The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  Unable to drop upon my opponent's head this time, I started the process of destruction with the big toe. My experience so far indicated that the process of killing a Giant could never be accomplished with a single blow, no matter how powerful.

  The first blow of my metal-loaded club shattered the hard skin and splintered the even harder bones of what, even seen at close range, looked superficially like a giant human foot, down to the toe-nails and the small tufts of hair that grew upon the toes.

  It seemed that the bigger the Giant, the tougher his flesh and the stronger his bones. All of these Giants were vastly more powerful than Antaeus had been.

  My latest foe hopped and bellowed, as a man might if stung on the big toe by a large wasp.

  Another wallop, and a crack appeared in the skin of his feet, running up the ankle, then the calf. Another hard blow on the ankle completed the disabling of the left leg.

  One more blow, and he was down on one knee. When the Giant put one hand to the ground for support, I began to destroy that hand even as I had destroyed his foot.

  In a way the Giants' size put them at a disadvantage. Daedalus and others have explained to me that it is simply a fact of nature that huge bodies are more vulnerable than small ones to certain common mishaps—such as tripping and falling down.

  When I had finished destroying my second or third victim in this manner, I leaned on my club, gasping, and looked around. Our surviving foes were now in general retreat. The enemy attack on Vulcan's laboratory had been beaten off, at least for the moment. Apollo was on his feet again, shaking his head to clear it, calming his magic horses and trying to restore his chariot.

  A distracted Giant was unaware of the radiant presence of Apollo, at a range of only about a mile, until an Arrow smote home like an explosive bullet, blasting and scattering pieces of tough, claylike Giant flesh in all directions, along with shattered fragments of bone.

  And with that the fight was on again.

  The battle that was eventually to decide all of our fates had started almost accidentally. Certainly our side had not chosen that day outside of Vulcan's laboratory as the time and place for a decisive confrontation, and maybe the Giants had not planned it that way, either. But as the fighting went on, both sides kept pouring in reinforcements.

  The majority of participants on our side arrived on the scene by air, while most Giants came by water. A few of our enemies seemed to have made a long march overland, then had to find a way to cross approximately a mile of open, relatively shallow water between them and the island.

  Daedalus and I were the only mortal humans to witness the entire battle, though the fate of our whole race hung in the balance.

  Many more gods, perhaps a majority of all those in the world, chose not to take part, or were simply off on the other side of the world somewhere—I thought that many gods, despite all the educational opportunities that they enjoyed, had probably never realized how truly big the world was. And now it was sadly true that many others were no longer able to remember the size of the earth. And of course most mortals had never suspected the truths of geography, or even thought much on the subject.

  The bodies of the Titans, when they employed their huge balloons to assist them in rapid movement, went drifting over sea and land like a flotilla of flying gods . . . still, only one or two, most notably Alkyoneus, could move as fast as most of the gods.

  In actual combat, with their huge feet planted firmly on the ground that nourished them, Giants turned and bent and straightened almost gracefully and with amazing speed, their huge arms flailing. Few of our enemies bore weapons, though some had fashioned shields, and some brandished clubs. Most depended on their boulder-sized fists, and the strength and accuracy (which was considerable) of their throwing arms, and with them poured out a hail of devastation, which at one time or another must have knocked to earth a score of gods. On that terrible day, more than one god-Face was forcibly separated from its late wearer's human head. Any human who came within their reach, whether enjoying the powers of a god-Face or not, stood in some danger.

  More than once I was hit by a stone or by some Giant's fist or club—my body was sent flying for a considerable distance, or it smashed into a rock wall. Under one such impact the rock cracked, but I still survived without disabling injury. My real test came when the experience was repeated, and I began to realize that there were limits to even my toughness.

  Some gods appeared only briefly on the battlefield and then withdrew again. I have already named some who were present, and some I will name, and tell what they did. I will pass over the behavior of certain others in tactful silence.

  And there were still other deities who never put in an appearance at all, a few of them for the simple reason that they did not learn of the battle until it was over. A few more were more deliberately circumspect. As far as I knew, Hades himself was still ranting in his madness, while remaining safely and snugly underground. And I thought that perhaps there was some method in his madness after all.

  When we had beaten off the Giants' renewed attack, Mars and Zeus assigned a garrison of some less combative deities to hold the laboratory against any possibly renewed assault. Meanwhile it seemed that we ought to take the offensive with the bulk of our forces—but of course in that company no decision so momentous could be made without a lengthy conference and argument.

  While we were resting from our exertions, and while several gods were polishing their arguments, back inside the laboratory, Zeus told me more of my own history. Some years ago, the then-current avatar of Zeus had figured out a way to invest a human, or mortal, with divine power, without burdening him with the new vulnerability of a Face.

  The idea was that the presumably enormous capabilities of this "designed" human would be immune to the Giants' most effective weapon. But exactly what those capabilities were going to be was very difficult to predict.

  Everyone was well aware that such a weapon would take years to develop.

  "Perhaps twenty years must pass before it is fully ready," Zeus had argued at the time. "But neither we nor the Giants are going anywhere. And they are not, thank all the Fates, in any hurry about arranging our annihilation. Therefore certainty is more important than speed when we plan our move against them."

  Early on, several of those who advised Zeus in his planning devoutly expressed their hopes that this new man, or woman, should not be physically deformed, like Prince Asterion. It could be catastrophic to the plans of Zeus if this planned savior were to find life a burden and be angry at those who had brought him into the world. And what if this human being should be corrupted, to turn against the gods who had created him?

  "But it is rarely the obviously deformed who find life an unbearable burden," Vulcan reminded his leader now.

  "That is true, I had forgotten. It is so very long since I was merely human."

  I never learned what process of selection had been employed. Whatever it was, it indicated that Alcmene, wife of the Cadmian general Amphitryon, would be the ideal candidate for this breeding. One consideration must have been that the blood of divinity ran in her veins.

  "That could be said of a great many people," I observed.

  "Not nearly as great a number as would like to claim it for themselves. But Alcmene was indeed a special case." Daedalus, who had evidently been making a study of the matter, went on to explain that Zeus was my mother's great-grandfather on her father's side—and had also been, probably in another avatar, a remote ancestor of her husband.

  "An incestuous business," I commented, bleakly considering my own origins. "Or would be, if the same rules applied to gods as to humankind."

  "There's no use speaking of gods and rules in the same breath," said Daedalus, and looked around to see who might be listening. "I suppose we will come one day to the point where every human being on earth is descended in some way from Zeus."

  My father, as I eventually discovered, had planned to wait until I was somewhat older before throwing me into the
front line in the struggle against the Giants. But through the years of my childhood, the Giants kept posing a greater and ever greater threat. When my father learned that I had already slain a monstrous lion, and shortly after that the Hydra, he decided I was already old enough, and pushed on with his plan.

  (I had the feeling that my father was on the point of telling me something more while we were resting between battles—but that, for good or ill, he could not quite bring himself to do so.)

  Some hours passed thus in the laboratory, while we talked and rested (it seemed to me that gods wanted rest, whether they actually needed it or not), and some of us rearmed ourselves before going on with the next phase of the battle. There were some gods ready to fight who still lacked helmets.

  Mars ranted and raved, urging us to lose no time in rushing after the fleeing foe. We should strike while the momentum was with us, and before the enemy could find some way of counteracting the protective helmets that had so suddenly provided our side with an advantage. Several times I reminded various deities that whenever we launched our attack, I would need a ride in someone's chariot if I was going to keep up. Zeus assured me that there were fighting gods who lacked the power of flight, so Daedalus and I would not be the only wingless passengers; but there were chariots enough for all to ride.

  While some counseled a quick pursuit, other gods were already convinced that the Giants no longer presented an immediate threat to the Olympians' dominance of the world, and that it was time to declare the war won and go home.

  Here Zeus did his best to assert his authority, proclaiming that the war was only getting started. In future either gods or Giants would rule the earth, and there could be no compromise.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  We Go A-Hunting

  When we had rested for a few hours after beating off the enemy attack, Zeus, Hephaestus, and Apollo convened a council of war inside Vulcan's fortress. Daedalus and I, the only mortal humans for many miles around, reentered the vast building and stood by listening, though for some time no one acknowledged our presence.

  All the gods recognized the need to follow some unified plan in following up our victory, but there was wide disagreement as to what that plan should be.

  Gods and goddesses began to scribble maps on the flat, blank surface of one of Vulcan's interior walls. Someone knew, or claimed to know, where most of the Giants dwelt. Another informed us that Alkyoneus had been seen fleeing in that direction.

  Zeus had the place of honor in all ceremonies among the gods, or at least in all of them I ever saw. Hades and Poseidon were next in rank, but even when Hades was not at war with Zeus, or suffering through a bout of madness, he kept almost entirely apart from the others. Poseidon was no enemy of Zeus, but until today he had not been much concerned about the problem posed by Giants.

  "Speaking of Poseidon," asked some goddess I did not recognize, "does anyone know if he survived that little skirmish?"

  No one could be sure. In any case, Neptune exercised an independent command over his own marine forces. Several witnesses reported seeing him caught without a bronze helmet, and I spoke up to confirm that observation. It was then assumed that he had not joined the council of war because he could not longer remember who he was or what he was supposed to be doing.

  Mars, for all his hard fighting and dynamic speeches, failed as an effective leader because he paid too little attention to what his comrades in arms were doing and saying, what they feared and wanted. Though he claimed to be the war chief on land and in the air, a number of his fellow deities were disinclined to listen to him when he began shouting orders.

  I was, and still am, no expert on military affairs, but it needed no experience to see that we were not going to present any kind of disciplined, highly organized opposition to the enemy.

  Daedalus proclaimed in a firm voice that when at last we set out to carry the fight to the Giants in their own territory, he was coming with us.

  Hephaestus announced that he wanted to come, too; and that if we waited a few more hours, his workers would have produced enough bronze helmets to protect everyone. Unfortunately, neither Vulcan nor Daedalus had been able to come up with any weapon that would be especially effective against Giants.

  The first phase of the battle had demonstrated that the Smith's defensive helmets were not a total success. Deities fighting with their heads encased in bronze still suffered some loss of memory when the Giants' strange weapon struck at them heavily and repeatedly. However, the helmets did help enormously, and almost every god and goddess who meant to fight was now demanding one. It was still uncertain what would be the long-term fate of those who relied on bronze for protection in battle.

  I knew that I could still play an important role in the fighting, but it was now possible to imagine that the gods might win even without my help.

  There came a time when the bickering in the great hall died down, and I realized that most of the assembled company were looking at me, and that I was the subject of discussion.

  In the background I could hear someone muttering about a prophecy supposedly once made by Hera: that the gods would be victorious in the war only if some mortal human clad in a lion's skin should fight beside them. And there was an old tradition, or superstition, regarding Giants, that their mother, the earth, had made them proof against all weapons of the gods—not, however, against weapons of mortals; and knowing this, Athena was to arrange the birth of a great mortal hero.

  * * *

  Dionysus was saying: "It took the enterprise and the strength of Hercules to make some of the gods realize that the Giants were neither invulnerable nor omnipotent. Humanity invested with the power of gods, but without the need for Faces, could fight and win against them."

  Someone else impulsively put forth the proposal that, as soon as an appropriate Face became available, I be granted divine status, as a reward for my success in battle.

  I heard this offer with mixed feelings. Of course it was an honor to be so admired, but I was immediately disinclined to accept. There was no Face of Hercules, and I was not at all sure that I wanted to become someone other than who I was.

  But already the council had moved on to a discussion of our enemies. The Giants had shared the earth with us for a long time. Ancient descriptions spoke of them as towering, terrible creatures, who for the most part sported long beards, and in some cases wore snakes' tails instead of legs.

  Humans called some Giants by their own Titanic names, while for others we knew only the names we had devised for them ourselves. Here and there was one who had at some time introduced himself to humanity, on one of those rare occasions when a meeting was peaceful enough to allow for such civility.

  Daedalus (who kept reminding everyone that he wanted to accompany our attacking forces) told me he was convinced that the powers giving the special weapon its effectiveness were related to the magic-tech by means of which the race of Giants themselves had somehow been born.

  Slowly, over centuries, there had come to be more and more Giants on the earth. I suppose we humans, including the earthly gods, could only thank whatever power truly ruled the Universe that our enemies' rate of reproduction was so low—else we would have been overrun, wiped out, many human generations in the past.

  Someone said of the Giants: "The damned creatures are just very hard to kill. Sheer physical force still seems like the best bet, but it will have to be applied on a scale that will strain our resources."

  And Mercury reported: "They do sometimes have spasms of lust, in which they yearn to force their will upon goddesses. And of course it takes a lot of food to fill their enormous bellies. Hercules and others have seen them eating cattle, chewing up entire bovine bodies like so many little sausages."

  After all, I had watched the first Giant I ever saw as he roasted and ate a sheep. I imagined that they might like to eat people even more than sheep or other animals, but like everyone else were forced to take what they could get.

  For a time, certain deit
ies who made a practice of studying their opponents thought that Giants might be mutated humans. That idea struck me as extremely strange when I first encountered it, and nothing I learned later made it sound any more reasonable.

  What these awkward imitations of ourselves might eventually want to do with the uncountable kinds of other life that grew on earth, once they had established their dominion, was more than any god or mortal in our ranks could say. The Titans were here, and they were hostile to humanity, and that was about all we could be certain of regarding their purposes.

  The Smith and the Artisan, basing their arguments largely on evidence I had gathered, tried to convince the assembled Olympians that the Giants were not alien to the earth. They had not come from somewhere out among the stars but were only a part of the earth's own life—a part that in ancient times had been twisted into a strange shape by magic, what some called odylic science.

  This suggestion of worlds other than our own sharply called to memory other mysteries that I had recently encountered.

  "Atlas was beginning to show me something of the kind," I said, and saw many gods' faces turn toward me in surprise. "But only beginning. We didn't have a chance to get very far with any revelations."

  The great contest between Giants and Olympians had gone on for many years. I understood now that it went a long way toward explaining why the gods have been for long periods absent from world affairs.

  "But leaving Giants alone does not get rid of them," Zeus reminded his colleagues. "They do not spontaneously disappear. Rather they continue, in their patient, methodical way, to spend their time and energy becoming more and more troublesome to humanity. By means of the strange monsters they create, if for no other reason."

  For many years the gods had been trying to keep their problem of vulnerability a secret from the bulk of humanity, fearing that if men and women knew their relative weakness, they would take the Titans' side against their own relations.