The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  Again, I once glimpsed on a stout limb of a distant tree three dead bodies, hanging by their necks. Whether men or women I could not distinguish at the distance, but they might have been three pirates when they walked and breathed.

  It seemed to me distinctly possible that the rule against men, like many other rules in many other lands, was not strictly enforced, and as I have mentioned, some adult males, probably slaves, were in fact to be seen. Also I could imagine exceptions being made for merchants or skilled workers.

  There were also the charred remnants of some ship to be seen, along a muddy riverbank, and the painted symbol still visible on certain planks suggested it had been a pirate vessel. This was of course encouraging in that it suggested I was somewhat closer to the sea than I had thought.

  The weather was mild, and sleeping out of doors posed no problem to an experienced traveler. Water was plentifully available, but food was another matter, and before long I was ravenously hungry.

  Almost the only people I saw anywhere, at least for the first several days, were women, who did (or at least officially claimed to do) all the heavy work of farming and hunting. Of course it was hardly unknown in my own land, or any other, that females should perform these tasks, but it was strange to see no men at all. An ignorant stranger, coming on the scene, might have supposed that the entire male population had been wiped out in some war. Which, when I thought about it, seemed possibly the truth.

  * * *

  Not until I had been several days in the territory of the Amazons was I challenged by an armed patrol—and I was lacking any Skyboat in which to flee from them.

  I was facing in the other direction when I heard a shrill voice call: "Over here, girls. Looks like another of that damned gang of pirates."

  Other voices responded, and there was a general trampling and crashing in the underbrush. Presently nine sturdy figures came into view to stand with weapons ready, gazing at my solitary figure.

  "You're right. I thought we'd seen the last of 'em, but here's another."

  All of the women confronting me were young, vigorous, and well armed. They wore a kind of uniform consisting of short skirts and sandals, and each was bound across her upper body with a kind of sash that covered the right breast, passing also across a flattened area that showed the left had been removed.

  Unhappily I considered the one-breasted warriors and their spears and arrows. They all looked lithe and agile, and I doubted very much that I would be able to outrun the slowest of them. Most carried bows, and each had a short shield, shaped like a half-moon and dabbed with gilt paint, as well as a sword. The fact that I had dropped my club voluntarily kept them from trying to cut me down at once. Meanwhile I thought I might be able to retrieve the weapon later, and that the lack would mean no more than an inconvenience.

  The patrol commander barked again: "One more damned pirate. We know how to deal with your kind!"

  "I hope so, ma'am," I assured her. "But I have my doubts." When I thought about it, I could hardly blame them for their mistake. If I was not a pirate, where was the ship that had brought me across the sea? Anyway, I looked more like a pirate than a merchant. I did not attempt to disabuse them of this notion, calculating that there was no chance they might believe the truth.

  As you might expect, I prepared to strongly resist any attempt to take my life. It was my evident readiness to face their several blades that gave them pause, I think.

  Raising both hands in what I hoped would be interpreted as a peaceful gesture, I said: "I consent to be your prisoner."

  "You do? How noble of you!"

  "If I am your prisoner, then it would seem that you ought to feed me."

  "We should hang him right away!" The second in command decided briskly. I gathered that was what had happened to the last straggling pirate to be discovered.

  They bound my hands at first, of course, and I allowed this on the theory that it might be easier to talk to them if they believed me to be quite helpless—alas, they paid no more attention to my peaceful protestations after my hands were trussed up than before.

  Then they hoisted me up to sit on the back of a phlegmatic cameloid they were using as a pack animal, tossed a rope over an overhanging limb, and soon had a noose around my neck.

  But of course, when they drove the cameloid out from under me they were disappointed with the result. There I was, hanging in midair as they intended, but a slight tensing of my neck muscles enabled me to keep on breathing easily enough and even to carry on my argument as to why they should let me pass freely through their territory. Not that the women were listening. But presently they cut me down, and were recoiling the rope in preparation for starting over when a superior officer arrived on the scene.

  While this officer was receiving the report of the patrol leader, I renewed my worries about what might have happened to Apollo. But I could not be sure that the flying chariot had crashed, or where it might have come down. Possibly a hundred miles away.

  Actually my hopes of being able to summon the Skyboat had grown somewhat brighter. It was encouraging news that some pirate ship had evidently been able to make it within a few miles of this spot, and gave me reason to hope that my little craft could approach even closer. Once Skyboat was positioned as near me as the sprite could bring it, it could lie there in its mode of concealment until the sprite found me again and guided me to my means of escape. But how much time must pass before the magic vessel might be able to accomplish this approach I could not guess.

  * * *

  And only now, for the first time, did they search me thoroughly, without finding additional weapons, or anything that might qualify as stolen treasure.

  The officer now in charge made a sound of disgust at the failure to discover anything incriminating. "I'd say you threw away the tools of your trade as soon as you saw you were about to be caught. But it won't do you any good."

  After a short discussion among the leaders, they agreed to keep me alive until their queen had had a chance to question me.

  There was some discussion of binding and dragging me, but I saw no reason to put up with that, and laid hold of a stout tree trunk, this one rooted firmly in the soil, and would not be persuaded to let it go. Blows with fists and blunt instruments failed to make me change my mind.

  One had her sword poised above my wrists when the officer ordered: "Don't hack him! It'll be easier to deliver him to the queen if he's all in one piece."

  The fact that my would-be captors were all women was not what kept me from more violent resistance, but rather it was my reluctance to be drawn into a full-scale battle with any nation. Surely that would have to be a losing proposition for me in the end.

  After several minutes of fruitless effort, their complete inability to pry me loose began to convince some of my captors—if that was indeed their status—that I was a god.

  I got the impression that male gods would not be welcome in this land, any more than mortal men.

  One stood back panting. "If he is a god, why doesn't he say so?" she demanded of her comrades.

  "Just bring me to your queen," I kept on patiently repeating.

  "Shut up! I'll cut off your head first, and bring her that!"

  "You won't cut my head off. You can't. And if you could, I'd insult your queen by refusing to answer any of her questions."

  Some took me for a madman, and some for a god, and others were quite ready to make an all-out effort to kill me first and then decide into which category I might fit best.

  Again the possibility of real fighting loomed. One or two women I might have overpowered harmlessly, just as I had Hector the Trojan. But someone would be sure to get hurt in a general onslaught, with weapons waving and thrusting in every direction.

  Eventually their contemptuous abuse began to make me angry. I said: "I have not killed women before, but I imagine you will die as easily as men." And I loudly regretted the fact that I had thrown away my club.

  When they gave up trying to tear me loose from
the tree, I let go of it and stood there flexing my arms and fingers, which were somewhat cramped, waiting to see what approach their commanding officer decided to try next. Fortunately she proved willing to be reasonable.

  Chapter Twenty

  Amazons

  I soon reached the conclusion that the lands ruled by Queen Moctod could not be very large. When we reached the capital city of the women, I thought it surprisingly small, and the royal palace little more than a middle-sized fort. Fortunately word of my capture had already reached the queen, and she was curious to see me. When at last I stood before her, several days after being taken into custody, she looked me up and down, her expression a mixture of contempt and puzzlement. My hands were still unbound, and no doubt she found this odd. Meanwhile, the women who had brought me in were telling her that I was more impressive than I looked, but still the queen, naturally enough, failed to understand.

  Having evidently just come from the practice field—or, I thought, perhaps from punishing some other band of pirates—she who faced me now was fully armed with a steel sword, a shield of bronze and wood and leather, and a helmet of fine workmanship. Not as hard, I was sure, as some of the fine helms I had seen, first on Amphitryon and on a number of others since, forged of black iron; but so beautiful of workmanship that I could see how it might be the superior choice to carry into combat, for the impressive effect that it would have on one's opponent.

  The queen's size, her evident strength, and above all her attitude convinced me that she would be more than a match for most of the male warriors I had ever seen.

  Moctod wore no binding on her upper body, and where her left breast ought to have been there was only an old, pale scar, so faint and puckered that I could well believe it resulted from a wound made in infancy. Her right breast was full and firm.

  "Why did you not tie his hands?" she at last demanded sharply. The queen's voice was strong, in keeping with her appearance.

  The patrol leader cleared her throat. "He made a lot of fuss when we tried that, Majesty. Whereas if we left him unbound, he was willing to walk along with us. . . ."

  "Your prisoner 'made a fuss,' you say? So you asked him politely to walk along?"

  My old antagonist seemed to wilt. Almost I was able to feel sorry for her. She said: "Actually we had to fight a sort of skirmish with him, ma'am."

  "Almost a dozen of you, and he made it a fight? I don't think it could have been much of a skirmish, as none of you seems to have been wounded in the process."

  The junior officer raised her hands and let them fall, a helpless gesture. "Ma'am, he is . . . very strong."

  The queen raised her eyebrows and let them fall, as if to say that she was accustomed to having a lot of strange problems brought before her—that was all part of the job—and she felt quite capable of dealing with this situation, as she had with all the others.

  '"Very strong,'" she repeated the words under her breath, as if trying them as an incantation. Then Moctod looked at me and made an imperious gesture with one finger. "Come stand before me, out-lander," she ordered. "What is your name?"

  I did as I was bidden. "I am Hercules, Your Majesty. Hercules of Cadmia."

  And I saw at once that my name meant nothing to the queen; celebrity was not going to be my problem in this country.

  Moctod, now focusing an intense, blue-eyed gaze on me from under her steel helm, was an inch or two taller than I. People usually view extra height as conferring some kind of an advantage. I often do not take that viewpoint seriously.

  The queen said: "You seem to have impressed my soldiers as a mighty fighter. They say you were carrying a club. Did you knock their swords out of their hands with it, or what?"

  One of the fighting women was now carrying my improvised bludgeon over her strong right shoulder.

  I shook my head. "Majesty, I voluntarily threw my club away when I encountered your patrol. At first I was even willing for my hands to be bound. I claim no skill at all in combat. I have never practiced with the sword, or even clubbed another human being."

  "But you are very strong."

  "Oh yes, ma'am, that is true enough."

  The queen nodded slowly. "One of you loan him a sword and shield. I want to see a demonstration of this strength that so impressed my fighting women." And she drew her sword. "Do you think you are strong enough, Hercules, to keep me from killing you?"

  "I am not afraid of being killed, Your Majesty."

  And the queen, her voice sharpening, said: "Then perhaps you should learn a little fear. Just because it has not happened to you yet, you seem to think that it cannot. Let me tell you, men as a rule die very easily. I have proved that to my own satisfaction often enough."

  There was a murmuring among the elder women who served as the queen's counselors; evidently my seeming bravery had already made something of an impression upon them.

  Experience had convinced me that usually the fastest way to get past the difficulty of an unwelcome fight, or proposed test, was to appear ready, and even eager, to go through with it. Leaving the offered shield where it lay on the ground, I bent and picked up the sword, running my gaze over it as I did so, just as if I knew what I ought to be looking for. The blade looked keen and true, and I suppose it might have been as well made as the queen's own weapon. Then I stepped back and nodded to the queen, signifying that I was ready.

  My opponent was angry now, of course; insulted that I had scorned to take the shield. But she was too experienced a warrior to take even the most unlikely-looking opponent for granted. She approached cautiously, circling first right, then left. The sword in her hand made feinting movements that I suppose were meant to provoke certain reactions in a trained fighter, but of course they were entirely wasted on my ignorance.

  I was not minded to prolong the farce. Let her defend herself, I thought. Doing my best to convince without killing (which certainly would not have made my situation any easier), I struck with an overhand swing, applying what I hoped was a nicely calculated amount of force.

  The queen had no need to move her half-moon shield, and caught the stroke on it quite neatly. But the impact, of course, was far beyond anything she had been expecting, or could possibly have been ready to withstand. Her shield, of tough leather bound with bronze, was cut nearly in half, the arm that held it dislocated at the shoulder, and any counterblow was rendered totally impossible. Her balance broken in an instant, the Amazon went staggering back to hit the ground in an ignominious fall. My borrowed sword had broken, the blade staying pinched in the ruined shield, while most of the handle remained in my hand.

  A cry of shock and outrage went up from the watching circle. The ring of watching warriors first drew back, then raised their weapons and would have assaulted me en masse—but the queen, still on the ground, raised her voice and stopped them.

  When the Amazon elders saw the strength of my sword arm, even those who had earlier favored killing me now entirely abandoned the idea—not, I think, out of fear, or serious doubt that they would be able to accomplish the job, but because I had suddenly become greatly desirable as the father of some of the next generation of female warriors. Now I understood what all the talk of testing had been about.

  A babble of discussion rose up, then quieted almost at once. They were now universally agreed that I should be invited, or if necessary compelled, to stay on as an honored guest until I had impregnated at least several dozen women—what might be done with me after that still seemed an open question.

  The queen, like any other serious warrior, was angry at having been bested. A physician had to be called to pop her dislocated joint back into place. But she bore the pain stoically, suppressed her personal feelings, and went along with what her people wanted.

  It was up to Moctod to put the matter to me officially: "We invite you, Hercules of Cadmia, to live with us for a year, and in that time to get as many of us as possible with child."

  I muttered some kind of a response, which was probably not as gracious as it c
ould have been. Many young men would have wholeheartedly accepted such an offer on the spot, and indeed I felt tempted; but as matters stood, I had to be about my father's business. Still, an outright refusal would only have made my task more difficult. First of all, I wanted sleep and food.

  But what response I made did not much matter, for no one was really listening. It was taken for granted that I was going to consent, whether I agreed or not. My new hosts pointed out a kind of villa, a large house with stuccoed walls and a peaked roof, built against a hillside, which they said would house me for the duration of my stay. Wearily I made my way in that direction. I was vaguely surprised, and amused, to see that now I was apparently going to be left unguarded. Either they could not imagine a man wanting to escape from confinement on such terms, or they could not imagine one succeeding.

  As I approached the villa set against the hill, I heard, somewhere inside the house, a deep voice singing. I could only hope that its owner was not one of the women I was expected to impregnate.

  A short, sturdy, rather ugly servant girl came to meet me at the door, then stood back, gaping in surprise at the sight of an unfettered man. A shrine to Diana, only a little smaller than the one beside the border road, occupied most of the entryway of the house.

  Investigating a little further, I discovered the singer and was relieved of my latest worry. He was wrapped in a silken robe and relaxing on a pile of pillows, and courteously enough he stood up to say hello. He was a handsome man, too youthful for any gray to have come into his fair hair and beard, though sun and wind had started to carve lines in his face. He was tall enough to tower over the servant girl and me. Had he introduced himself as a god, many would have taken him at his word without an argument; but in fact he said that he was Theseus, and acknowledged that he had come to the land of the Amazons as leader of a pirate expedition that had proved a trifle too ambitious.