Before The Golden Age - A SF Anthology of the 1930s

by Edited By Isaac Asimov

  “How are we to get back to our corridors, Tumithak?" he asked.

  “Have you given any thought to which way we must go?”

  Tumithak considered.

  “If we could walk in the direction from which we were carried by the hurrying of the water, we should find ourselves near enough to the shelk city to enable us to search for home. But perhaps the shelks are still seeking us. Do you feel that you could brave the dangers of Shawm again?”

  * * * *

  The Duty of the pitmen Waiting in the Hall of the Esthetts

  Nikadur trembled, but his answer showed Tumithak that the events of the past two clays had somehow revived in Nikadur some trace of the ancient spirit of courage, for he answered bravely: “Nennapuss and our warriors wait in the Halls of the Esthetts. Is it not our duty to try to return to them?”

  The shelk-slayer smiled, and clapped his comrade on the back.

  “Come then,” he said, and they arose and started on their journey, keeping as close as they could to the banks of the river and praying that no new and un­known danger would confront them. They had not gone far, however, when it began to be increasingly evident that it would not be possible to follow the stream for long. The banks grew steeper and the vegetation grew denser and denser, until at last the Loorians gave up the attempt to remain close to the river, and struck off into the woods in the hope of finding a more open section. They had gone but a few dozen yards when they came to a well-marked trail leading in the very direction in which they wished to go. So ignorant were they of wood-craft or any similar art that the idea that this was a path made by the shelks never entered their heads. They at once turned into the path and continued on their way, sublimely unconscious of their increased danger.

  For over a mile, they walked on without incident to distract their minds. A dozen times they congratulated themselves on the fortunate discovery of the path, and their hopes were beginning to run high that they might succeed in reaching their pit again, after all, when suddenly, as they topped a slow rise, they heard a dis­tinct commotion in the little vale beyond. They at once darted into the brush, and froze into silence; then after a little while, they crawled slowly to the hill top and, lying there on their faces, looked upon an amazing scene.

  * * * *

  A Fight Between Humans Watched by the Shelks

  It was the scene of a battle—and just such a battle as they had heard described by Tlot, the Mog, when they had hidden in the ropes and cables of the shelk tower. There were seven figures in the little vale, three of which were shelks and four, humans. Three of the humans were Mogs, armed with short, heavy javelins not unlike the ancient Roman pilum; the other was a woman—a woman whose back was against the bole of a great tree, and who lashed out furiously at the Mogs with a long, needle-like sword that was, apparently quite capable of protecting her from the savage three. And the sight of three broken whips that lay at her feet showed that the battle had already occupied some time, and was evidence that the girl had been giving good account of herself.

  The three shelks were taking no part in the fight; they stood well back and encouraged the Mogs with sardonic, clucking chatter. Two of them appeared to be unarmed, tile other carried the now familiar box and hose, the long nozzle of which he held between two of his limbs, as a man might hold a pencil between his thumb and forefinger. He was watching the combat closely, and Tumithak knew that if the battle seemed to favor the brave girl too greatly, he could bring it to an end at once by slaying her.

  Behind the shelks was a queer vehicle, a long, narrow, two-wheeled car that balanced strangely on its wheels, and that had a high, V-shaped transparent shield in front of it, behind which were a bewildering number of controls. Apparently the shelks and their attendant Mogs had been traveling some place in this car and had stopped long enough to enjoy the slaying of this girl.

  * * * *

  The Strange Vehicle—The Fight—The Arrow of Nikadur

  Tumithak’s brief survey of the machine noted also a box that sat on the rear of the machine, a box with a number of white and shining rods of metal in it. These rods, it seemed, were made of a metal similar to that of the plates that illuminated the corridors. That they were not exactly the same was apparent from the fact that their light was not brilliant as was that of the plates, in fact, it was little more than a luminescence.

  Tumithak’s interest in the vehicle was but a passing one, just a single hurried glance, yet when his eyes returned to the fight, his heart leaped to his throat— I or he saw that one of the Mogs had struck the girl’s sword a particularly vicious blow, and before she could return to the defense, another Mog brought down his sword weapon, and then—There was a swish in the air, close to Tumithak’s head, and before the Mog could finish his blow, he jerked violently forward and fell to the ground with an arrow in his heart!

  Tumithak turned to see Nikadur, risen to his knees in the grass and already fitting another arrow to his bow. He comprehended instantly what his comrade had done, and chuckling in mingled amazement and delight at Nikadur’s new-found courage, he drew his pistol and turned his face again to the battle. The shelks were filled with amazement at the sudden, unaccountable death of the hunting man, and the instant in which they stood in puzzled confusion had sufficed to give the Loorians that half second necessary to win. As Tumi­thak turned, he saw the armed shelk already raising his long-nozzled hose—and then to his surprise, the bushes to the right of him, at which the nozzle pointed, burst into flames!

  * * * *

  The Marvelous Hose of the Dying Shelk

  Instantly Tumithak’s pistol spat, and, miracu­lously enough, the bullet struck the shelk squarely in the body. It gave a peculiar cry, its limbs went limp, and it collapsed on the ground, the hose dropping from its grip. As the hose fell, Tumithak became aware of a marvelous thing. The hose’s long nozzle, in falling, described a vertical circle, and wherever it pointed, the vegetation immediately burst into flames! To the left, and high in the trees swung the flaming path, over their heads and back beyond the shelks; and then, as the nozzle came to rest on the ground, a long streak of blackened earth appeared, starting at the nozzle’s mouth and stretching away into the forest. Somewhere a huge branch, severed from its trunk by the heat ray, fell crashing to the ground, and then Tumithak jerked his mind back to the scene of the battle, just as another of the shelks reached for the hose. Again Tumithak fired his revolver—and missed! He was about to fire his last remaining bullet when he again heard the twang of Nikadur’s bow, and the second shelk fell to the ground, its limbs feebly twitching and attempting to claw at the arrow that had pierced its body.

  Only two Mogs and a single shelk remained now, and the advantage was still with the Loorians. The re­maining shelk made a dash for the weapon of its dead brother, but even as it did so, Tumithak and Nikadur, flushed with the fever of battle, dashed forward to prevent its reaching it. Halfway down the hill, both stopped to discharge their weapons, and when they reached their destination they found but a single Mog to oppose them. For the two hunting men had been so intent upon the battle with the girl that they had hardly been aware of the events going on behind them, and just as Tumithak and Nikadur reached the bottom of the hill, the girl, with a lucky stroke, had dispatched the second Mog and so the remaining one had turned to appeal to his masters. The sight of them stretched upon the ground was quite enough for the astounded Mog; with a howl, he abandoned the battle and fled.

  Tumithak was at first inclined to let him go, but a second thought brought to him the memory of that other Mog who had escaped, in the shelk-tower in Shawm; and so he gave a quick order to Nikadur, and a swift arrow sped forward and overtook the hunting man, silenced his howling forever. Then the Loorians turned and approached the girl.

  She still stood with her back to the tree, her chest was still rising and falling with the exertion of the battle, and her long hair, which was as black as that of any Mog, was tumbled about her shoulders and was damp with the perspiration brough
t out by the fight. Her dress was a long tunic, not unlike the belted dresses of the Loorian women, save that her people apparently possessed the secret of some dye, for its color was a brilliant blue. Tumithak felt that he had never before seen any woman with half the animation, half the determinati3n shown by this strange girl. The shelk-slayer, Tumithak, approached her diffidently, for the first time in his life consciously bashful before a woman. He spoke not at all; in fact it was Nikadur who finally broke the silence.

  * * * *

  Addressing the Girl in Friendship

  “We are friends,” he said, and indeed, it was well that he said it, for the girl was holding her sword at the guard, uncertain of how she would be treated by these newcomers. At Nikadur’s words, she lowered her sword slightly and relaxed her tense pose.

  ‘Who are you?" she asked, and there was a touch of amazement in her voice. “Who are you who slay shelks and Mogs alike with strange weapons of thunder?"

  Tumithak struck his chest importantly. He had regained his composure and at the girls words, that queer vanity of his again swelled within him.

  “I am Tumithak, slayer of shelks !“ he announced. “Tumithak Lord of Loor chief of Yakra and Nonone, Master of the Dark Corridors and of the Halls of the Esthetts! I have come to the Surface to slay shelks, and to teach Man to again battle for his ancient heritage! This companion of mine is Nikadur—who also slays shelks,” and as he spoke, it seemed to dawn on Tumithak for the first time that he was no longer “The Shelk-slayer,’’ that now this honor was one that must be shared with his comrade. He turned to Nikadur and clasping him by the shoulders, kissed him on the cheek.

  “You, too. are a shelk—slayer now, old friend,’’ he said. ‘‘Quick. take the heads, that we may show them to our friends, when we return to our corridors.” And so, as Nikadur, obeying, turned and busied himself with the bodies of the shelks, Tumithak returned to the now friendly girl.

  * * * *

  Tumithak and the Girl Now Friends—The Tains

  “These places of which you speak.” she said, as she thrust her sword through a ring at her belt, “I have never heard of them before. Can it be that you come from some other pit ?‘‘

  This explanation seemed plausible enough for Tumi­thak, for never, in his own pit, had he seen anyone with hair colored as was this girl’s. “I suppose you are right,” he answered, “What do they call your pit, and what is your name?“

  “I am Tholura the Tam, and my pit is the pit of the Tains,” and the girl pointed to her throat, where a blue, six-pointed star was cleverly tattooed. “This is the mark of all the Tains,” she said.

  “But what are you doing on the Surface?” asked Tumithak. “Do your people often dare to come out on the Surface, and face the shelks?“

  There was a world of scorn in the girl’s voice as she replied.

  “Never in my life have I heard of a Tam who would voluntarily face even a Mog.” she replied. “The Tains are a race of rabbits! They cower in fear, deep in the lowest corridors of our pit, and when the shelks and foul Mogs conic hunting them, they either flee in panic, or sacrifice one of their own people, that the rest may live.”

  “But you—’’ insisted Tumithak, ‘‘How did you have the courage to leave the pit ? How do you happen to be on the Surface

  “I do not know,’ Tholura answered, vaguely. “I have always been a little different from the other Tains. It has seemed to me a most degrading thing to flee ever from one’s enemies. Many of my people have thought me mad because I believed that it would he nobler to die than to flee. But even I never dreamed of venturing upon the Surface until three days ago, when a party of hunting Mogs raided our part of the corridors and slew my sister.

  * * * *

  The Death of Tholura’s Sister – Her Revenge

  “I tried to induce my father and my brothers to follow them for I felt sure that they could be over­taken before they left our pit. But like the craven cowards that all the Tains are they cowered in our apartment and told me I was mad to think of such a thing. Perhaps I was, for I took tip my father’s sword and turned my face toward the Stir face vowing that I would follow and never return until I had taken vengeance on the murderers of my sister.’’

  She paused as Nikadur drew near and threw the heads of the shelks at Tumithak’s feet. She glanced at them for a moment in fascinated curiosity and then with a little feminine grimace of disgust she turned her head and went on: ‘I pursued my way to the entrance of the pit hut saw no more of the Mogs who had slain my sister. So I continued my way out to the Surface and today after wandering for a long, long way, I came upon this other party. I might have tried to avoid them, but they spied me before I could hide. So I faced them, hoping only that I might slay Mog or two before I died.

  “But I little dreamed that a hero existed who would not only prevent my slaughter at the hands of the Mogs, but would slay their savage masters, too,” and the look she gave Tumithak, as she finished speaking caused Nikadur to smile discreetly and to turn away and busy himself with studying the various possessions of the shelks.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER IV - The White and Shining Rods

  For some time, Tumithak and Tholura sat con­versing beneath the great tree, telling each other of the lives they had lived in the corridors. Tumithak was filled with wonder at the idea of finding this girl whose mind was such a strange parallel to his own and he plied her with dozens of questions concerning her past. And of course, she questioned hum too, and Tumithak recounted the great adventure which had first brought him to the Surface from his home corridors, so far below, and you may be sure the story lost nothing in the telling.

  Nikadur, meanwhile, had made several discoveries that interested him greatly. The weapon which cast the ray of heat still lay where it had fallen, and now the line of burnt and blackened earth which streaked from the nozzle had begun to glow redly with the intensity of the heat. And some distance away dense smoke arose, where the green vegetation smoldered and burned. Nikadur approached the shelk-weapon diffidently, wondering how it could be possible for such a cool thing as the hose appeared to be to give out such intense heat. But this was a puzzle far beyond his in­tellect and so, placing it in his mind simply as a shelk wonder, not to he understood by men, he turned his attention to the long narrow car.

  The machine was about twenty feet long, low and streamlined and made of some strange yellow metal. It still stood balanced on its two wheels, and as Nikadur drew near to it he could hear from within it a subdued, throbbing hum. He inspected the controls, but was unable to comprehend them and so he turned to the rear of the car where lay the box of white and shining rods. He stooped over them, half-expecting them to be white-hot, hut feeling no glow of heat from them, he finally picked up enough courage to take one of them in his hand and found out to his surprise that it was quite cool.

  Nikadur examined it curiously. About four feet long it was, and a little over half an inch in diameter, and as he swung it about his head, Nikadur was struck with a brilliant idea. These rods of metal would make excellent ax handles. He thought of how proud he would be to possess such a beautiful weapon. And then, at the thought of the word weapon, his eyes instantly returned to the box and hose lying to the right of him. There, indeed, he thought, would be a real weapon, if a way could only be found to control the heat or to turn it off and on as the shelks apparently could. For the first time it dawned on Nikadur that this weapon in the hands of a man might be as dangerous to a shelk as it had hitherto been to humans. It was an epoch-making thought, and Nikadur must be given full credit for it. He turned to where Tumithak and the girl sat, still talking, and called to the Loorian chief.

  “What shall we do with the shelk weapon, Tumithak?” he asked. “Think you there is some way to stop this terrific blast of heat as the shelks do? Perhaps we might find a way to control it and to keep the weapon for our own.”

  Tumithak was about to answer when Tholura gave a vexed little laugh and started for the weapon.<
br />
  “How silly of me,” she exclaimed, “I should have noticed it before.” And picking up the long nozzle, she snapped back a small lever—and the weapon was harmless! The Loorians gasped.

  “You know how to operate such a weapon?” cried Tumithak. “Where did you learn? What else do you know of the ways of the shelks? “

  The girl smiled. “I know little of the ways of the shelks,” she answered. “But of the ways of our ancient ancestors, I think I know far more than you. What you have been telling me of Loor and of your corridors shows that you have little or no knowledge of the wisdom of the ancient ones. There, at least, the Tains excel. For many hundreds of years, they have kept the traditions of the great wisdom of our wise ancestors, and in our museums, which are also our worshipping places, we have many tools and machines that were once used by those wise ancestors, and they are always kept in perfect repair by the priests. But alas; the fuel, the power that makes them operate, is unobtainable, and so the Tains are no better off than the most ignorant of those blind savages of which you have been telling me. Yet if the day should come when we again learn the secret of that lost power—” Tholura paused, her eyes shining. “There is something to which you might well devote your life, O Shelk-slayer!” she cried. “Could we but find the secret of that lost power, we might face the shelks on equal terms. And then—”