Every spaceman has an automatic sense of orientation. In ancient days,
when clipper ships sailed the seas of Earth, the Yankee skippers knew
the decks beneath their feet, and they knew the stars. Southern Cross
or Pole Star told them in what latitudes they sailed. In unknown
waters, they still had their familiar keels and the familiar stars.
So it is with the spacemen who drift from Pluto to Mercury Darkside,
trusting to metal hulls that shut in the air and shut out the vast
abysses of interplanetary space. When they work outship, a glance at
the sky will tell a trained man where he is--and only tough, trained
men survive the dangerous commerce of space. On Mercury the blazing
solar corona flames above the horizon; on clouded Venus the green star
of Earth shines sometimes. On Io, Callisto, Ganymede, a man can orient
himself by the gigantic mother planet--Saturn or Jupiter--and in the
Asteroid Belt, there is always the strange procession of little worlds
like lanterns, some half-shadowed, others brightly reflecting the Sun's
glare. Anywhere in the System the sky is friendly--
Except on Asgard. Jupiter was too far and too small; Mars was scarcely
visible; the Asteroid Belt not much thicker than the Milky Way. The
unfamiliar magnitudes of the planets told Stuart, very surely, that he
was on unknown territory. He was without the sure, safe anchor that
spacemen depend upon, and that lack told him how utterly he stood alone
now.
But the unreasoning confidence did not flag. If anything, it mounted
stronger within him as he hurried along the road, his rangy legs
eating up the miles with easy speed. The sooner he reached his goal,
the better he'd like it. Nor did he wish to encounter any more of the
Aesir's guardians--his business was with the Aesir!
The tower of light grew taller as he went on. Now he saw that it was
a cluster of buildings, massed cylinders of varying heights, each
one gigantic in diameter as well as height, and all shining with that
cold, shadowless radiance that apparently came from the stone--or
metal--itself. The road led directly to the base of the tallest tower.
It ran between shining pillars--a gateless threshold--and was lost
in silvery mists. No bars were needed to keep visitors out of this
fortress!
Briefly a cool wind of doubt blew upon Stuart. He hesitated, wishing he
had at least his blaster gun. But he was unarmed; he had even left the
club back in the forest.
He glanced around.
The red moon was sinking. A heavier darkness was creeping over the
land. Very far away he thought he saw the shifting flicker of dancing
lights--a Watcher?
He hurried onward.
Cyclopean, the tower loomed above him, like a shining rod poised to
strike. His gaze could not pierce the mists beyond the portal.
He stepped forward--between the twin pillars. He walked on blindly into
the silver mists.
Twenty steps he took--and paused, as something dark and shapeless swam
into view before him. A pit--at his feet.
In the dimness he could not see its bottom, but a narrow bridge crossed
the gulf, a little to his left. Stuart crossed the bridge. Solidity was
again under his feet.
With shocking suddenness, a great, brazen bellow of laughter roared
out. Harsh mockery sharpened it. And it was echoed.
All around Stuart the laughter thundered--and was answered. The walls
gave it back and echoed it. The bellowing laughter of gods deafened
Stuart.
The mists drifted away--were sucked down into the pit. They vanished.
As though they fled from that evil laughter.
Stuart stood in a chamber that must have occupied the entire base of
that enormous tower. Behind him the abyss gaped. Before him a shifting
veil of light hid whatever lay behind it. But all around, between
monstrous pillars, were set thrones, ebon thrones fifty feet tall.
On the thrones sat giants!
Titan figures, armored in glittering mail, ringed Stuart, and instantly
his mind fled back to half-forgotten folk-lore.... Asgard, Jotunheim,
the lands of the giants and the gods. Thor and Odin, sly Loki and
Baldur--they were all here, he thought, bearded colossi roaring their
black laughter into the shaking air of the hall.