Young Thongor (33 page)

A groan of mute suffering from the young swordsman at his side awoke Thongor from these dark thoughts. Ald Turmis, too, was imprisoned—and his prison was his own living flesh, slowly, inch by inch, petrifying into solid stone. A doom darker and more terrible even than that of the enslaved Demon Prince.

It was time for Thongor to act. He had not moved since the Ptarthan wizard had sent the strange beam of azure radiance sweeping over him and his companion.

Secure in his high place, throned in the midst of his magical forces at the nexus of two universes, Athmar Phong little dreamed that the young barbarian was not rendered helpless from the eerie power of the immobilizing ray. But now Thongor swung into action.

He reached out and laid his hand upon the shoulder of Ald Turmis—the hand that held the all-potent Shield of Cathloda. The flesh of his comrade was harsh, dry, rough and cold to his touch. The surface of the young Zangabali’s skin felt strangely granular. But the nullifying powers of the protective amulet were enormous—strong enough to whelm the spell of the blue ray, aye, and far stronger, as would soon be seen.

Ald Turmis cried out as the amulet touched his hardening flesh. A tingle of weird force swept through his body, like the shuddering electric force of lightning. Through every cell and organ, every gland and muscle and tissue of his body it swept, and the spell of Athmar Phong ebbed and died before it. The young swordsman, suddenly freed from the effects of the spell, staggered and fell to one knee, gasping with relief.

On the sparkling crystal throne, Athmar Phong froze with utter astonishment.

Thongor tossed back his unshorn mane and roared with laughter. “Now, wizard—if swords cannot battle against sorcery, we will see what happens when I pit magic against magic!” And before the wizard could move or think, Thongor whipped back his mighty arm—and hurled the all-potent amulet straight at the black mirror of Zaffar.

It flew, glittering, through the dawn-lit air. Straight as an arrow to its mark it sped, and when it touched the invisible forces that wove a viewless shield about the wizard’s throne of power, great spells were broken. Canceled energies flashed through the spectrum of visible light. A terrific flash of eye-searing radiance lit the hall like some supernal sun.

Tears pouring from his blinded eyes, Athmar Phong screamed terribly, high and shrill like an animal in pain. He lurched unsteadily to his feet, pawing at his eyes.

Hurled with the irresistible strength of Thongor’s mighty arm, the Shield of Cathloda flew through the flashing energy field—and crashed full into the black mirror. The mirror came apart in a dark flash of released forces—it shattered to grains of black dust.

For a single instant, as age-old spells were broken, tremendous energy was released. A seething ball of black flame surged about the crystal throne. The silver pedestal, at the very node and nexus of the canceled binding forces, flashed with intolerable heat. It glowed crimson, then canary, then blinding white. It slumped, crumbling slowly, like the shaft of a waxen candle suddenly thrust into the heart of a roaring furnace. Glowing rivulets of molten metal flowed over the topmost tier of the dais like serpents of liquid flame.

One blazing rivulet crawled between the staggering legs of the blinded, howling wizard. His glistening, black cloak went up in a puff of fire. Suddenly sheathed from throat to heel in a sheet of crackling flame, the wizard screeched and fell flopping and writhing to the steps. He rolled down them and crashed against the stone paving of the hall, crushing out the flames beneath his heavy weight. Panting, his flesh blistered and blackened, he staggered to his knees, sobbing with agony and naked fury.

But neither Thongor nor Ald Turmis could spare a glance for the dethroned sorcerer. Their gaze was riveted with horrible fascination at that which stood above the dais. For the Shield of Cathloda had severed the seven thousand spells which had bound the Demon Prince within the depths of the enchanted glass.

Now Aqquoonkagua was free
.

12

Flames of Hell

Up out of the whirling cloud of black flame towered and grew a titanic shape of terror. It was crimson, and covered with crawling fire; bestial of shape, hulking and monstrous. It had great sloping shoulders like some mighty ape, from which long arms swung, arms that ended in great three-clawed paws, that also smoldered and smoked as if molded out of red-hot iron.

Up and up it went until it loomed forty feet above the stone pavement. Flames slithered across its shaggy skin; the fiery red light that beat up from it was dazzling. The room swirled with smoke. Blistering heat like the breath of an open furnace went baking across the hall in waves. Soot blackened the walls and hung thick in the air.

Roaring, raging, the crimson thing stood free after long, weary centuries of time. It had no neck. A heavy-jawed, apelike head swung between the burly shoulders. One huge eye blazed with fires of madness under beetling brows. The fanged maw gaped and slavered. One great paw closed into a fist and came smashing down on the soot-blackened, overturned throne. It burst to fragments and was ground to dust under the weight of the blow. The other paw reached down for Athmar Phong.

Naked, the wizard’s heavy body sprawled panting at the foot of the dais. Blind and horribly burnt, the Ptarthan sorcerer somehow knew or guessed what was about to happen. Like a huge, fat slug writhing under the gardener’s hoe, he squalled and wriggled on the hot paving as the titanic, flaming hand came down upon him. Waves of heat beat from the grasping paw, crisping flesh and withering cloth to ash. The demon’s hand was huge as the wizard’s body, and the three mighty claws were big as smouldering logs. The searing heat of the demon’s flesh smote him first, and he kicked and screamed. Then the hand came down upon him and snatched him up.

Thongor had seen much of battle and death and suffering, but never before had he heard such a cry wrung from mortal lips as that which now went ringing through the hall. A hoarse, terrible bellow of ultimate agony and unutterable despair—the sort of cry that rips the lining of the human throat.

The naked wizard flopped and wriggled on the flaming palm of the demon’s hand. Then the burning claws closed over him slowly—tightened—and the screams were cut off. The sickening stench of broiling human flesh filled the great hall. Ald Turmis gagged and spat; Thongor’s own gorge rose at the nauseating smell.

Bearing the smoking corpse of Athmar Phong in one great paw, the roaring, raging demon burst up through the dome of dawn-lit crystal and was gone—back to whatever ultracosmic hell the blasphemous rituals of the thaumaturge Zaffar had conjured it from, ages ago.

The broken dome collapsed, strewing the soot-smeared pavement with shattered wreckage. Mighty stone pillars, shoved askew by the demon’s skyward passage, toppled slowly, shaking the wizard’s house to its foundations as they came crashing down. Black cracks zigzagged through the fabric of the walls. The house was coming down upon their heads.

Thongor grabbed Ald Turmis by the shoulder, shouting through the roar of wreckage. They ran across the buckling stone flags for the yawning blackness of the secret panel, which still stood open. Thongor snatched up their cloaks and harnesses as they sprinted for freedom.

The terrific heat of the demon’s crimson body had touched to flame the tapestries and hangings in the hall. Overturned benches and fallen beams blazed like oil-soaked torches. The ruined hall was transformed into a thundering inferno within mere instants.

The two warriors plunged into the black door and vanished from view. Down the secret passageways they went. Room after room, as they passed, was bursting into flame. It was weird to see solid marble burn, and metal, and crystal, too. The fires that blazed within the demon’s body were the fires of some ultracosmic inferno—hotter than any flames of man’s knowledge. The terrible hellfire burned through stone walls and floors, consuming everything in its path like a ravenous dragon.

And thus it was that doom came down upon the house of Athmar Phong and he was never again seen by the eyes of men.

13

A New Day Dawns

The morning breeze blew fresh and clean from the great Gulf of Patanga, and the tang of the wet salt sea was upon it. They drew deep lungfuls of cold, fresh air with hearty zest after the stench of the burning house and the reeking slime of the subterranean passage. It was good to be alive, and free, watching the sun come up over the shoulder of the world. All things looked pure and clean and new in the clear, strong light, and the horrors of the night were over and done. Thongor drank deep of cold red wine and stretched out his weary legs with a grunt of satisfaction.

They had found the secret door in the pits, the door that led to the branching ways of the subterranean network of tunnels beneath the city, and for a time they had followed the yellow Yan Hu characters that marked the way back to the Temple of Seven Gods. But Thongor had not survived this long in the Land of Peril—as the
Scarlet Edda
named all these realms of the devil-haunted Southlands—without evolving a strong and canny sense of survival. Why return empty-handed to the gaunt, scheming priest? He would pay nothing for a task undone—and Kaman Thuu would not be very happy to learn the black mirror was now destroyed for all time. Instead, the barbarian recalled what the priest had said about Shan Yom glyphs with which side tunnels were blazoned in scarlet, glowing pigment. Hence he and Ald Turmis had taken this route, and come out in an empty alleyway beside the seafront where tall ships rode at anchor, waiting on the morning tide.

The two youths were filthy, hungry and exhausted from the trials of their night in the house of hell. But it would have been unlike Thongor to have come forth empty-handed from the wizard’s house; so he had lingered for a moment in one of the lower chambers to snatch up a gem-covered ornament or two with which he and Ald Turmis had purchased themselves a hearty breakfast in the quayside tavern called The Sailor’s Haven.

Across the rooftops of the city, a pillar of oily black smoke stood against the pure morning skies. Blue and scarlet flames flickered through it strangely. The house of Athmar Phong was burnt to ashes and all his terrible sorceries were dust, aye, and the loathsome, mewling hybrids of his blasphemous experiments in life-making had gone to rest at last and were freed forever from the torment of living. But still the rubble burned.

“Where now?” Thongor grunted to his companion.

Ald Turmis emptied the last drop of wine from their third bottle and sat back with a sigh of repletion. “The gods know, friend,” he said. “But one thing at least is certain: it would be unhealthy for the two of us to remain here in Zangabal for long. Kaman Thuu has long arms and many cunning fingers. And he will not like this night’s black business, you may set a wager on that!”

“I know,” Thongor grunted lazily. “I have a mind to see the gates of Zangabal close shut behind my back, and to strike out for another city. I have good reasons for avoiding Shembis, where I am not enamoured of the Sark, Arzang Pome. What about this Thurdis, the Dragon City across the Gulf, of which you spoke earlier?”

“Well, why not?” said Ald Turmis. “Phal Thurid, Sark of Thurdis, arms himself for conquest and I have heard he enlists a mighty host of warriors. Surely there is a place among his warriors for your mighty broadsword, and my rapier. Shall we try our fortunes in the ranks of the mercenaries? There is a merchant galley flies the Dragon of Thurdis at the ninth quay. They sail with the early morning tide, and if you have any gold left after purchasing this magnificent feast of which I can eat not a single bite more, perhaps we can buy passage to Thurdis. Shall we go together for a while, Thongor, and see what Fate has in store for us?”

Thongor stretched lazily, like a great cat. His black cloak was slung about his bare, bronze shoulders, and a gold coin or two still nested in the pocket-pouch of his warrior’s harness. He ached to shake the dust of Zangabal from his heels, and to feel the gulf-wind blow fresh and clean in his face, and to explore the winding ways of a new city for a time.

“Well, why not?” he growled, and it was decided.

And thus were the feet of Thongor set upon the path that would lead him in the fullness of time to a destiny stranger and more glorious than that of other men…

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

LIN CARTER
(1930-1988) was one of the most prolific proponents of sword & sorcery, and his work in promoting and expanding Robert E. Howard’s “Conan” series helped introduce the genre to countless millions of fans. He is also the creator not only of Thongor, his own best-selling fantasy hero, but of numerous other series which have delighted legions of fans over the decades. His “Green Star,” “Terra Magicka,” “World’s End,” and “Callisto” books have long proved themselves popular favorites. Wildside Press has reprinted many of Carter’s best-known works in recent years.

ROBERT M. PRICE
(born July 7, 1954) has written a significant amount of articles and short fiction. He edited and wrote regularly for the excellent
Crypt of Cthulhu
magazine and also edits and writes for the extensive Chaosium, Inc. Mythos books, inspired by the work of H.P. Lovecraft and arguably the most exhaustive compilation of Mythos related fiction published anywhere in the (known) universe. His critical, thoroughly researched articles, mainly on Mythos fiction, have appeared regularly since 1981. His is also the author of a book-length study on Lin Carter’s fiction.