3 - Barbarians of Mars (10 page)

THE PEOPLE OF PURHA

 
          
 
I MUST have walked for many shatis - the
Martian basic measure of time - crossing the rocky plain where Rokin had
crashed to his death, and entering the next stretch of the forest before I
heard some sign of life.

 
          
 
It was a crashing noise in the undergrowth.

 
          
 
It was the sound of some large beast moving
about.

 
          
 
Deciding to be cautious, I drew my sword and
withdrew into the shade of a bole.

 
          
 
Suddenly, from out of the forest, came yet
another weird sight - again almost unbelievable, though this time because the
creature bore such a peculiar resemblance to an earthly animal.

 
          
 
The animal that I confronted, and whose
gleaming eyes had fixed on me in spite of my attempt at seeking cover, was
almost identical to an earth vole.

 
          
 
But this vole was large. It was very large.

 
          
 
It was the size of a half-grown elephant.

 
          
 
And it was hungry - and doubtless omnivorous.

 
          
 
It stood hunched up, regarding me with its
nose twitching and its eyes glittering, preparing perhaps for a spring.

 
          
 
I was so weary, what with my experiences since
Cend-Amrid and the walking I had done to get this far, that I gave myself only
a faint chance of having the strength to defeat the giant vole.

 
          
 
Suddenly, with a peculiar shrill scream, the
creature rushed at me. I ducked behind the tree and this seemed to confuse it
for a moment.

 
          
 
It plainly was not particularly intelligent,
which relieved me - a little - though its bulk, I felt, would be more to its
advantage in my present state of weariness than my wits would be tome.

 
          
 
For a moment it paused. Then it began to edge
round the tree again.

 
          
 
I edged, also, following the trunk of the tree
and keeping it between myself and the gigantic creature that was doubtless bent
on making a supper from me.

 
          
 
Suddenly it made a movement towards the tree,
flinging its huge body at it. The tree groaned and swayed and I was spun
backwards, lying helplessly, for a moment, on the ground.

 
          
 
I began to scramble up as the vole came
towards me, its relatively small jaws open ready to seize me in a bite that
would have severed any part of my body it snapped.

 
          
 
I slashed at the muzzle with my sword,
staggering wearily, my vision focusing and unfocusing as I strove to gather
what little strength I had left.

 
          
 
The teeth only narrowly missed. I could not
run, for the massive creature was faster than I was, and I knew I would not be
able to hold it off much longer.

 
          
 
I knew that I was going to die.

 
          
 
Perhaps this knowledge helped me summon my
last reserves of strength, and I slashed again at the muzzle, drawing blood.
The creature seemed puzzled but it did not retreat, simply holding its ground
while it decided how best to attack me.

 
          
 
Again I swayed with utter tiredness, striving
with everything I had left to remain on my feet and die fighting.

 
          
 
Then, from above and behind the creature, a
rain of slender arrows
came
pounding into the gigantic
vole's body, causing it to scream and convulse in agony. Several arrows whipped
into its eyes as it turned towards its new attackers.

 
          
 
I really thought I must be
dreaming,
that my ill-luck could not have changed so rapidly.

 
          
 
The vole screeched and flailed about. I was
knocked flat by its lashing tail as it turned about and began its death throes.

 
          
 
I lay on the springy grass, wide-eyed for a
moment, thanking providence for my rescue and praying that I was not to fall
into the hands of yet another tribe of barbarians.

 
          
 
As if in the distance, I heard soft voices
talking, and had the vision of graceful figures leaping around the dying vole.
They gave the impression of cats and, before I finally lost grip on
consciousness, I remember reflecting on the paradox of a number of cats
attacking a huge mouse!

 
          
 
Then welcome darkness came. Perhaps I had
passed out, perhaps not - perhaps I merely slept.

 
          
 
I awoke to the touch of a warm, gentle hand on
my head and, opening my eyes, I looked up into the face of the cat-girl who had
originally been responsible for my salvation.

 
          
 
"What happened?" I asked somewhat
thickly.

 
          
 
"We hunted the rheti and found our
prey," she replied softly. "Our prey hunted you - and we were able to
slay the rheti and save you at the same time. Where are your friends?"

 
          
 
I shook my head. "One was killed by the
First Masters," I replied. "The other was borne off by them, I think.
I do not know how he fared."

 
          
 
“You fought the First Masters and lived!” Her
eyes shone with admiration - and something else.
"
This
is a great day. All we had hoped for when I brought you the swords was that you
would be able to die fighting. You will be a hero among our folk."

 
          
 
"I have no wish to be a hero," I
told her.
"Merely a live man - and one who, with luck,
still has a chance to find his vanished friend."

 
          
 
"Which friend was carried off?" she
asked.

 
          
 
"The Blue Giant - Hool
Haji, my closest friend."

 
          
 
“There is little hope for him," she said.

 
          
 
"But is there any?"

 
          
 
"Now now - the First Masters would have
feasted last night."

 
          
 
"Last night!" I sat up. "How
long have I slept?"

 
          
 
"For nearly two days," she said
simply. "You were very weary when we brought you here."

 
          
 
"Two days!
So
long!"

 
          
 
"It is not so long considering what you
did."

 
          
 
"But too long," I said, "for I
lost my chance to save Hool Haji."

 
          
 
"You would never have reached the place
of the First Masters in time, whatever you did," she soothed. "Salute
your friend as a valiant hero. Remember how he died and what that means to
those who have suffered the tyranny of the First Masters all these
centuries."

 
          
 
"I know that I cannot truthfully blame
myself for Hool Haji's death," I said, controlling the emotion I felt at
my great friend's passing, "but that does not stop me mourning him."

 
          
 
"Mourn him if you will, but honour him
also. He slew many of the First Masters. Never was such a battle fought in the
Crystal Pit. Even now the corpses of the First Masters pile its floor. Half of
them, at least, lie dead. Tell me of the fight."

 
          
 
As briefly as I could, I told her what had
happened.

 
          
 
Her eyes began to shine even more brightly and
she clasped her hands together.

 
          
 
"What a great story for our poets!"
she gasped. "Oh, what
is
your name, hero - and
the names of your friends?"

 
          
 
"My friends were called the Bradhi Hool
Haji of Mendishar from across the ocean, and" - I paused, for Rokin had
been no real friend to me, though a valiant comrade in arms in our fights -
"the Bradhi Rokin the Gold of the Bagarad."

 
          
 
"Bradhis!" she cried. "And you?
What are you - a Bradhi of Bradhis? You could be no less."

 
          
 
I smiled at her enthusiasm. "No," I
said. "My name is Michael Kane, Bradhinak by marriage to the Royal House
of Vamal that lies far to the South, across the sea."

 
          
 
"From the South - from
across the sea.
I have heard tales of those mythical lands, the
countries of the gods. There are no gods here. They have abandoned us. Are they
returning to save us from the First Masters?"

 
          
 
"I am no god," I told her, "and
we of the South do not believe in gods. We believe in
Man.
"

 
          
 
"But is not Man a kind of god?" she
asked innocently.

 
          
 
I smiled again. "So he sometimes thinks.
But the men of my land are not supernatural creatures. They are like you, of
flesh and blood and brain. You are no different, though your ancestry is not
the same as ours."

 
          
 
"That is not what the First Masters told
us."

            
"The First Masters can
speak?" I was astonished. "I thought them reasonless beasts."

 
          
 
"They do not speak to us now. But they
left their writings and it is these we read and these we used to follow. The
folk of Hahg still worship the First Masters, but we do not."

 
          
 
"Why do they worship the First Masters? I
should have thought they would have fought such creatures," I said.

 
          
 
“The First Masters created us,” she said
simply.

 
          
 
"Created you - but how?"

 
          
 
"We know not how - save for a few scraps
of stories that speak of the First Masters as once having served even earlier
masters, a race of great magicians who have now passed from Vashu."

 
          
 
I guessed that she spoke of the Sheev or the
Yaksha, who had once ruled the whole of Mars - or Vashu, as they called it.
Perhaps the winged blue men who had fled from Mendishar in the old days had
sought out some remnant of the older race and learned some of their science.

 
          
 
"What do your stories tell you of the
First Masters?” I asked.

 
          
 
'They say that the First Masters created our
ancestors by putting spells on their brains and shaping their bodies so that
they thought and walked like men. For a while our folk -the people of Purha -
and the other folk - the people of Hahg - dwelled together in the City of the
First Masters, serving them and being sacrificed for their magical
purposes."