Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Give me your blade!”

  Shawn concentrated his thoughts, threw a mental question at the Martian.

  “Why? What have I done?”

  “You—” The soldier’s hand shot out; he ripped the mask from Shawn’s face. That was enough. The Earthman whipped out his automatic. He fired it as the guardsman lunged forward.

  The man’s features exploded in red ruin. The priest at the door screamed orders. And the soldiers came forward roaring like a wolf-pack.

  In those close quarters Shawn and Trost had no chance; they were hopelessly outnumbered. They went down firing vainly, overwhelmed by an avalanche of muscular flesh. Shawn felt the gun torn from his hand; he smashed out viciously, desperately, feeling flesh and bone grind beneath his fists. Then, suddenly, something crashed down on his head, and blackness took him.

  CHAPTER IV

  BLACK GOD OF KATHOR

  SHAWN awoke with a splitting headache, and lay quietly for a while gathering his strength. Light beat through his closed eyelids. He opened them a mere slit.

  He lay flat on his back in a small room roofed with stone. There were paintings on the ceiling, depictions of men and women struggling in the grip of fantastic torture-devices, Satanic instruments of which the Inquisition had never dreamed. Shawn turned his head.

  A guard sat by the door, sword across his knees, eyeing him. Shawn catalogued the man mentally—brawny, slow, stupid, Against the further wall lay a slender figure, Lorna Rand, her rounded breasts and the lithe curves of her young body revealed in utter nudity! She was apparently unconscious, her closed eyes veiled by the auburn tangle of her hair.

  The guard was less stupid than Shawn had thought. He chuckled deep in his bull throat. “You needn’t sham. lean see you’re awake.”

  “Yeah?” Shawn said, getting painfully to his feet. He was getting used to the fantastic thought-language. “Then tell me why I’m here.”

  “Presently you’ll be sacrificed to Droom.” The guard made a queer quick gesture with his hand.

  Shawn limped forward, staggered and almost fell. The soldier watched sharply as he supported himself against the wall. Shawn whispered, “I don’t—”

  Then he sprang.

  He almost caught the guard unawares—but not quite. The man sprang erect, sword lifted. Shawn’s blow glanced from a barrel chest, and the guard smashed the hilt of his sword on the Earthman’s unprotected head.

  It was stark, blazing agony. Shawn fought dimly, frantically, against the flood of weakness that surged up within him. Vaguely he was conscious of his desperate blows falling lightly on hard flesh . . . and flashes of light began to dance before his eyes . . .

  The soldier grunted in surprise. The sword-hilt ceased to pound Shawn’s head, and the latter dropped to his knees, weak and dizzy. Snarling curses came to his ears. He looked up.

  Lorna was on the guard’s back, bare arms locked about the bull throat. The soldier had almost dislodged her when Shawn tore the sword from the huge hands and sent its point tearing into flesh. Blood spouted.

  The guard’s breath left his lungs in an explosive groan. He looked at Shawn uncomprehendingly. And he fell, as a tree falls, stiffly, heavily.

  The girl was flung against the wall to collapse in a limp huddle. Shawn dropped the sword, bent, beside the girl, lifting her easily in his arms. She was unconscious.

  “Lorna!” Shawn’s voice was unsteady. His gaze ran the length of her nude body, searching for wounds, but the girl was apparently unharmed. Then Lorna’s eyelids fluttered and opened; she stared at Shawn blankly. Fear sprang into her eyes, and was gone as swiftly.

  “Terry! Oh, Terry—” White arms went around the man’s neck; he felt the warm firmness of Lorna’s breasts flattened against his chest. Abruptly Shawn’s heart was hammering. The smooth skin of the girl’s back was hot against his palms. He could feel her breath fluttering in his ear, and suddenly his blood was a roaring, pounding tumult in his veins.

  Shawn bent his head, found Lorna’s soft red lips. They were like white fires, burning away all sanity and all caution. And the girl responded, crushing herself against him, trembling a little. She gave a soft, low cry.

  Shawn caught sight of the corpse on the floor. He forced himself to calm. “We’ve got to get out of here, Lorna!”

  SHE wriggled free, a warm flush mantling her face and bosom as she glanced down at her nudity. Quickly Shawn stripped the kirtle from the dead guard and gave it to her. Lorna donned it swiftly.

  “Where are the others?”

  “I don’t know, “the girl said, her eyes wide. “Those men came—after you left. To the Eagle. They pretended to be friendly, and then jumped us. Hooker managed to fire a shot before they knocked him out. They brought us here—brought me down to this cell, took my clothes away—” Lorna crossed her arms on her bosom, flushing again. Shawn found it difficult to look away, but nevertheless he went to the door, peered through the barred grill.

  It was locked, but he caught sight of a rod set in slots to make the door fast. Carefully Shawn lowered the guard’s sword hilt-first through the bars. After a few abortive attempts he succeeded in opening the prison.

  With Lorna at his side Shawn went out into a dimly-lit corridor cut out of solid rock. “Pleasant place,” he grunted. “One way’s as good as another. Both lead down.”

  “They brought me here blindfolded, “Lorna said. “But I managed to understand a little of what they said. There’s something—they’re all afraid of. Something they call Droom.”

  “Yeah?” Shawn chose a direction at random. As they walked Lorna went on.

  “I had an idea it was their god, though they seemed to regard it as something living, right here in their temple. They talked about Droom, and about the Houses.”

  “What are they?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve an idea the Houses are bodies the god is supposed to enter.”

  The passage branched before them. One, the left fork, led down steeply into darkness. The other widened, after a few yards, into a high-roofed room, beyond which it ran on, angling upward. Shawn heard the girl catch her breath. The cavern-chamber had—a tenant!

  It was not human. It was a teratological baroque that had been spawned by no sane world, a wrinkled, leathery gigantic horror that made the hair rise on Shawn’s neck. It lay prostrate, unmoving, dead.

  Seven feet tall, it had the general form of a man, though the torso was unnaturally broad. There were three short, stumpy legs, ending in clawed hoofs, and a bifurcated appendage hung down like a tail from the back. Some monstrous power had wrought ghastly chaos in the thing’s features; one of the heads was the size of a large melon, with an elongated muzzle and tushes that protruded like those of a boar. The other head was worse. It seemed boneless. Shawn made out a flaccid, hideous snout, a single glazed eye, fringed by pinkish hairs, and a wrinkled patch of fungus-like stuff crowning the skull.

  He fought down nausea. “Come on. If this is one of those Houses, we haven’t much to fear. It can’t hurt us. It’s dead, Droom or not.”

  He stepped forward, Lorna at his heels. And, suddenly—stopped.

  The vault had a curious echo. Muttering, whispering, the name of the god was flung back and forth by the dark walls.

  “Droom . . . Droom . . .”

  Lorna caught her breath. “Terry! We’ve—”

  Was the chamber darker? It seemed as though shadows were filtering down through the air, dropping thickly and more thickly upon the loathsome body that lay prostrate. The flaming torchlight from flambeaux set in the walls seemed less distinct. Lorna’s face seemed hidden behind a shadowy veil.

  The name of Kathor’s god whispered thinly through the steadily increasing darkness.

  “Droom . . . Broom . . .”

  Shawn drew back against the wall, his palms sweating, wishing for his gun. He gripped the sword tightly. He felt the girl’s half-nude body pressed against him.

  AND the shadows were thick—thick!

  They clustered
about the monstrous thing on the stones, hiding it beneath a dark blanket. Suddenly Shawn shuddered, conscious of an abnormal chill in the air.

  “Ye gods!” he whispered—and his flesh went cold with dread. For this was no Earthly menace of flesh and blood that he faced. It was something beyond humanity—something so alien that the breath of its presence was like a wind blowing chill from the gulfs beyond the world.

  And the shadows sank down, whispering. They seemed to merge with the body of the abnormality on the stones, to mingle with its flesh and to disappear within it. Somehow Shawn knew, with a dreadful certainty, that where there had been only two in the vault, there were now—three. And the third was not human.

  Shawn lifted the sword tentatively, staring around. “Come on,” he muttered. “We’ve wasted too much time. I’m not going to try steel against that thing if I can help it.”

  Hastily he turned to the passage, propelling Lorna with an arm about her waist. Behind them the shadows whispered ominously, the shifting darkness rustling down through the dank air.

  But Shawn did not wait. As he entered the passage he shot a quick glance behind him, and saw something that lent speed to his flight. The horror on the stones was no longer still and dead. Life had come to it, in a fashion hideous beyond all imagination, and it was writhing and struggling in the pangs of frightful birth. The mouths gaped; the malformed limbs shuddered and clawed out hungrily ; light shone in the single glazed eye. In dreadful silence it dragged itself upright.

  “Come on!” Shawn whispered urgently, and fled with Lorna along the passage. Luckily it was straight, and even in the darkness where no torches burned he encountered no obstacles. The warm fragrance of Lorna was close to him; occasionally her bare shoulder brushed his arm. Her breath came in little gasps.

  And now there came the sound which Shawn had been dreading—the noise of pursuit. A slow, ominous thudding, machine-like, that spoke of a thing that pursued inexorably, with muscles that Shawn knew would never tire. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

  Light began to filter into the passage from ahead. They came to a flight of spiral steps that wound up in dim gray twilight. Behind them the noise of the approaching monster was louder.

  The girl’s steps lagged.

  “Come along,” Shawn grunted, half carrying her up the interminable stairway. Granite walls gave place to black marble, shot with sparkling veins of crimson fire. They came out suddenly on a balcony, unrailed, and empty space dropped sheer beneath them. It was a cul-de-sac.

  They were perched high up on the wall of a great cavern, above which a black dome arched like an iron cope. In its center a crimson globe hung, glowing with angry scarlet fires, sending its sullen radiance into every corner of the huge temple. For this, Shawn knew somehow, was the Holy of Holies—the temple of Droom. On the stone flags far below him was mystery—and horror.

  The marble floor was inlaid with a pattern of colors, blue and green and dull yellow, twisting and curving into an arabesque design which was oddly unpleasing to the eye. Rugs and cushions and tapestries, ornaments that might grace the palace of an emperor were scattered carelessly about the huge room. Wandering leisurely about were dozens of the hairy beast-men; and in the very center of the floor was the altar.

  An altar of glass! A globe of transparent crystal, shot with a shimmering veil of color. There were flaming lights drifting about within the altar, and intricately twisted tubes and levers, and there was a gray and pulsating monstrosity whose wrinkled surface sent a little throb of recognition into Shawn’s mind. A brain—but not a human brain.

  No human skull had ever contained that swollen, malformed thing whose slow, rhythmic movement made Shawn feel a little sick. Lorna went white, gripped her companion’s arm to steady herself.

  There was no time for more; a scuffle came from behind them. The monster came charging up the stairs. The House of Droom was indeed alive—and ravening for its dark pleasure!

  CHAPTER V

  THE BRAIN

  HUNGRY fangs gleamed redly in the dim light. The two heads bobbed unsteadily on their single neck, but the single eye watched Shawn unwinkingly. He swung his sword in a short are, chopping at a claw-like talon that swept out at his throat.

  And he missed. With uncanny speed the claw dodged and ripped the skin of Shawn’s chest; the Earthman countered desperately. His lashing back-stroke almost severed the monster’s arm.

  Abruptly he knew what to do. His blade drove out in a straight line, directly for the single eye that watched him with cold, inhuman intelligence. The pulpy head jerked aside, but not far enough. The sword-point sank into gristly flesh. As the creature reared back Shawn twisted the weapon viciously, mangling the single eye into a blood mess. Now it was blind.

  It leaped forward in deadly silence, limbs flailing, jaws agape. Before Shawn could spring aside it was upon him. He shuddered at the touch of chill, unclean flesh that seemed to writhe and twist beneath his grappling fingers. He felt himself flung back—

  Faintly he heard Lorna cry out. She seized his arm, but too late. The monster went charging blindly over the brink of the platform and dragged both Shawn and the girl with it as it fell.

  Red light flashed out blindingly. From the globe of the altar a crimson ray blazed up, a narrow beam of radiance that gripped Lorna and the man, held them unsupported in empty air. Unbelievingly Shawn stared down at the mosaic floor far below, seeing it rising toward him very slowly, while a bloody blotch upon the stones told the fate of the monster. Swiftly understanding came to him. He himself had invented anti-gravity—and this was similar. Scientifically logical—but strange beyond imagination!

  The two drifted down toward the crystal altar-globe. The lights danced more quickly within it, red and blue and flaming orange.

  The beast-men were returning, clustering close, watching with their malignant little eyes. Shawn felt cold stone beneath him. He found himself on the ground, Lorna beside him. The weird force which had gripped them had snapped out with the red ray and vanished.

  He shot a quick glance around. Brazen doors, ajar, were set in the further wall. Not far away was the crushed, bloody body of the two-headed monster, the sword still protruding from its eye-socket.

  The beast-men sprang forward, their hairy arms twisting about his body. He fought furiously, battering at the grinning devil-masks so close to his face. The creatures made no attempt to hurt him—they merely closed in, gripping his arms and legs till he stood motionless, helpless.

  Lorna was also held captive, though it took only one beast-man to subdue her. Her ivory slimness gleamed in strange contrast to the dirty coat of the creature.

  Beside them, in the hollow altar, the wrinkled gray thing pulsed more quickly, the little lights winking and dancing and drifting in a fantastically beautiful pattern, unearthly, and somehow horribly alluring. Into Shawn’s mind came a thought message, cold and distinct.

  “You are not of Kathor. Why do you come here?”

  Carefully, measuring each word, Shawn answered, “We come from Earth—the third planet. Our world has been destroyed—”

  “World? There are no others than this. You say blasphemy!”

  Shawn hesitated. “Who are you?”

  THE thought-message was confused, jumbled. It became clear suddenly. “I am a god. Ages ago the scientists of this world took the brain of a beast-man, evolved it by long and painful experiments. It became superhuman. I am that brain. I rule Kathor.”

  The lights whirled in the globe. “You doubt my power. Then watch!”

  A chorus of growls from the beast-men.

  They drew back, revealing the broken body of the monster. And, suddenly, a shiver shook it.

  Icy horror lanced through Shawn. Lorna cried out unbelievingly. The thing was rising, shambling forward, a crushed, frightful thing all spattered and dank with fresh blood. One of its heads was a smashed ruin; the other lolled drunkenly on a broken neck.

  It came forward to where Lorna stood in the grip of the b
east-man. Its talons seized the girl, dragged her away. Shrieking hysterically, she was cradled in the monster’s embrace.

  “Taste of my power!” Droom’s thought came. “The intelligence is pot bound to the body. I have many bodies, and my life can enter any of them.”

  Cursing, Shawn strained against the paws that held him. The monster’s talons ripped blindly at Lorna’s body, tearing the kirtle away in rags. The girl fought frantically, vainly. The milky curves of her bosom, sweeping lines of white beauty, were splotched with blood from her captor’s crushed flesh.

  The beast-men surged forward, their eyes red with lust, intent on the girl’s nakedness. A hoarse roar went up from them.

  “So?” Broom’s thought seemed malicious. “My children are displeased. They demand their usual sacrifice. Well—they shall have the girl.”

  As though at a command, the undead monster dropped limp and unmoving. The beast-men tore Lorna away, dragged her, with Shawn, through the bronze doors. Hot, angry light blazed into their eyes.

  A scarlet, blazing globe hanging from the high ceiling illuminated the room in merciless detail. It was an amphitheatre, tiers of seats rising from a flat, sunken pit in the center. Below the seats, in the walls of the pit, ware barred doors, and behind them men and women, captive, staring out with hopeless fear. Bars were set in sockets so that they could not be reached by the prisoners.

  In one cell Shawn saw his companions—Heffley, Flynn, and Trost, ragged and disheveled. Somehow Trost had managed to retain his horn-rimmed glasses, incongruous on his pale, haggard face. He saw Shawn, shouted.

  But the Earthman could not answer. The beast-men dragged him up into the tiers, held him tightly. Others were busy in the pit, dragging forward a curious machine.

  It was a globe, set on pivoted wheels, with chains and manacles dangling from it. Lorna was pulled forward, and a metal collar clamped about her neck. The beast-men retreated swiftly into the gallery.

  And slowly the globe began to move. It rolled forward slowly, pulling the girl with it. A shock of horror raced through Shawn as he saw little heat-waves shuddering up from the sphere; the device was becoming hotter.