me. The new warriors also had lances and some carried what looked like metal crossbows.

  Soon their foreguard had pressed forward until I found myself with several allies helping me to engage the Argzoon who were attacking me.

  "Greetings, friend," said one of them in an accent only slightly different from the one I was familiar with.

  "Greetings. Your presence here has saved my life," I replied in relieved gratitude. "Who are you?"

  "We are from Srinai."

  "Did Telem Fas Ogdai send you here?"

  "No." The man's voice sounded a trifle surprised.

  "We were originally on our way to deal with a large force of bandits who fled into Karnala. That is why there are so many of us. A detachment of your border patrol were about to help us when a messenger came with news that the Argzoon were attacking Varnal—so we left the bandits and rode to Varnal as fast as we could."

  "I am glad you did. What do you think our chances are of defeating them?"

  "I doubt that we can—not completely. But we might be able to drive them away from Varnal and give your reinforcements time to come to your aid."

  This conversation was carried on while fighting Argzoon warriors. But the Argzoon were becoming increasingly few and it seemed we were winning in that particular area, anyway.

  At last we had them on the run and the combined force of Srinai and Karnala chased the retreating Argzoon towards the Calling Hills from whence they had come.

  The Argzoon stood their ground on the crest of the first range of hills, and then we withdrew to count our strength and plan fresh strategy.

  It was soon obvious that the Argzoon still outnumbered us and that the Srinai and Karnala who had attacked them from behind had had the advantage of being fresh and able to take the Argzoon by surprise.

  But I felt much better. Now, I decided, we could withstand the next attack and hold the Argzoon off until help came.

  Then
I remembered the ship and Shizala. I returned to the now ruined Argzoon camp. The tent with the banner was still standing, unlike most of the others and, rather strangely, the ship still hovered above it. It seemed to me, peering through the moonlit darkness, that the ship was now lower above the roof, the rope-ladder brushing the top of the tent.

  I called her name, but silence greeted me. With a feeling of foreboding I climbed up the yielding sides of the tent. It was a hard climb, but I made it rapidly, almost in panic. Sure enough, the rope-ladder was closer, the ship lower. I grabbed the ladder and began to clamber up it.

  Soon I was inside the ship.

  A brief glance showed me that it was empty.

  Shizala had gone!

  How? Where?

  What had happened to her? What had she done? Why had she left the slip? What reason was there for doing such a thing?

  All these thoughts raced through my brain and then I was dropping down the rope-ladder again, hand over hand, until I was above the now uncovered roof-opening. I dropped through it as I had done earlier.

  Save for the corpse of Ranak Mard the tent was empty. Yet there were signs of a struggle and I noticed that Ranak Mard's sword had been removed from his dead grasp and now lay on the other side of the tent.

  Something else lay beside it.

  A gun.

  A gun of the Sheev.

  It could only be Shizala's gun.

  The mysterious, dark-haired woman Horguhl and the Argzoon warriors must have taken part in a struggle soon after I had left.

  For some reason best known to herself, Shizala had decided to follow me into the tent. She had found me gone, of course, and confronted Horguhl and the Argzoon. There had probably been a fight and Shizala had been overpowered and captured. She had not been killed—that was a mercy—or I should have found her corpse.

  Abducted, then?

  My misguided plan to kill the absent mastermind behind the Argzoon had been worthless. All my plan had succeeded in doing was putting a hostage in the hands of the Argzoon.