Flash Gordon

by Arthur Byron Cover

  For the first time since he landed on Mongo, Flash panicked. He had endured shock after shock; he had been granted reprieve after reprieve, only to die helplessly in the grip of a giant spider. He fought back, but not with reason. He snapped off the tip of a spider leg and, rolling over, tried to pierce the inflated belly. But the skin was as tough as leather.

  Standing on a gnarled root twice his height, Barin watched the struggle with a stoic façade. However, his stomach glowed with warmth, and he foresaw his future with a curious, overwhelming optimism. Soon the man he hated most in the universe would be shreds awaiting entry into the Sloth Spider’s mouth. The blood vessels in Barin’s forehead throbbed. No, he would have to produce Gordon’s body if Aura and Ming were to believe his story. He aimed his crossbow at the spider’s stomach; he fired the incendiary arrow.

  Flash listened as the arrow whizzed through the air and exploded in a shower of white sparks against the leathery stomach, deflating it like a stationary helium balloon. The legs immediately eased the pressure on Flash, enabling him to push himself to one end of the spider. White pus flew from the wound in a sputtering stream whose volume drowned the creature’s last gasping slurps.

  When Flash saw Barin standing over him and realized the Prince and no other had rescued him, he barely restrained a shout. He had reached Barin’s well of decency!

  He, too, felt a curious surge of optimism, but it quickly sank in the despair that nurtures a fatal discouragement as Barin quietly reloaded his weapon.

  These people are just a mass of contradictions, thought Flash.

  Barin grinned and aimed. Flash made ready to jump, but the spider’s skin had folded over his feet. Breaking away would be difficult.

  Suddenly, a laser beam blasted the crossbow from Barin’s hands. Equally surprised, the foes turned to see a Hawk Man perched on a limb, with several of his fellows hovering nearby.

  “Vultan wants a word with you, Barin.”

  “This arrogant scum begs a thousand pardons for having the impertinence to wake you, Most Imperious Leader,” said the pilot of the transport flier. “Truly my head should be shorn from my shoulders and my precious jewels stuffed into my mouth for daring to distract you from the pleasant dreams which have doubtlessly ensnared you.”

  “What is your report?” replied Klytus. His tone hinted at weariness and confusion. He lay nearly perpendicular to the floor in a coffinlike bed installed in the wall.

  “We’ve scanned a Hawk Man patrol four hundred miles east I am most ashamed to admit I anticipate your pleasure as I say that the Hawk Men have Gordon and Prince Barin with them.”

  Klytus stifled a yawn. “They are flying toward the Sky Palace?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Wake me when it’s in sight.” Klytus pressed a button; a panel slid down and enclosed the bed in darkness, concealing it from the crew, as it sank to a horizontal position.

  Prince Vultan squatted on his silver Royal Perch in the banquet room of the Sky Palace. His mating urge had totally disappeared, but it would return soon enough, as soon as he took care of certain matters. His toes picked up straw and crushed it between them, his sole indication of nervousness as he scrutinized Gordon and Barin. (Though he ran his fingers through his beard, the allusion was to calculating detachment rather than agitation.) Pecking at either shoulder with no discernible rhythm, Luro stood beside the Hawk Man Prince; once he reached behind a guard and took a sweetmeat from a banquet table, but a disapproving glance from Vultan convinced him to return it.

  Flash and Barin were flanked by guards. The awesome beauty of their journey from Arboria—in addition to their utter dependence on the strength of their captors—had so dazzled them they had forgotten the pressing issues of the Mongian kingdom, and they were only now becoming capable of coping with reality. Barin exclaimed, “You’d sell us to Ming?!”

  Vultan rolled his eyes. “By the Gods, I think your surprise is genuine! Come on, Barin, do you actually expect mercy here? What would you do if I was a captive in your kingdom?”

  Barin snorted disdainfully. “I would remind you of Article Seventeen of Ming’s Law: ‘No captive Prince of Mongo shall be offered for ransom without the option of combat with an opponent of his choice.’ ”

  His eyes closed and his head bobbing, Vultan impulsively gestured for Barin to hurry it up during the recitation. Then he grasped the implications. His eyes popped open. “I haven’t read that stupid book in years. Does such an article exist?” he asked Luro.

  “I’m afraid it does.”

  Barin beamed. “I’ve read it many times,” he said proudly.

  “You had good reason after Ming executed your father,” said Luro viciously.

  “Now, now,” said Vultan, “I seem to recall Ming executed your father too.” He turned to Barin. “This is a damned nuisance. Who do you choose to fight?”

  Barin glared at Flash. “Him!”

  Stunned by this latest unexpected development, the Earthling exclaimed, “This place is a lunatic asylum!”

  A giant of a Hawk Man with rippling bronzed muscles swung a mallet with all his strength at a gong a third taller than he. As Dale listened to the reverberations resulting from the meeting of the mallet and the metal, she could not help but think her life had somehow become a J. Arthur Rank Production. Like a fragile sex object with no will of her own, she had been yanked from one melodramatic situation only to be thrust into another. As she and Zarkov walked to the court (glimpsing the Hawk Men perched on benches and tables through the spaces between the curtains), she wondered what ludicrous ceremony her captors would soon subject her to. She noticed Zarkov making mental figures while staring at his watch. “Hans, just what are you doing?”

  “I’m computing just how much longer the Earth has remaining. Making allowances for time variables and other factors which seem farfetched to the layman, I calculate the Earth has about thirteen hours and five minutes left.”

  “That’s wonderful! You’re telling me we have to save the Earth and we haven’t even found . . .” Then, she saw him!

  When Flash saw Dale approaching, running along the border of the opening in the center of the banquet room, he broke away from Vultan and the guards too quickly for them to detain him. The vision of her—with her arms outstretched, her cheeks red with passion, her smile so sincere and gay—molded his life into a solid thing of permanence. Though he feared he would clumsily collide with her, she drifted into his strong arms like a dream personified. Her lips touched his for the first time, and it seemed the history of his entire life had inexorably led to this moment. What did it matter if this was a deterministic universe? The point was that he was in love, questions of free will be damned! He had never before felt so free as during those ten seconds when their lips drank in passions wild and plentiful before the awestruck court of the Hawk Men (not even the most famous mating rituals of legends equalled this).

  “It’s so crazy!” Dale breathlessly whispered into his ear. “Last time I saw you I prayed it was a dream; this time I’m praying it’s not! Are you okay?”

  Flash grinned so wide his mouth hurt. “I am now.”

  “Me too—but have I got some crazy stories to tell you!”

  “Let’s save them for our kids.”

  Holding her expression with an effort, Dale thought, Our kids? Should I tell him now about my operation? Oh well, there’s plenty of time. He’ll take it well because he’s such a liberal. But there’s one thing that can’t wait. “If that’s a marriage proposal, I accept.”

  Their lips again became thirsty for mutual ecstasy, and they neared one another as if moving outside of their own volition. But they had touched for only a moment when two grim guards pulled Flash away from her.

  Dale struck a guard on the biceps. “Will you leave us alone? I just got engaged!”

  Flash smiled bravely. “See you in a while—I hope!”

  “Where are they taking you?”

  “Don’t ask,” replied Flash, looking over his shou
lder.

  As Flash and Barin faced Vultan, Dale strained to pick up some indication of what he was saying to them; she could not help but think that the Prince of the Hawk Men was, despite his tendency toward rashness, a crafty devil, a shrewd judge of character. Perhaps these attributes had saved him many times from the more severe manifestations of Ming’s wrath. At any rate, Vultan had realized he was safe from a treacherous blow because Barin’s hatred for Flash took precedence over all his other emotions; Dale admitted to herself that it required no great insight to realize Flash would never kill in cold blood, regardless of the provocation. Vultan evidently spoke in low tones, for the guards nearby leaned over to hear. However, his gestures were delivered robustly; he shook his fist between them, held his palm flat, turned it at sharp angles, stabbed the air with an imaginary knife, and shook his fist again. The bronze Hawk Man struck the gong; when its noise died, Vultan pointed to the flat disk in the center of the Sky Palace and said loudly, “All right, I want you two to get out there and fight!”

  Barin followed Flash across a gangplank onto the disk. When Luro pulled a lever on a portable control box, the gangplank withdrew, hissing pneumatically. Flash glanced at the bottomless skies below; clouds of many colors billowed, but land was not to be seen. The disk appeared to be supported by rays generated by numerous antigravity devices, and Flash noticed panels that could insulate the disk from certain rays, thus implying it was not always stable. He gulped.

  Biro threw two black whips between the duelists. “Let the combat begin!” proclaimed Vultan, Prince of the Hawk Men. “To the death!”

  Flash attempted to shake Barin’s hand, but the Tree Man Prince was already taking off his gloves, disdainfully ignoring his foe. Barin casually threw his gloves off the disk.

  They warily stalked one another, neither permitting the other to come too near the whips. Their leather soles provided little footing on the slick, smooth surface. Flash found himself concentrating as much on maintaining his balance as on what Barin was doing.

  Barin lunged for the whips. Flash smacked him with a right cross, making a direct hit on the nose. Barin rolled with the punch, otherwise his nose would have sprayed him with his own blood. After they regained their footing, Barin retaliated, striking Flash a glancing blow on the cheekbone.

  Hawk Men and Hawk Women cooed with excitement, but a scowling Vultan, his mating urges suddenly prodding him to engage in less violent activities, sat tugging at his beard.

  Flash and Barin exchanged several blows, repeatedly sending each other away from the whips. Then they stalked about again, each awaiting an opening. Barin found his when Flash glanced at Dale (standing between Zarkov and Vultan) to see how she was faring. Lunging forward, the Tree Man Prince grabbed a whip.

  At that point, an irritated Vultan demanded that Luro hand over the disk controls.

  Barin snapped his whip three meters to Flash’s left. And two meters to Flash’s right. He would have snapped it a third time to the same rhythm, but his foot slipped a bit and he was forced to steady himself. Even as he did so, Vultan manipulated the controls, causing the disk to sway at this angle and that, like a saucer balanced on a juggler’s stick. Flash regretted that his professional football career had not helped him to become more graceful; he was totally unprepared to deal with this contest of balance; even his most delicate moves on Astroturf had been brutal and swift, as befits those of a passing quarterback. Now he concentrated on maintaining his balance, on the defensive, while the more poised Barin pressed the attack. Finally, the swaying of the disk aided him in reaching his whip.

  Dale bit into her fist and held tightly onto Zarkov’s arm. The scientist caressed her hand, absently attempting to comfort her while he stared in horror at the proceedings.

  Though Flash flicked his whip at Barin, his only purpose was to hold off the Prince’s relentless attack. He grabbed at the tip of Barin’s whip twice, each time only clasping empty air. And he was, oddly enough, partially relieved at each failure, for he did not know if he would be able to keep his footing while he tried to pull the weapon from Barin’s hands. The futility and the insanity of this senseless combat was distracting Flash as he felt a leather snake twirl about the handle of his whip and bite into his fingers. He released his weapon just as Barin jerked his in a manner that sent Flash’s flying onto the disk. Pausing to savor the moment, Barin kicked Flash’s whip off the disk, deep into the bottomless sky. Shocked, making a token lunge toward his weapon though it was already too late by far, Flash lost his balance and slipped to one knee.

  Dale screamed, immediately regretting it. Vultan, on the other hand, proclaimed, “This is boring!” He pressed a button in an impatient manner that implied he wished to end the duel swiftly.

  Blunt-edged knives with sharp, spikelike points rose from the surface of the disk; when Vultan manipulated certain controls, they rose and fell in a chaotic pattern.

  Aghast at this latest unexpected horror, beset by a vision of a bloody Flash with the knives protruding throughout his body, Dale screamed a second time. She habitually screamed with her eyes closed, so she did not see Barin accidentally wrap the end of his whip around a knife.

  The duelists half-rushed, half-slid toward one another on the tilting disk; they grappled like demonic wrestlers. Suddenly, Barin caught Flash in a terrible grip and bent him backward, directing his face toward the point of a knife.

  “Promise me something!” Flash wheezed.

  “What?”

  “If you kill me, team up with Vultan and fight Ming.”

  Barin’s only reply was renewed pressure, forcing Flash’s face a centimeter nearer to the knife.

  “You’ve got to!” said Flash. “For your own sake!”

  For many moments the duelists were still, two statues engaged in an eternal struggle. But gradually, due to his advantage in leverage, Barin pressed Flash downward, downward, the progress slow but steady. Barin’s victory and Flash’s gory impalement seemed inevitable.

  Suddenly, Dale shouted, “Flash, I love you! And we have twelve hours left to save the Earth!”

  As if saving his own life was not enough justification, this was all the incentive Flash required. Aided by an onslaught of adrenaline coursing through his system, Flash rallied and pushed Barin away.

  The Prince of the Tree Men, thinking victory inevitable, believing the Earthling to be ultimately an inconsequential vexation in the scheme of the universe, had not expected another effort on Flash’s part. Indeed, Barin found the turnabout rather astounding as the disk tilted sharply, causing him to lose what remained of his foothold, sending him flying toward the edge. He managed to land belly-first, but he was unable to grab a knife due to the fact that Vultan caused those in his immediate vicinity to sink into the disk. His fingers futilely dug into the greased surface, and a panic unlike any he had ever known welled up inside him as he felt his feet, and then his legs, dangle over nothingness.

  Flash realized more quickly what was happening. He knew there was only one chance to rescue Barin, and though the Prince had tried to impale him horribly but a moment before, Flash did not hesitate to try to save him. He leaped toward the edge, grabbed the whip wrapped around the knife, and swung out, catching Barin by the wrist.

  For a long moment they stared at one another. Then, wide-eyed, Barin looked below.

  “Climb up my arm!” said Flash.

  “You’ve won!” boomed Vultan. “Let him fall!”

  Flash ignored the Hawk Man Prince. “Quick! I can’t hold you much longer!”

  Nervously running his fingers through his beard and involuntarily flapping his wings, Vultan absently allowed the disk to right itself. “What is this?” he asked of Flash’s deed.

  “Humanity!” proclaimed Zarkov.

  “Humph. Madness,” replied Vultan gruffly. But he left the controls alone.

  After Flash pulled Barin to safety, they knelt and stared at one another, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Flash held out his hand, but the Tree Man Pr
ince still refused to shake it. My God, what if Zarkov’s wrong? thought Flash, recalling his attempt to shake hands with the red-robed leader. What if the gesture is unfriendly on Mongo?

  Prince Barin was dizzy, his innards swirling in a maelstrom; the Earthling became truly real in his eyes for the first time as he thought, Gordon means it! He’s sincere. Barin pondered the innumerable killings he had witnessed, the slayings he had performed himself, and the mercy killings in the sacred temple. His bloody past became a dream, and he realized that existence was meaningful only if you dared to mold it in accordance with the nobler aspects of human nature. He clasped Flash’s hand. “Where you go, I follow!” He leaped to his feet and shouted to the flabbergasted crowd, “There is something higher than Ming’s Law!”

  “Oh, there is, is there?” asked Vultan loudly, moving toward the edge of the platform. He pointed at the smiling Tree Man. He spoke angrily. “Would you care to elucidate on the matter? Would you care to demonstrate the practicability of this higher law before Ming blasts both our kingdoms to shreds?”

  The inner glow warming Barin, the glow even the Hawk Men with the thickest skulls perceived, would not permit him to be dismayed by the questions. He appeared to have every intention of answering. Everyone, including and especially Flash, was interested in what he had to say. However, his answer, regardless of its potential brilliance and relevance to the revolutionary situation at hand, was ill-favored by the Fates. For just as Barin opened his mouth to demonstrate anew the thespiac abilities that had amused a tyrant, sirens blared throughout the Sky Palace.

  A stunned populace watched through the entry to the port as the black vessel of Klytus approached.