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?”
“He holds us in his power. We were forced to do his 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!
“A century or more ago the people rose against their oppressors, country by country, until the evil Priesthood was driven back, further and further, to seek refuge on this island, the original capital of the old Imperial Theocracy. It was here that the cult, based on worship of us, was spawned and, if you can help us, it is here that it will die. Otherwise a new Age of Winter shall cover the world in a cloak of death! They know how to torture us. They will make us do these things, even though now we think we can resist. And this time, too, will bring that false promise of freedom. And this time, too, will come our grasping for false hope, and this time, too, will come betrayal. Then will come a short period of rest until we are ready to be tortured again. Until, eventually, we succumb and do their work without the threat of torture or the promise of freedom but only so that we shall not have to fear either!
“This time they have sworn to keep their promise to us of freedom, O, Man! Freedom after thousands of decades. Freedom after eons of despair. We would follow
our brothers, we would travel the infinite depths of Space and Time were we once released. We would see Suns and Planets, green things. Seas and Plains. For us these things are worth more than life. We are of them more than Man—for we, like the planets and stars, and the grass that grows forever, are almost immortal. We have no bodies, as Man knows bodies, no senses as Man interprets senses—we are Minds. You can see that the temptation is great! We were not strong-willed to begin with. We were flattered by Man’s petty ceremonies. Now that he offers us Light and Freedom again. He lies and we all know we have no real choice but we must accept.” A long pause and then, tinged with just a little real hope:
“Unless there is another way.”
“There may be another way,” Sojan said. “If you will but tell me how you are imprisoned, perhaps I can release you!”
“There are certain minerals, rare and almost unknown, which have the properties of lead compared to radium. Radium cannot harm or pass through lead. Similarly, although we can pass through most minerals and life forms, we are imprisoned if we enter a certain precious stone. We can enter it, but by some strange trick of nature, our beings cannot pass back through it. Thus we were enticed centuries ago, into these blocks of ermtri stone. The only way in which we can escape is by someone outside boring shafts into the blocks and thus cutting channels through which we can pass.
“Do you understand?”
Dimly Sojan did understand, though his brain was shaken by the effort of trying to imagine beings so utterly alien to Man, yet in some ways akin to him. For the first time in his adult life his hand trembled as he picked up the torch and cast its light towards the centre of the hall.
There on an altar, covered by a crimson cloth, rested five large blocks of some dark, cloudy blue substance.
The substance was not hard in the way a diamond is hard. It had a softness to it and resembled blue jade of the purest quality. Yet it was not jade. It sparkled like diamonds. Even in legends, it was a stone of which Sojan, who had travelled across almost the whole of his planet, had never seen nor heard.
“I understand,” he said, “but what tool will cut it?”
“Steel, sharp steel will bore into it. Have you steel?”
“Yes.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Only that so much time has passed since the time your people knew only stone and bone for tools . . .”
“Will it hurt you?”
“No, it will leave no impression.”
“If I succeed in freeing you will you promise to help us?”
“We give you our word. We have told you how our word cannot easily be broken.”
“Then I will do what I can.”
Wiping sweat from his forehead and hands, Sojan moved towards the blocks. He drew his sword and clambered up onto the altar. If the sword broke and the guards came in he would be left with his favoured weapon snapped into slivers!
Placing the sharp point of his blade on top of the first block, he turned it round and round. Feeling it suddenly bite deeper into the strange substance. He became aware of a weird tingling which seemed to flow up his sword and into his body. He could not define it but it was not unpleasant. Suddenly there was a dazzling burst of green-and-orange brightness and something seemed to flow from the hole that he had bored, flow out and upwards, lighting the room. He heard no words, but in his mind there was a great sense of joy—of thanks. Then, one by one he took the point of his sword to the other blocks and watched as they broke under the influence of the same strange power. And then came a crackling force of incandescence as the green and orange brightness flowed from them.
Slowly these flames took on a slightly more solid shape, until Sojan could make out eyes and circular bodies. It came to him that by effort of will alone these creatures could form themselves into any shape they desired. These, then, were the Old Ones. Perhaps in a million, million years, Man too would have succeeded in being able to form the atoms of his body into whatever shape he chose. Perhaps, with the goal defined, sooner. Perhaps, these beings once were Men? That would explain the strange kinship Sojan felt for them. A kinship which his Lemurian ancestors no doubt felt also, before their witnessing of such alien powers changed their finer feelings into those of fear and hate and they learned how to imprison these advanced beings in that strange blue stone.
“Before you leave,” Sojan begged, “I crave one request as a price for your release.”
“Anything! But you must instruct us. We cannot act without your directions.”
“Then when I have left this building and my friends and I are safely at sea, destroy this terrible place so that the power of the priests will be shattered for all time and such an evil can never rise again!”
“Gladly we grant you this. We will wait here until you are at sea. But tread carefully, we cannot help you to escape and the priests have power we cannot control any more than can you.”
Thanking them, Sojan turned about and left, sword in hand. But in his exultation he had forgotten the soldiers outside and they stared in amazement at his naked blade and the sweat on his face. This did not seem to them to be any kind of High Priest with whom they were familiar!”
Taking quick stock of the situation, Sojan spoke to them.
“I—I had a little difficulty with one of the bolts on the interior,” he lied, “I had to use this sword to loosen it . . .”
With a puzzled look, the men bowed and saluted, but there was doubt in their eyes.
“A priest would not go unveiled for anything,” he heard one of them murmur as he entered the room which he had left previously. “He doesn’t seem a priest to me! Here you, stop a minute!”
But Sojan had quickly drawn the bolt to give him at least a little time and was hastily donning his weapons again. The men began to bang on the door and more men came to see what the noise was about.
“That’s no priest,” he heard someone say. “The High Priest Thoro is conducting the Ceremony of Death in the Outer Temple! He won’t be back for hours!”
“Batter down the door you fools,” came a voice that was obviously that of one in authority, probably another High Priest.
Anxiously, Sojan looked for a second exit. There was only a curtained window.
He parted the curtain, and looked outside. It was still dark. He looked down. A courtyard scarcely ten feet below. With luck, he thought, I can jump down there and escape as best I can. He put a foot on the ledge and swung himself over, dropping lightly to the grass of the courtyard. In the centre of the courtyard a fountain splashed quietly—a scene of peace and solitude. But not for long. He saw a face at the window he had so recently quit.
“He’s down there,” one of the soldiers shouted.
Sojan ducked into the nearest doorway, opposite the room he had left. He ran down a short, dark corridor and up a flight of steps. No sign of pursuit yet. Panting heavily he ran in the direction he knew an exit to be. It would be guarded now, he knew, for the whole Temple was by this time alert. And so it was. With his usual good luck, Sojan had succeeded in making the exit unchallenged. But there would be no such luck here, with five huge soldiers coming at him.
Chapter Seventeen
The Unlucky Ones
Again Sojan had no time for heroics. His pistol came up and two of his would-be killers went down. The other three were on him now and his sword cut a gleaming arc about his head. His battle-axe shrieked as if for blood as he carried the attack towards his foes instead of they to him. Nonplussed for a second, they fell back.
That falling back was for them death! Now Sojan had some kind of advantage and he made full use of it as he drove blow after blow, thrust after thrust into the men.
Bleeding himself from several wounds, Sojan came on, down went one man, then another. Now the last warrior, fighting with desperation, hacked and parried, and sought an opening in Sojan’s amazing guard.
None came, the man sought advantage too often, became desperate and lunged forward—and almost pinioned himself on
Sojan’s blade. Back he tried to leap, clumsily. A perfect target for a whistling, battered axe to bury itself in helmet and brain.
Leaving his axe where it had come to rest, Sojan fled the Temple. His heart pounding, he finally reached the house where his friends waited.
“Come,” he cried, “I’m successful—but we must make the ship immediately, all of us, else we all die. I don’t know what they intend to do.”
His companions realised that there was no time for an explanation and followed him wordlessly.
A frantic race for the docks. One brief skirmish with a City Patrol. And then they were on board. Up anchor, out oars, cast-off.
And as the ship sped from the harbour they looked back.
There came a blinding flash and then a deep, rolling roar as the great temple erupted in a sudden burst of flame. Then, as they peered at the city, there was blackness again. The temple was not burning—there was no temple now
to burn. It was being dissolved! Its substance dissipated like some kind of miasma, keeping its shape but growing larger and larger!
Then, as they watched, Sojan and his friends saw five streaks of blue-and-orange flame rise out of the heaving miasma which seemed to strive with its own intelligence to keep its shape. The five blazing streaks shot skyward and rocketed upwards and outwards—towards the stars! As they left the miasma began to lose any semblance of shape. Whatever mind had controlled it now failed. And Sojan knew that the priest-kings of Zylor no longer ruled Rhan—or any other place on the planet. With one last convulsion, the miasma roared, was silent and then vanished. For a moment it seemed the sea boiled before it, too, grew still.
And Sojan sighed, sheathing his battered blade, certain now that the Old Ones had kept their word.
“What was that?” gasped Nornos Rique rubbing his eyes on his sleeve and staring again at a scene which had grown suddenly peaceful.
Sojan the Swordsman ; Under the Warrior Sky Page 8
