Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

The Underground Palace

Now in all this dark age, the wisest among the wise was the wizard Sharajsha, the Magician of Mommur. He alone had peered into the dim vistas of unborn futurity and glimpsed the terror to come…

—
The Lemurian Chronicles
,
Book Three, Chapter Ten

Sharajsha would speak no more on this until a later time. There were many things whereof he would speak, but he suggested they leave those matters until after Thongor had rested and downed a good meal.

The great zamph continued on through the dense jungles. Row upon row of towering lotifer trees rose about them, their deep red boles the color of dried blood in the sunlight. But the trees were thinning out now that they were approaching the edges of the jungle. Soon the foothills of the mountains were about them and the thick jungle foliage fell away. Across the world in front of them strode a mighty range of mountains, a titanic wall of gray and purple. These were the Mountains of Mommur, Thongor knew. This towering range stretched from east to west across the full breadth of the continent of Lemuria like a mountainous spine. And Thongor realized with a grimace that he had indeed been traveling in exactly the wrong direction all those weary hours when he had fought through the thick jungles on foot. Aye, he had labored long—to cut a path in a direction exactly opposite to the one that would in time have led him to the gates of Kathool, the nearest of the cities of the Southland.

Now they rode between hills and over parched, rocky earth. They followed no path—at least, Thongor’s keen eyes could discern no path. But a level way seemed to wander at random, weaving through the hills.

The zamph followed this winding way without hesitation, and Thongor concluded that the road to the wizard’s subterranean abode was cleverly concealed from the eyes of men.

At length they entered the narrow mouth of a great canyon. It was long and thickly shadowed. Steep cliff-like walls of gray stone soared aloft on either hand. The canyon was cut deep through the hills. It seemed little more than a narrow, winding alley or cleft, which would abruptly end beyond the next turn.

Blank walls of rock lifted sheer about them as the sides of the canyon narrowed. For all that the barbarian’s sharp eyes could discern, no man or beast had ever come this way. The rocky earth underfoot showed no tracks. Yet this was the entrance to the house of Sharajsha.

At length the canyon ended in a sheer cliff of stone. The zamph came to a halt and Sharajsha dismounted and strode forward while Thongor, still mounted, watched with curiosity. The light was dim, but he could see no slightest sign of a door cut in the rock.

The old wizard stepped before the cliff and reached out. His hand crept across the surface of stone until his sensitive fingertips found a minute depression. Into this he set the seal of one of his talismanic rings.

Thongor froze and the nape-hairs lifted along his neck. For without the slightest sound a huge slab of stone sank into the earth.

A black cavern yawned open before them. Sharajsha gestured.

“Enter!”

He tossed the reins over the zamph’s neck, and the beast ambled on before them into the darkness. Obviously Sharajsha kept his steed penned in some part of this cavern, and the zamph was trained to find its own way.

With a fatalistic half-grin, Thongor strode into the darkness with the wizard behind him. Sharajsha lifted one hand and from the depths of his capacious sleeve drew forth a short rod of translucent crystal. He lifted it and a flickering nimbus of pale blue light glowed forth about one end. It gradually strengthened to illuminate the cavern.

Soundlessly the wall of rock closed behind them.

Magic!
Thongor snorted to himself with the warrior’s natural contempt for such sly trickery. It seemed foolhardy to enter the lair of the most powerful wizard of all Lemuria of his own free will; and yet…the old man had done him no harm, had, in fact, rescued him from the jaws of certain death.
What will happen will happen when it will, if it will,
he thought. And determinedly setting his fears aside with the careless philosophy of the Northlander, Thongor looked about him with interest.

Illuminated by the weird blue glow, the cavern spread before him a fantastic and unearthly panorama. Gigantic dripping stalactites hung from the arched roof overhead—spears of living stone as huge as the fangs of Baroumphar, the Father of All Dragons, who devoured the moon in the ancient tale. And the cavern’s floor rose to meet them in glassy humps formed by centuries and aeons of those slow, calcareous drippings. Here and there amid the fantastic stone forest, pits of fire glowed, and occasionally Thongor saw a jet of the yellow flame which rose from the volcanic world of fire that burned far below Lemuria, and which, prophets claimed, would someday destroy the continent, sinking it beneath the sea.

“Come.”

Thongor followed the wizard, who led him through the stalagmites. Weird light from the firepits painted their rounded glassiness with flickering, fantastic colors. Alertly glancing around, and with one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his broadsword, Thongor strode after the wizard.

It was like a maze in which one who did not know his way would soon become lost and might well wander for many hours. Sharajsha led him through the stone forest and beyond, where a deep channel cut through the cavern floor. Through this channel a sluggish trickle of hot lava flowed like a river of liquid fire. The slow fluid was cherry-red, and tiny yellow flames flickered about its wrinkled, mud-like surface. The heat rose to smothering temperatures and clouds of thick oily smoke made Thongor’s eyes smart. A stone arch spanned the glowing stream, and by this natural bridge they crossed the river of fire. Beyond the lava river the cavern floor rose in a wall. It had been carved into a shallow flight of steps leading to a great iron door set into the wall and rust-red in color. Rude gryphons cut from the same rock as the floor flanked the stair. Thongor glimpsed strange yellow gems set like eyes within the rough stone heads. Was it his imagination, or did a weird spark of intelligence flicker within the jewels? With a prickling of his flesh, he sensed that at a word the wizard by his side could summon life into those monstrous stone bodies, calling them to his aid.

Sharajsha pressed an iron ring against the portal, and with a groan of giant hinges, the huge valves of the gate opened slowly.

Within, the solid mountain had been hewn into a long hall. At its further end, a dais of seven steps was set against the wall and bore a great throne-like chair of dead-black stone. A long wooden table stood in the center of the hall. Candelabra of pure gold flickered at either end. Benches were drawn before it. The walls were broken with curtained doorways leading off into other chambers of the subterranean palace, and here and there along the wall and between the doorways, cabinets and chests of wood bore strange secrets. A great circular pit of roaring fire stood before the dais.

“Be welcome in my home,” the wizard said.

* * * *

Hours later, Thongor and his host feasted at the table in the underground hall. Invisible servants had bathed Thongor’s tired body in scented warm water. Soothing salves had cleansed and healed his cuts and wounds. He had slept away most of the afternoon and early nightfall on a soft bed, waking with a ravenous appetite.

Thongor’s suspicions were relaxing. And the wizard spread a fine table. Roast bouphar swam in rich, steaming gravy, with succulent, although nameless, fish from subterranean streams. Bowls of weird jungle fruit and platters of sweetmeats were there, and he washed down all with fine wines of classic vintage.

As they feasted, they talked. The wizard listened to his adventures with a wry half-smile. He expressed great curiosity over the mechanism of the airboat, and strongly desired to see it.

“I am not unfamiliar with this Oolim Phon,” he said thoughtfully. “His mastery of the alchemystical art has come to my knowledge. But he errs in lending his wisdom to the service of an ambitious, warlike Sark such as this Phal Thurid—whose reputation I am also aware of, and his plans to conquer the seacoast cities. Magic is knowledge. Knowledge possessed by ambition is power. And such power, placed in strong hands, could bring all of Lemuria beneath one bloody tyranny. But tell me more of your battle with the lizard-hawk. To my knowledge, never before has a single man slain the Terror of the Skies.”

Their meal complete, they sat at ease before the pit of fire. The hard life of a mercenary warrior had but rarely afforded Thongor such cushioned ease, and with a full belly and a goodly supply of wine he stretched out like a great golden-eyed cat.

“Tell me of your plans,” Sharajsha urged, so Thongor briefly sketched out his intentions to seek service either with the legions of Hashab Chan, Sark of Kathool, or with those of another of the cities along the Gulf.

Sharajsha unrolled a mighty map drawn with colored inks on tanned leather. “Here is the site of my underground palace,” the old wizard mused, setting his thumb on a spot among the southern foothills of the Mountains of Mommur, “and here is Kathool of the Purple Towers on the River Saan to the north of Patanga. You have many vom of impenetrable jungle to cross ere you can come to Kathool.”

“So I see,” the barbarian grunted. “And on foot, as well, unless your generous hospitality extends to lending me a zamph.”

The magician nodded. “That will I do, and gladly, if need be. But there is a chance that your flying boat can be repaired, in which case you can traverse the distance between my palace and Kathool in ease and swiftness.”

“Know you aught of these flying ships?” the young barbarian inquired.

Sharajsha shrugged. “Something I know of the inventions of Oolim Phon, and still more I conjecture. But these matters must await our attentions till tomorrow, when we shall return to the jungle and seek out the wrecked air-boat. I will be able to say more when I have inspected the wreckage. As for tonight, at least, you are my guest.”

Thongor nodded. Then:

“You said you had need of a warrior,” he demanded bluntly. “But you have not mentioned anything more about it. What is it all about?”

The old Wizard of Lemuria pondered, staring deep into the roaring fire as one slim hand stroked his long beard thoughtfully.

“I do indeed; yet of this I would reserve speech until another time, if you will indulge me, swordsman. After we have found the ruin of your sky floater and have ascertained the full extent of its damage, I may very well make you an offer of employment for a time. Let us leave this question, too, until tomorrow. Now it is time for bed. Old bones grow weary, and young ones too, when they have striven as mightily as you have this day. Come, I will conduct you to your room.”

* * * *

That night Thongor slept a deep and dreamless sleep. His first suspicions of the age-old Wizard of Lemuria were quieted, for it was obvious that the ancient sage meant him no harm.

And thus were they met at last, Thongor of Valkarth and Sharajsha of Zaar, and thus were the feet of the youthful warrior set on the first steps of that mighty road that would either lead him to the glory of a kingly throne—or to a black and terrible death.

CHAPTER 6

The Science of Sharajsha

It was Sharajsha who read the dark schemes of the Druids, and against their stupendous plot he stood alone and set his hand against their dread wisdom. And thus the world stood trembling on the brink of ultimate and conquering chaos in the days before the coming of Thongor the Mighty into the kingdoms of the West.

—
The Lemurian Chronicles
,
Book Three, Chapter Ten

An hour past daybreak the warrior and the wizard arose from sleep and broke their fast with a hearty meal. The sage was eager to examine the wreckage of the airboat as soon as possible, that the mighty predators of the Chushan jungles might not damage it further; so they made their meal in haste and were ready to depart ere the sun was scarce risen into the blue vault of heaven.

They mounted two zamphs which the old wizard kept penned in one of the outer chambers of his cavernous home, beyond the gates of his underground palace. With Sharajsha in the lead, they made their way out of the gigantic cave, through the rocky foothills of the mountains, and into the jungles of savage Chush.

Alone and unaided, Thongor would have found it difficult if not impossible to retrace his steps to the place whereat the stolen floater had crashed into the treetops. But the old Wizard of Lemuria had watched the fall of the airboat and had carefully marked the spot in his mind; hence they found no great difficulty in making their way to the spot, although the journey consumed some hours of morning due to the dense growth of the jungles and the difficulties of making passage.

Most of the more dangerous meat-eaters that roamed the wild did their hunting at night and slept in secret lairs by day; hence the two had little fear of coming upon one of the mighty jungle dragons of Chush. But Sharajsha took special precautions to make doubly certain that their journey should not be interrupted by the saurian predators of the jungle. He bore with him at his waist a flacon of some peculiar drug which he had concocted in his laboratorium. To the sight it was a dark, thick, sluggish oil. It had no odor, or at least none that even the keen nostrils of the youthful barbarian could detect. But Sharajsha assured him that the drug would frighten off any large brute that came within a certain distance and caught the scent. Thongor noticed that even the zamphs were uneasy in their proximity to the strange fluid, although they were not meat-eaters.

Whether or not the drug and its repellent powers were the cause, the fact was that no animal life came within view during the length of their journey through the jungle to the wreckage of the floater. They located the site without any particular difficulty. The airboat was still tightly wedged between the bent branches of a giant crimson lotifer tree, and it looked in sorry state.

The glistening uriium plating of the hull was crumpled like a crisp sheet of parchment that had been crushed in the grip of giant hands. In many places seams had been ruptured so that the steel girders of the inner construction were exposed to view like portions of a skeleton glimpsed through torn flesh.

The problem looked hopeless to Thongor. But Sharajsha did not seem discouraged. With the aid of the giant barbarian, the old magician rigged strong cables and pulleys, and in an hour or two, with much labor, they succeeded in dislodging the airboat from the entangling branches. They pulled it down to ground level so the wizard could examine it more closely.

“It is the hull plates of weightless urlium that make the flying car buoyant,” the old wizard mused. “The motive power comes from the long, coiled springs that run from stem to stern beneath the deck. Although torn and bent and battered, the urlium hull still has power to resist the pull of the earth, and the rotors themselves do not seem to have suffered any damage.”

“You mean to say this wreckage can still fly?” Thongor demanded incredulously.

The old man nodded. “Yes. The dents in the hull can be hammered out again and the bent plates can be straightened. A little carpentry will soon repair the crushed cabin. Come—let us bring the flying car back to my workshops where I can begin the task.”

Thongor was amazed but kept his silence. The old wizard displayed astounding resources.

They fastened the airboat’s cable to the saddlebow of the wizard’s zamph and bore it back to the subterranean palace. It floated in midair behind the great beast.

Thongor helped maneuver the slim craft through the cavern and into Sharajsha’s laboratory. The proud, immaculate flying boat that had shimmered in all its sleek perfection above the citadel of Thurdis was now a battered hulk. It looked a hopeless wreck to the giant barbarian, but the wizard again expressed certainty that he could repair the craft.

“By the luck of the Nineteen Gods the floater lost none of her urlium plates. Those I could not easily replace. Everything else can be made like new again. And I am eager to examine the structure of the rotors and the control system. Yes, swordsman, in a few days you will be able to fly on to Kathool—or to anywhere else you might desire—as if the lizard-hawks had never driven you from the sky.”

Sharajsha put on a leather working-smock and began laying out his tools. Thongor gazed restlessly about the laboratory. Athanors and crucibles were ranged about on long benches, and tables were littered with odd-looking flasks and tubes of glass. Aludels, curcurbits, alembics, cupels, and other mysterious vessels and devices lined the walls of the long room.

“Can I help?”

“No. Amuse yourself by exploring my home.”

His offer of aid rejected, Thongor left the wizard to his task and wandered restlessly through the strange chambers, exploring the underground castle.

One great room was lined with books of magical science—books small and huge, some of them as tall as a full-grown man. Some were bound in bouphar leather. Others were bound between plates of worked metal or unfamiliar carven wood. They were written in a dozen tongues, and Thongor, idly opening one bound in the thick fur of a green wolf, was repelled by the weird hieroglyphics painted upon the vellum sheets in inks of scarlet, black, and gold.

Another chamber was the wizard’s chemical laboratory. Tanks of green-glowing phosphor fluids bubbled beneath magic fires. Earthen crocks and metal tubes bore seething liquids through the tortuous spirals and windings of some strange experiment beyond Thongor’s untutored comprehension. A wired human skeleton stood on a rack in one corner. A man’s brain hung suspended in a large globe filled with cloudy fluid. Bundles of dried herbs and canisters of colored powder filled the air with pungent, repellent fumes.

Thongor wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Magic!” he growled.

Another room was more to his liking. The walls bore weapons from a hundred cities, clamped with iron to the stone. Swords, spears, bows, and javelins…the crooked dirks of the assassins of Dalakh and the leaf-bladed knives of Darundabar hung beside the feather-crested spears of Vozashpa and the giant war axes of lost, immemorial Yb. He spent a pleasant hour testing the weight and balance of the wizard’s armory.

These were all enchanted weapons with magical powers, the barbarian assumed. Some of the blades were scratched with Northlander runes; others bore the acid-etched sigils of Zaar, the Black City of the Magicians. On some he recognized the protective signs used by the gigantic Blue Nomads of the eastern plains. Magic weapons were not to his liking.

In one sword’s hilt an enormous ruby was set. It gleamed like a watchful eye. And like a living eye, it turned in its socket as if to observe him as he passed from the chamber.

* * * *

That night after dinner, the old wizard and the barbarian warrior sat talking over goblets of chilled wine and bowls of fresh waterfruit while firelight cast huge shadows that leaped and capered over the stone walls.

The wizard reported on the day’s progress.

“I have softened the urlium prow by heating the plates in my furnaces. And I have hammered and bent them back into shape again. Now I must do the same for the keel and hull plates. But that task I shall leave for tomorrow. Let us discuss other matters. Tell me, Thongor of Valkarth, what are your plans? Where will you go once the floater is repaired and you may fly where you will?”

Thongor shrugged lazily. “Kathool, possibly. As I told you, I had thought to seek service under the Sark of that city. Or perhaps back into the Northlands again. I don’t really know, nor does it greatly matter.” With a grim smile, he quoted a maxim from The
Scarlet Edda
: “‘A good sword never goes far without finding hire.’”

The old magician eyed him shrewdly. “Then you have not committed your sword to the service of the Sark of Kathool?”

“No. I shall go where Father Gorm guides me.”

“Very well, then. Let me tell you a story, Valkarthan. Perhaps there shall be an offer of employment at the end. As you may remember, I said I had need of a strong warrior.”

Thongor nodded impassively. “Yes. I wondered what you meant by that, old man. Why a wizard of your powers should need the steel of a warrior to fight his battles I cannot puzzle out. But go ahead with your tale, if you will.” The wizard stared for a long moment into the leaping flames while Thongor poured himself another goblet of chilled wine. Then:

“It is a strange story, and an old one, and the ending is not certain.… I cannot clearly see it—even I, to whom the unwritten future is as an open book…but I fear me, Barbarian. Aye, I, Sharajsha, fear!”

Thongor glanced at him curiously.

“Fear?” he repeated. “Fear what?”

The old magician spoke five words in a slow, solemn voice. Five words that sent a chill down Thongor’s spine and made his nape-hairs prickle as if with some obscure presentiment of unknown terrors to come.

“
The destruction of the world
.”