It was too late. The urn was turning in the hands of the androids.
* * * * *
The Black Priest cried in a strangely sweet voice for such a man,
"Foolish rebels! For the last time you have dared defy the power of
all-consuming Aava. This time you die! Swing the urn. Let the outlaws
taste the green kiss of mighty Aava, that he may take them with him to
the land of nevermore!"
The black orifice of the urn was becoming rounder as it tilted down.
Deep in the rounded bowl, green fire shimmered.
Thor went forward, swinging his sword. It was not as good as an axe,
but it would do. He flung it straight for the broad chest of the Black
Priest, and followed it.
He saw the blade go deep into the man, saw him stagger backwards,
bellowing his rage. Then Thor was reaching for the top rail of the
balcony, leaping, his legs like springs beneath him.
Thor caught the top rail and used it as the pole vaulter uses his pole.
His wrists turned and his hips twisted. He went up over the bar.
His feet hit the urn, with two hundred pounds of muscles and
desperation behind it.
The urn tilted back.
The androids screamed as the green flame leaped outward. For one
instant they hung there, as though in green mist. Their open mouths and
bulging eyes were straining to escape what they tasted and saw. It was
no use.
Thor knew the androids were dissolving even as he brought his left fist
up to the Black Priest's jaw. The man went back, heels dragging on the
balcony floor. He lay where he had fallen, motionless.
Thor went and stared into the urn. The green flame was dead, now, just
glittering green stuff, like crystallized moss.
Yorg called, "Hurry, Thor Masterson. We have broken them but Aava will
send more."
He swung from the balcony, a frown furrowing his forehead. There was
something about that green flame--
Karola was waiting for him. She slipped her hand in his and tugged. "We
mustn't stay here, Thor. You heard what Yorg said."
Thor stepped over fallen androids, with arrows and lances jutting from
mouth and eye-sockets, with crushed and split-open skulls.
Thor stood in the arch of the gates and stared back at the balcony
where the black urn lay tilted. That green stuff! His head was
churning, trying to catch the elusive thought that dipped and darted
out of reach of his mental hands. He shook his head.
"There's something about Aava--"
"Thor, please. There isn't time. Yorg says at any moment Aava will send
androids to surround us. They will fetch other urns. We will die."
He snapped awake to the knowledge that he was walking with a frightened
Karola behind the others, that ahead of him the women and the men were
running. They had gone through the gates and were spreading out over
the streets and alleys of the cyclopean city.
"Yorg! Tor Kan! Gordon!"
The Englishman heard him, came to him through the press, his longbow
strung with a ready arrow.
"Jolly brush, what? Found I haven't lost my eye for a target. Got
thirty of the blighters, myself."
Thor said, "We'll never escape Aava in his city. There's only one
chance. We have to use the gatestone, and scatter. Can you get the
others?"
Peter threw back his head and sent a shrill cry ululating across the
streets. The men and women paused, looking back over their shoulders.
Gordon waved an arm. Fearfully, the listeners began to return.
Thor lifted out the ruby, told the others to grasp it, as many as
possible. He said, "Once we get into that other world, it will be easy
for us to lose ourselves. Aava and his Black Priest do not know we
possess a gatestone. They will search for us here in the city. While
they hunt here, we will be far away."
Kor Tan rumbled, "Good. We will find our way as close as possible to
our settlements. Then you, Thor Masterson, will find us with that ruby."
Hands stretched out. The ruby turned.
* * * * *
It did not take long. A ruby will turn swiftly in a steady hand, making
many trips with people eager to be saved from the green blast of Aava.
There were some who had not heard Peter Gordon call, and they stayed
behind in the city. But the great majority of them were taken through
the dimensional door by the red ruby, and set down on waving grasslands
and bleak rocks.
With the red grasses brushing his ankles, Thor said, "We cannot search
for the others. Aava will have his androids in the streets. Scatter
now. Make your way toward the settlement. Gordon, will you come with
us? I don't know my way to the settlement of yours."
"Glad to, Masterson."
Slag, Karola, Thor and the Englishman watched the others walk swiftly
to the four corners of the horizon.
Gordon said, "We'd better take the most roundabout way I can think of.
It will take us longer, but it will be safer. You have the gatestone.
No one must get you."
They travelled swiftly and lightly for four days. Peter Gordon brought
down juicy rabbits with his arrows for food, and taught Slag to use his
weapon. With the wild man's aptitude for arms, the red dwarf was swift
to learn.
On the morning of the fifth day, Thor Masterson went ahead of the
others to scout. He strode up over massive rocks, to reach the summit
of a small hill from which to look into the next valley.
When he reached the top, he halted in amazement.
* * * * *
A ship rested on black rock, tilted over. On the rotted white sail,
there was the remnants of a dragon's head worked in red. From the prow,
with its upreared serpent's neck and gaping jaws and forked tongue, to
the stern where a broken rudder lay across the rock, it was every inch
a Viking ship. A few shields still hung on the wooden sides. The mast,
splintered, stood at a dangerous angle from the sloping deck.
Thor went up the rudder-stick and clambered over the side.
A skeleton lay near the helm, a vest of rusted-through chain-mail
pooled on the white bones. A little in front of what had been a hand,
lay a great axe.
Thor grinned, seeing that axe. He reached for the ivory haft, lifted
and swung it around his head.
He staggered.
The pain was unbearable, there in his side. He reached down, felt in
his pocket. His fingers closed on the ruby.
With a curse, he flung the jewel from him. His palm still stung from
its icy coldness. The ruby hit the deck and bounded across the ancient
planks. It rolled to a stop near a shield.
Thor stared at it.
The ruby was changing, right there in front of him. It pulsed and
throbbed with the light inside it. Its red hues gave way to deep, royal
purple; an angry purple.
Thor went nearer. He could see the beat and heave of the Green Flame,
trapped in the crystallized alumina. It waxed and surged, as though
battering against its jeweled walls.
"Aava!" he whispered.
"Of course, Aava. Did you think I put parts of my immortal self in
these bits of stuff to pass the time? They are myself; I, them. It is
my method of keeping watch on all my planet. I am with every android
who carries a gatestone, if I so will."
Thor lifted the axe; he looked from it to the ruby, at the greenish
fire flaring within it.
"No use," Aava thought-waved at him. "You cannot harm me, just as I
cannot harm you--in this form. I have been searching for you. You
invaded the Cave of Life with the Discoverer. You stole a gatestone.
You raided my arsenal and woman-stockade. You assaulted the Black
Priest. You overturned Aava-in-the-urn. A long list for one man."
There was silence. Above his head, Thor heard the rotting sail flap
dismally in the slight wind. He shifted and a plank creaked underfoot.
Aava went on, "But I am a patient being, and kind. I bear no ill will.
Become my man, you who call yourself--what is it--Thor? You will not
regret your move."
Thor thought of Karola's golden hair and red mouth, of Peter Gordon and
his bow, of Slag, of Kor Tan, of white Yorg. They and the others were
depending upon him. They needed him and his gatestone to return them to
their settlements and safety and peace.
He shook his head, gripping the war-axe tighter.
Aava chuckled, "You _are_ an idiot, aren't you? Oh, I can read your
thoughts. It isn't hard for someone who's spent an untold eternity of
eons living by one's self. You train yourself to do things.... You have
loyalty in your heart. You love this woman with the yellow hair.
"But what is one woman? What are casual friends? I can give you more
than that. I can give you anything you want.
"Permit me to demonstrate. Turn the gatestone."
The sail flapped louder in the breeze. A shaft of sunlight glinted on
the edge of a shield fastened to the side of the longboat. Thor bit his
tongue inside his mouth. It came home to him suddenly, with the force
of a powerfully swung sledge, that he was trapped irrevocably.
The outlaws who fought Aava needed the gatestone to get to their
settlements. He had the gatestone, but Aava was alive and awake, inside
it. Whenever and wherever he used it, Aava would know. The settlements
would no longer be secret. If he used the gatestone to transport the
outlaws home, he would be leading an army to slay them!
Thor growled in his throat.
Aava laughed softly. He urged, "Turn the gatestone. Let me show you the
wonders I could give a man like you, were he to be my friend. I want a
friend, a strong friend. I do not trust my androids overly. They are
only pseudo-life. Besides, there are too few of them to build an empire
with. Lack of materials to make them has hampered me.
"Will you be my friend, Thor?"
Thor blinked. The insidiously sweet voice was working its will on him.
He found himself thinking about those wonders and those marvels. Why
not? What allegiance did he owe Gordon and the rest? Karola now, that
was different. And Slag.
"You may have your woman, if you want her after I show you--my brand of
woman!"
"It is a trick!" Thor rasped.
"What trick? What harm can I do you inside this jewel?"
That was true enough. If worst came to worst, he could always stuff the
ruby into his pocket and get away. Aava couldn't see where he was going
inside a dark pocket. He could see only when he was out in the open,
such as he would be when Thor used the ruby as a gatestone.
"Use it, man."
Thor bent and held out his hand toward the red gem. It winked and
flirted with him with its gorgeous purple hues. It was no longer cold
with the iciness that stung. It was warm, with the heat of a human
body. His fingers closed on it. The ruby throbbed softly, like a living
heart.
"Now--turn me!"
* * * * *
Gone was the ship with its flapping sail and ancient planking. Gone was
the sea of grass and the broken rocks. Thor almost dropped the ruby,
staring.
A fey city stood not one hundred feet from him, set on the hard sands.
It glowed with the creamy luminescence of alabaster where sunshafts
struck its white walls and domes and needled spires. Crimson bands,
interlaced with black, formed patterns of eerie loveliness against
the whiteness. Inside its walls a chorus of sweet voices chanted with
ensorcelled harmony.
The red doors in the wall swung open.
Chariots drawn by great black stallions raced toward him. Standing
behind the hooped fronts were women of exquisite loveliness, their hair
streaming behind them, whips held in red-nailed hands. They sang as
they came, a song of sounds that stirred the senses.
"This is yours, Thor. All yours."
"It is unreal. It is too lovely to be real."
"It is real."
The lead chariot slithered on the sands, powdering Thor's ankles with
grit. The black stallions reared, their hooves slashing at air.
The girl in the chariot caught Thor's eyes with hers, and laughed. She
tossed the reins aside and stepped from the tailboard. Her red hair
hung to her waist in back, and was powdered with silver dust. She held
out white hands to Thor.
Thor reached out and grasped her hands. They felt real. And looking
into her brown eyes, seeing all the beauty of her in gauze skirt and
white linen cloak worked with a border of red and black interlacing, he
almost felt his doubts vanish.
His fingers rubbed at her hand, twisting the flesh. That was real
flesh. The girl seemed to catch his thought, for she came nearer and
pressed herself to him.
"Kiss me, and know," she breathed.
Her mouth was warm and clinging. After a while she drew away and
laughed, "Well?"
"You're real."
Aava whispered, "All yours, Thor. Go with her. Let her show you the
city that is yours, that belongs to the friend of Aava."
He thought of Karola waiting with Slag and Peter Gordon. He felt the
warm hand of the red-haired girl tug him. Her red mouth blew him a
kiss. Her voice murmured cloyingly, "Come, Thor. Come to your city, and
your throne." Karola seemed far away, forgotten.
Behind the black stallions, the chariot swept on toward the city. It
rode smoothly, easily over the sun-baked sands. The red walls came
nearer, nearer. Now he was under them, and inside the city.
Balconies on either side of the broad avenue were hung with banners and
rich draperies. Men and women in red and yellow and purple garments
laughed and tossed flowers at him, on the backs of the horses, into the
street before him.
"Thor! Lord Thor!" they cried with delight in their voices, and awe and
worship in their eyes.
The girl leaned into the hook of his arm. She said, "This is your city,
Lord Thor. These are your people."
He looked into her brown eyes.
"And you?"
She put her mouth to his and left it there while the chariot thundered
over roses and carnations and the pavement of the streets. Later she
whispered, "Stalyl is yours, too." And Thor rode with chin held high,
and pride in the set of his shoulders.
Before great doors of carved quartz the chariots came to a stop. Stalyl
walked with Thor between the doors, her hip brushing his, her fingers
wrapped around his fingers.
Alabaster pillars rose from an alabaster floor toward a red alabaster
ceiling. Sunlight poured molten pools on the floor through tall
windows. At the far end of the massive hall, on an oval dais of
iridescent opal, stood a gigantic jewel, carved in the semblance of a
throne.
"Lord Thor--your throne," said Stalyl softly.
He went and sat on the cold edge of the massy carnelian, fingering
scarlet arms. In front of him, Stalyl clapped her hands, and young
girls garbed in trousers of striped satin led giant men by chains
around their necks. The men bore caskets in their hands.
Girls and men knelt before the throne. The caskets were placed in an
arc before Thor.
Stalyl went to the first casket, threw back the cover.
Thor choked. It was filled to the brim with diamonds, diamonds that
shimmered and glittered in the sunlight. Stepping down, he reached out
a hand and dipped it into the jewels. He bore a handful, staring at
them. Cut and polished with expert care, the diamonds were white fire
against his palm.
Aava spoke, casting a thought at him from the depths of his pocket,
"You like what I have prepared for my friend, Lord Thor?"
Thor drew out the ruby and held it free in his palm, staring from ruby
to diamonds. "This is my price, eh, Aava? I sell my friends for these
jewels?"
The purple hues of the ruby grew cloudy, as though with hurt. "Who
spoke of selling your friends? I ask no traitor to come to me. I want
the friendship of a true man."
Stalyl moved closer, touching his arm. Her red hair was a flaming halo
around the white, red-lipped face. Her brown eyes burned at him. She
was a living witch's spell of beauty and desire. Her nearness made Thor
tremble.
He opened one hand, and diamonds tinkled on the mosaic floor. He
reached out for the girl, seeing her lips beckon.
The ruby flared warmer, hot with pride. It dragged Thor back to
reality, drumming alarms into his core. Danger, danger! With a wrench
he tore his gaze from Stalyl; looked at the ruby, saw the green fire
beating up with delight.
Thor tottered.