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THE GOLDEN AMAZONS OF VENUS
By JOHN MURRAY REYNOLDS
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter
1939. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: Dakta death, horrible beyond the weirdest fever-dreams of
Earth-men, faced Space Ship Commander Gerry Norton. The laconic
interplanetary explorer knew too much. He stood in the dynamic path of
Lansa, Lord of the Scaly Ones, the crafty monster bent on conquering the
fair City of Larr and all the rich, shadowless lands of the glorious
Amazons of Venus.]
The space-ship _Viking_--two hundred feet of gleaming metal and polished
duralite--lay on the launching platform of New York City's municipal
airport. Her many portholes gleamed with light. She was still taking on
rocket fuel from a tender, but otherwise all the final stores were
aboard. Her helicopters were turning over slowly, one at a time, as
they were tested.
In the _Viking's_ upper control room Gerry Norton and Steve Brent made a
final check of the instrument panels. Both men wore the blue and gold
uniform of the Interplanetary Fleet. Fatigue showed on both their faces,
on Steve's freckled pan and on Gerry Norton's lean face. Gerry in
particular had not slept for thirty-six hours. His responsibility was a
heavy one, as commander of this second attempt to reach the planet Venus
from Earth. Well--he would have a chance to catch up on sleep during the
long days of travel that lay ahead.
The two officers finished their inspection, and strolled out onto the
open deck atop the vessel. For a while they leaned on the rail, staring
down at the dense crowds that had thronged the airport to see the
departure of the _Viking_. In this warm weather the men wore only light
shorts and gayly colored shirts. The women wore the long dresses and
metal caps and thin gauze veils that were so popular that year. Around
the fringes of the airport stood the ramparts of New York's many tall
buildings, with the four hundred story bulk of the Federal Building a
giant metal finger against the midnight sky.
"When are we going to pull out, Chief?" Steve Brent asked.
"As soon as the ship from Mars gets in and Olga Stark can come aboard."
"Funny thing--I've never been able to like that gal!" Steve said. Gerry
smiled faintly.
"That puts you in the minority, from all reports. However--that's aside
from the point. She's the most capable Space-pilot in the whole fleet,
and we need her. What's she like personally?"
"Tall, dark, and beautiful--with a nasty tongue and the temper of a
fiend," Steve said. He yawned, and changed the subject. "Y'know--I've
just been wondering what really did happen to the _Stardust_!"
Gerry shrugged without replying. That was a question that was bound to
be in the minds of all members of this expedition, whether or not they
put it in words. Travel between Earth and Mars had been commonplace for
more than a generation now, but there had not yet been any communication
with Venus--that cloud-veiled planet whose orbit lay nearer the sun than
that of earth. Two years ago the exploring ship _Stardust_ had started
for Venus. She had simply vanished into the cold of outer space--and
never been heard from again.
* * * * *
Gerry Norton thought the _Viking_ would get through. Science had made
some advances in these past two years. His ship would carry better
rocket fuel than had the _Stardust_, and more efficient gravity plates.
The new duralite hull had the strength to withstand a terrific impact.
They would probably get through. If not--well--he had been taking
chances all his life. You didn't go into the Interplanetary Service at
all if you were afraid of danger.
"There comes the ship from Mars now!" Steve Brent said, suddenly
pointing upward.
A streak of fire like a shooting star had appeared in the sky far above.
It was the rocket blast of the incoming space liner. Yellow flames
played about her bow as she turned on the reverse rockets to reduce the
terrific speed. The roar of the discharge came down through the air like
a faint rumble of distant surf. Then the rockets ceased, and the ship
began to drop down as the helicopters were unfolded to take the weight
and lower her easily through the atmosphere.
"It won't be long now!" Steve said in his low, deep, quiet voice.
"Aye, not long!" boomed a deep voice behind them, "but I'm thinking it
will be a long day before we return to this braw planet of ours!"
Angus McTavish, chief engineer of the _Viking_, was a giant of a man
with a voice that could be heard above the roar of rocket motors when he
chose to raise it. He had a pair of very bright blue eyes--and a
luxuriant red beard. There were probably no more than a dozen full sets
of whiskers worn in the earth in this day and age, and McTavish laid
claim to the most imposing.
"Fuel all aboard, Chief," he said, "The tender's cast off and we're
ready to ride whenever you give the word."
"Just as soon as these people come aboard."
"Tell me, Mac," Steve Brent interposed, "Now that we're all about to
jump off into the unknown--just why _do_ you sport that crop of
whiskers?"
"So I won't have to button my collar, ye feckless loon!" the big
engineer replied instantly.
"The Scots are a queer race."
"Aye, lad--the salt o' the earth. We remain constant in a changing
world. All the rest of you have forgotten race and breed and tradition,
till ye've become as alike as peas in the same pod all over the Earth.
We of Scotland take pride in being the exception."
"And in talking like some wild and kilted highlander of the twentieth
century! You're out of date, Angus!"
"If you two are going to argue about that all the way to Venus," Gerry
said grimly, "I'll toss you both out and let you drift around in space
forever."
"Speaking of the Twentieth Century," Steve said, "one of the ancient
folk who lived in that long ago and primitive time would be surprised if
they could see the New York of today. Why, they made more fuss about one
of their funny old winged air-ships flying the Atlantic than we do about
a voyage to Mars or the Moon."
The ship from Mars settled gently down on the concrete landing platform,
and her helicopters ceased to turn. From a hundred nozzles along the
edge of the platform came hissing streams of water, playing upon the
hull that had been heated by its swift passage through the outer layers
of the Earth's atmosphere. Then, as the hull cooled, the streams of
water died away and the doors opened. The passengers began to emerge.
A platoon of police, their steel helmets gleaming in the glow of the
lights, cleared a path through the crowd for a small group that hurried
across to the waiting _Viking_. A few minutes later three newcomers came
aboard. All wore the blue and gold uniform of the Interplanetary Fleet.
The two men were Martians, thin and sharp featured, with the reddish
skin of their race. The other was an Earth woman. Olga Stark stood
nearly as tall as Gerry Norton's own six feet. She had a pale skin, and
a mass of dark hair that was coiled low on her neck.
"Pilot-Lieutenant Stark and Flight-Ensigns Tanda and Portok reporting
aboard, sir," she said quietly.
"You'll find the officers' quarters aft on B-deck. I'm calling a
conference in the chart room as soon as we get clear of the
stratosphere."
* * * * *
Gerry Norton stood on the little platform at the top of the control
room, under a curved dome of transparent duralite that gave him a clear
view along the whole length of the _Viking's_ super-structure. The last
member of the expedition was aboard, the airport attendants had all
stepped back. The time of departure had come at last!
"Close all ports!" he snapped.
"Close ports it is, sir," droned Chester Sand, the Safety Officer.
Warning bells rang throughout the ship. Tiny green lights came winking
into view on one of the many indicator panels.
"All ports closed, sir!" the Safety Officer sang out a minute later. For
a moment Gerry bent over the rail of the platform and himself glanced
down at the solid bank of green lights on the board.
"Start helicopters!" he ordered.
There was a low humming. The ship began to vibrate gently. From his
place in the dome, Gerry could see the _Viking's_ dozen big helicopters
begin to spin. Faster and faster they moved as Angus McTavish gave his
engines full power. Then the ship rose straight up into the air.
"Here we go, boys--Venus or bust!" Steve Brent muttered under his
breath, and a low chuckle swept across the control room.
The lighted surface of the airport fell swiftly away beneath them. The
myriad lights of New York were spread out like a jeweled carpet in the
night, dwindling and seeming to slide together as the drive of the
_Viking's_ powerful motors carried her steadily upward. At the three
thousand-foot level they passed a traffic balloon with its circle of
blue lights, and the signal blinker spelled out a hasty "Good Luck!"
* * * * *
At the thirty thousand-foot level they passed an inbound Oriental &
Western liner, bringing the night mail from China. She hung motionless
on her helicopters to let the _Viking_ pass, her siren giving a salute
of three long blasts while her passengers crowded the decks to cheer the
space-ship. After another ten thousand feet they were above ordinary
traffic lanes. The glass windows of the control room were beginning to
show a film of condensing moisture, and Steve Brent brought the heavy
duralite panes up into place.
"Stand by rocket motors!" Gerry commanded. "Stand by to fold
helicopters. Ready? _Contact!_"
There was a muffled roar. The _Viking's_ nose tilted sharply upward.
Momentarily the space-ship trembled like a living thing. Then she shot
ahead, while the helicopters dropped down into recesses within the hull
and duralite covers slid into place over them. Gerry climbed down from
the dome into the main control room. Momentarily he glanced at the huge
brass and steel speed indicators.
"Twelve hundred miles an hour," he said. "Fast enough for this density
of atmosphere. Hold her there. Summon heads of departments and all deck
officers to the chart room."
The call was quickly answered.
The assembled officers stood leaning against the walls, or perched on
the chart-lockers. Now that the trip had actually begun, uniform coats
were unbuttoned and caps laid aside. Angus McTavish had a battered brier
pipe clenched in his teeth. The stem was so short that the swirling
smoke seemed to filter upward through his whiskers.
"Better be careful, Mac," said Portok the Martian. "Maybe the air
filters won't be able to handle that smoke of yours."
"Never mind the air filters, sonny!" grunted the big Scot with
imperturbable good humor. "They'll handle the smoke of good 'baccy
better than the fumes of that filthy _grricqua_ weed you smoke on Mars."
A radio loud-speaker had been left on, and they heard the voice of an
announcer on some European station:
"We now bring you a brief sports resume. In Canton, China, the Shantung
Dragons played a double header with the Budapest Magyars. The score of
the first game was...."
"Wonder if they ever heard of baseball on Venus!" Steve Brent chuckled.
"Maybe they'll learn as fast as we of Mars," said Portok. "I seem to
remember that in the last Interplanetary Championship Series we...."
"Skip it!" Steve growled. "I lost a week's salary on that series."
McTavish and Portok grinned.
Gerry Norton watched them with a smile on his lean, dark face. They were
a good crowd! The _Viking_ was going on the most dangerous journey
mankind had ever attempted, a journey from which no one had ever before
returned alive, but he could not have asked for a better group of
subordinates. They were people of his own choosing, and all but two were
old shipmates. Though he had never sailed with Chester Sand, the Safety
Officer had been highly recommended. Neither had he ever sailed with
Olga Stark before, but he knew her by reputation as an excellent
navigator and when she applied to go he felt he should accept her.
* * * * *
For half an hour Gerry held them together, while he set the watches and
checked assignments and outlined other routine details. Then the meeting
ended, and only Steve Brent remained with him. They walked forward into
the darkened control room, where the only light was the dim glow from
the indicator boards. The Quartermaster on watch stood motionless beside
the steering levers.
Gerry noticed that he had a tendency to rise a couple of inches off the
floor with each step. The pull of Earth was already lessening! He threw
the switch that controlled the attraction-gear, and heard a faint hiss
of shifting gravity plates beneath their feet. The feeling and
impression of normal weight returned.
For a moment Gerry and Steve stood looking out one of the big duralite
windows of the control room. At this level the legions of stars gleamed
with an unreal brilliance in the dead black of the heavens. The Earth
was a vast globe behind them, glowing for a quarter of its surface with
the familiar outlines of the continents still visible. With the
lessening pull, the _Viking_ had increased speed to five thousand, but
she seemed to be standing still in comparison with the vastness of
space.
"Funny thing, Chief," Steve Brent said meditatively, "Olga Stark and
Chester Sand are not supposed to have met before they came aboard this
ship--but I saw them whispering together in that dark corner off
Corridor 6 as I came forward."
"Maybe she's just a fast worker," Gerry said. For a moment the incident
irritated him, but then he shrugged and forgot it. On a purely
scientific and exploratory expedition of this kind, there was no
possible motive for any underhand work.
* * * * *
The days passed in slow progression. The _Viking_ had attained her
maximum speed of fifty thousand miles an hour as the ceaseless drive of
her great rocket motors forced her ahead, a speed possible in the void
of outer space where there was no air to create friction. For all her
great speed by Earthly standards, she was but crawling slowly across the
vastness of Interplanetary space.
Life on board had settled down to a smooth routine. Now and then alarm
bells would suddenly ring a warning of the approach of a small
planetesimal or some other vagrant wanderer of outer space, and the ship
would change course to avoid a collision. Otherwise there was little
excitement. Astern, the familiar Earth had dwindled to a shining
disc--like the button on an airman's uniform. Ahead, the cloud-veiled
planet of Venus drew steadily nearer.
Passing along one of B-deck corridors one day, Gerry met Olga Stark
coming out of the recreation rooms. She was off duty at the moment, and
instead of her uniform she wore a long gown of green silk. Her dark hair
was surmounted by a polished metal cap, and a thin gauze veil hung to
her chin. Gerry stopped her with a gesture.
"Very decorative, Lieutenant," he said with a twitch of his lips, "but
this is supposed to be a scientific expedition. I must ask that you wear
your uniform outside of your cabin."
"I am off duty!" she retorted, her dark eyes suddenly angry and sullen.
"It's true that you're not on watch at this moment, but everybody is on
duty twenty-four hours a day till this expedition is over. Resume your
uniform."
"And if I refuse?" she asked.
"You'll go into double irons. When I'm commanding a ship, I do just
that!"
For a moment their glances met, the woman's hot and angry, the man's
cold and unyielding. Then, without another word, she swept away to her
cabin. Gerry Norton sighed, and went on his way. He had never become
entirely reconciled to the presence of women in the Interplanetary
Fleet. They made good officers most of the time, but occasionally they
had fits of feminine temperament.
* * * * *
At last there came the day when the yellowish, cloud-veiled mass of
Venus filled half the sky ahead. Watches were doubled up. Rocket motors
were cut down as the attraction of the planet pulled them onward. Then
the forward rocket-tubes began to let go for the braking effect, and the
flame of the discharges filled the control room with a flickering yellow
light.
As they entered the outer atmosphere layers of Venus, the effect of air
on the sun's rays gave them natural sunlight and blue skies again for
the first time in over six weeks. Something about the effect of yellow
sunlight slanting in the portholes raised the spirits of all of them,
and men were whistling as they went about their work. Gerry brought the
ship to a halt a few thousand feet above the endless, tumbled mass of
clouds that eternally covered all of Venus. They were now near enough to
be fully caught in the rotation of the planet's stratosphere, so that
they had normal night and day instead of the eternal midnight that had
gripped them for weeks.
Early the next morning, with all hands on duty, the _Viking's_
helicopters began to drop her down into the cloud-mass. The cottony
billows swept up to meet them--and then they were submerged in a dense
and yellowish fog. Moisture gathered thickly on the windows of the
control room.
"This reminds me of a good London fog!" said Angus McTavish, who had
come up from his engine rooms for a few minutes. "I wonder if they have
any good pubs down there!"
The soupy, saffron-colored fog enshrouded the _Viking_ as she dropped
lower and lower. Gerry Norton checked the altitude personally, watching
the slowly moving hand of the indicator. Twice he held her motionless
while he sent echo-soundings down to make sure they were not too close
to land. Then they went a little lower--and suddenly came clear of the
cloud mass. They were sinking slowly downward through a peculiarly
murky, golden light that was the normal day-time condition on the planet
of Venus. They had arrived!
Below them stretched the rippling waters of a vast and greenish sea. It
was broken by scattered islands, bare bits of rock that were dotted with
a blue moss and were utterly bare of life except for a few swooping
sea-birds. On a distant shore were lofty mountains whose peaks were
capped with snow. In one or two places a narrow shaft of sunlight struck
down through a brief gap in the canopy of eternal clouds, but otherwise
there was only that subdued and peculiarly golden light. Nothing moved
but those few oddly shaped birds.
"Lord--but it's lonely!" Gerry muttered.
There was no sign of human existence, no trace of the towers and
buildings of mankind. Not even any sign of life at all, except for those
sea-birds. It was like a scene from the long-ago youth of the world,
when the only life was that of the teeming shallows or the muddy shores
of warm seas. The place was desolate, and forlorn, and inexpressibly
lonely.
They had opened some of the ports for a breath of fresh air after long
weeks of the flat and second-hand product of the air filters, with its
faint odor of oil and disinfectant. The breeze that came in the open
ports was warm and moist and faintly salty.
"Rocket motors--minimum power!" Gerry commanded quietly. "There's no use
landing on one of those bare islets. We'll see what lies beyond the
mountains."
The subdued blast of only two rocket tubes began to drive the _Viking_
forward at a slow speed of about 300 M.P.H., while long fins were thrust
out at the sides to carry the weight and free the helicopters. All hands
were crowded at the windows and ports. After a moment Olga Stark turned
to Gerry.
"Our magnetic compasses are working again, Captain," she said quietly.
"I suggest going across the mountains and then turning southwest."
"Why there--rather than in any other direction?" Gerry asked quietly.
The girl shrugged.
"Just a hunch. Of course, it's all guesswork."
The _Viking_ had to go up to a level of 18,000 feet above this lonely
Venusian sea before she was above the peaks of the mountains. Then Gerry
turned her inland. Just before they left the shoreline they passed some
sort of a flying _thing_ that swooped down to prey on the sea-birds. It
had a reptilian body, and a spread of leathery wings about twelve feet
across.
"Will you look at that!" Steve Brent muttered.
"I'd hate to meet that on a dark night!" Gerry said grimly. Along the
shoreline as they flashed inland he could see monstrous, crawling things
that moved sluggishly along the beaches or in the shallows. It began to
seem that life on Venus was on a different level than that of the Outer
Planets.
The _Viking_ drove steadily westward across the mountains. From the
lower control room windows Gerry could see only drifted snow and naked
boulders, and the gauntly lonely peaks. The air was thin and cold. The
canopy of yellow clouds was only a little way above them. Then, across
the mountains at last, they dropped down toward a broad table-land
covered with patches of forest and alternate stretches of open
grass-land.
"Cut rockets!" Gerry snapped. "Prepare to land!"
A few minutes later the _Viking_ settled gently down in a broad
clearing, where the coarse grass was knee high. For the first time in
over six weeks the sound and vibration of the motors ceased. The
expedition had landed on Venus!
* * * * *
The landing party filed out a door that opened in the lower part of the
hull. The moist air was a little warmer than that of Earth, and it had
an unfamiliar smell of growing things, but its density seemed about the
same. Since the size of Venus was similar to that of their own planets,
neither Earth-man nor Martian had much trouble in walking as soon as
they became accustomed to a slightly lesser gravity. Gerry found he
could leap eight feet in the air without any trouble.
Gerry split the landing party into four groups, sending them spreading
out like the spokes of a fan.
"Don't go more than three miles from the ship without further orders.
Study the countryside thoroughly, and then report back on board."
All the landing party wore light armour of steel coated with duralite,
and carried ray-tubes at their belts. Every third man had a heavier
ray-gun with its cylindrical magazine, not unlike the old-fashioned
machine gun. Their polished armor took on a golden tinge as they tramped
away across the grass-land, while behind them the _Viking_ lay
motionless in the grass like a great torpedo of steel and blue.
Gerry took personal command of the southernmost exploring party, leading
them into a broad belt of forest. It was very still beneath the giant
trees, where strange yellow flowers hung from the branches and their
path wound between clusters of ten-foot ferns. Huge toad-stools of
purple and green rose higher than their heads, and once they saw a giant
ant some three feet long who scuttled off through the underbrush with
the speed of a galloping horse.
Gradually Gerry became separated from the rest of his party, bearing
more to the southward as he caught a glimpse of more open country
through the trees. Then, on the edge of a small clearing, he abruptly
halted as half a dozen men appeared on the far side.
That is, Gerry thought of them as men for lack of a better term. They
were like nothing he had ever seen on either Earth or Mars or any of the
planetoids between. Lean bodies were covered with glistening gray
scales. Though the hands seemed human, the feet were clawed and webbed.
Short, flat tails hung behind them. The faces were scaleless, low-browed
and green-eyed, with a jutting mouth and nose that came together in a
sort of snout. They had pointed ears that stood sharply erect. Their
general appearance was a little more on the animal side than the human,
but they had swords slung at their belts and carried short-barreled
rifles.
In the center of the group was a woman. She was naked except for a
scarlet loin-cloth and golden breast-plates. This was no semi-reptilian
creature, but a woman straight and clean-limbed and beautiful, with long
blonde hair that hung nearly to her waist. She had blue eyes, and her
skin was about as white as Gerry's own, though it had a faintly tawny
tinge so that she appeared all golden. At the moment her hands were
tightly tied behind her back and a cloth gag distended her lips, while
one of the Scaly Men led her along by a rope about her neck.
Gerry stepped out into the clearing with his ray-tubes swinging free in
his hand. His wide shoulders were thrown slightly forward, his whole
muscular body was tensed and ready beneath his armor. As always when he
went into a fight, his lean, and normally somber face was smiling.
* * * * *
The captive girl saw him first, and her eyes widened in utter surprise.
Then the half dozen reptilian men caught sight of the lone Earth-man
standing there in his gleaming armor, and their snout-like mouths sagged
open. Gerry walked quietly forward.
He was half across the clearing before the Venusians recovered from
their surprise. Then one of the patrol flung his short rifle to his
shoulder. There was a hiss of escaping gas, and a split-second later an
explosive bullet struck him in the chest with a flash and a loud report.
It would have instantly killed an unprotected man, but it did no more
than slightly dent Gerry's armor.
The Earth-man half crouched, his eyes narrowing and his jaw jutting
suddenly forward. He had meant to try and parley, but diplomacy had no
place with creatures who shot first and challenged afterward. His
ray-tube swung up to the level. There was a sharp crackling sound, and
for a second a murky red light played around the open end. The nearest
Venusian crumpled and went down. He twitched for a second, and then lay
still. The gray scales had turned dead black in the area where the
death-ray had struck him.
At least the Scaly Men had courage! The remaining five came forward with
a shrill and almost canine yelping, advancing at a bent-legged run.
Their rifles hissed as the compressed gases were released, the explosive
bullets crackled all around Gerry. Twice more his ray-tube let go its
deadly blast--and then his weapon was empty. He cursed himself through
clenched teeth for having strayed away from the patrol while armed only
with a light tube with simply three charges. Two more of the reptile men
lay twitching in the tall grass, but the other three were almost up to
him. After that one volley they had drawn their swords, which probably
meant that their compressed-gas rifles were cumbersome things to reload.
And then Gerry Norton suddenly remembered the greater strength of his
Earthly muscles. As the foremost Venusian lunged for him with long blade
swinging, Gerry bounded high into the air. He went clean over the head
of his antagonist, coming down squarely on top of the next behind. They
both went sprawling, but Gerry recovered first. Gripping the fallen
Venusian by the ankles, the Earth-man swung him around his head like a
flail and hurled him squarely at the other two. The three of them went
down in a tangled heap.
By the time the reptile men again scrambled to their feet, Gerry had
snatched up the sword of one of the men he had killed with the ray-tube.
Now he had something to fight with! The long sword whistled as he jerked
it free from its scabbard. For an instant he tested the blade in both
hands. It was forged of some bluish metal that seemed as strong and
flexible as well-tempered steel. Then, still smiling his thin-lipped
smile though his eyes were as cold as the wintry seas, Gerry Norton
waited the onrush of the three Venusians.
There were a few seconds of clashing steel. The reptile men were good
swordsmen, but they were no match for the speed and strength of the Man
from Earth. Two of them were stretched on the ground with cloven skulls,
and then the last survivor turned and ran. Gerry could have caught him
easily, for the webbed feet of the Venusian did not make for great
speed, but he was content to let him go.
When the scaly tail of the fleeing creature had vanished in the
underbrush, Gerry thrust his sword upright in the ground--where it would
be handy if he needed it again in a hurry--and freed the golden-haired
girl from her bonds.
"I wonder where _you_ fit into this picture, Bright Eyes!" he muttered,
knowing she would not understand.
There was certainly nothing of the shrinking violet about this girl!
When her hands were free she faced Gerry without any sign of either fear
or even much gratitude, standing erect with her hands on her hips and
her eyes nearly on a level with his own.
"_Jaro quimtar_--who are you?" she asked in Martian.
* * * * *
Gerry stared at her in startled surprise. The girl had unquestionably
spoken in Martian. It was a very old and antique form of the language
that she used, a dialect that had not been heard on Mars itself for
countless generations, but it was possible for Gerry to understand it.
The last thing he had expected to find on this planet of Venus was
anyone who spoke one of the tongues common on the Outer Planets!
"I'm Gerry Norton," he said.
"Geree!" the girl repeated. "You talk funny."
"Same to you, sister," Gerry grinned. "And just who are you, anyway?"
"I am Closana, of course, the daughter of Rupin-Sang!" the girl said
haughtily. "Don't you see the Golden Arrow?"
She touched a small golden arrow that hung from a light chain about her
neck. It seemed to be some kind of an insignia of rank. Her deep blue
eyes were looking at him thoughtfully.
"You wear queer clothes, Geree," she said at last. "Where do you come
from?"
"From Earth."
She frowned.
"Where is that? Is it one of the lands beyond the Great Sea?"
"Much farther away than that. It's another planet, far off in outer
space."
"You lie," she said. "Such a thing is not possible."
"Okay, sister," Gerry snapped, "we won't argue about that right now.
Who were your unpleasant friends here? What do we do next?"
Closana walked across to take the sword of one of the slain Reptilians.
She tested its balance, seemed satisfied, and then belted the scabbard
about her own waist. She handled the long blade with the experienced
ease of a warrior, and for the first time Gerry noticed the play of
corded muscles beneath the smooth and tawny skin of her arms and
shoulders. Closana, daughter of Rupin-Sang, was feminine enough but
there was nothing of the clinging vine about her! She threw her long
hair back over her shoulders and faced Gerry with the sword in her hand.
"You should have killed the last of the Scaly Ones," she said, "instead
of letting him get away. Now he will bring the whole raiding party down
on us."
"Who are they, those things you call the Scaly Ones?"
"Their region lies beyond the frontier of our land of Savissa," the girl
explained. "We are near the boundaries now. There is constant warfare
between ourselves and the Scaly Ones. Now and then their raiding parties
break through our ring of barrier forts, and it was a group of five
hundred such raiders that captured me this morning. That one who escaped
will bring the rest back with him."
"Then I guess we'll need help!" Gerry said grimly.
* * * * *
There was a two-way, short-wave radio set built into his helmet. He
reached up to adjust the switch, then flashed the alarm signal. A few
seconds later he heard the answering voice of Portok the Martian, who
was in command of the nearest of the _Viking's_ exploring parties.
"Jumping ray-blasts, Chief, we were wondering what had happened to you!"
"Guide on my transmitter and get here as soon as you can!" Gerry
snapped. "Hurry!"
A few minutes later they saw a glint of armor through the trees, and
then the half dozen members of the exploring party emerged into the
clearing. Their eyes were wide with surprise as they saw Closana
standing beside Gerry.
"Who's your yellow-haired friend, Chief?" Portok asked with a broad
grin. He had spoken in Martian, the two tongues being practically
interchangeable with the men of the Interplanetary Fleet. Closana's eyes
flashed fire.
"Speak of me with more respect, little Red-face!" she snapped. Portok's
jaw sagged open, but before he could say anything further the underbrush
on the far side of the clearing suddenly vomited a yelling horde of the
Scaly Ones.
They came in close-packed masses, yelping shrilly. Their scaly skins and
the blades of their swords gleamed in the subdued yellow light.
Evidently bent on capture of the small group of strangers, they were not
using their gas-guns.
"Keep together! Fall back toward the ship!" Gerry roared, drawing the
sword he had captured earlier in the day.
There was a sharp crackle of ray-blasts as the Earth-men fell back
before the charging horde of the Scaly Ones. The short hand-tubes were
soon exhausted, but the heavy ray-guns carried by two of the men fired
steadily. Murky light continually played about their stubby muzzles.
Dozens of the Scaly Ones dropped, twitching, in the tall grass before
the deadly blast of the rays, but the shouting hordes came on unchecked.
And then a bugle sounded somewhere off on the flank!
"Now, you scaly devils!" Closana screamed, facing about and waving the
sword high above her head, "The frontier guards have arrived!"
Long lines of warriors charged out through the bushes to take the
reptile men on the flank. The front line of skirmishers carried heavy
bows and had quivers of arrows slung on their backs, the ranks behind
were armed with shields and spears. Rank by rank and company by company
they came, nearly a thousand strong, the ringing clamor of brazen
trumpets urging them onward. Gerry Norton stared at them blankly,
scarcely able to believe what he saw. All the warriors were women!
They were tall and clean-limbed, with long golden hair that streamed
behind them as they ran. Like Closana, they wore bright-colored loin
cloths and had round gold plates fastened across their breasts. The
might of the Golden Amazons of Venus swept forward like a giant wave,
with a spray of tossing spear points above it. Then the trumpets
sounded again, and the arrow storm began.
The front ranks loosed their long shafts swiftly, and the air became
full of the twang of bow-strings and hiss of speeding arrows. A shouting
officer of the Scaly Ones went down with a pair of shafts feathered in
his chest. His men were dropping all about him as the gold-tipped arrows
struck home.
* * * * *
The reptile men were using their gas-guns now. The sharp hiss of the
discharges rose above the twang of the bow-strings, the snap of the
exploding bullets was like a crackle of old-fashioned musketry. The
projectiles ripped holes in the front ranks of the Amazons, but they
still came bounding forward. Then the sharp reports of the exploding
bullets died away, for the gas-guns were cumbersome things to re-charge
and there was no time. The two lines met with a clash of steel.
Gerry Norton had thrown his armoured Earth-men and Martians as a guard
around Closana when she ran toward the center of the Amazon line. On two
occasions small parties of the Scaly Ones cut their way through the
guarding spears to reach them, and each time the blast of the heavy
ray-guns mowed them down. The clatter of meeting blades was like the
noise of a thousand smithies, the shrill yelping of the reptile men was
drowned out by the triumphant blast of the Amazon trumpets. The Scaly
Ones were giving back all along the line, under pressure of superior
numbers and the greater agility of the lithe Amazons.
Gerry fought with the long, blue-bladed sword in his hand and the shield
of a fallen Amazon on his left arm. With the greater strength of his
earthly muscles, he raged through the fighting while his heavy blade
wrought deadly execution. And then it was over! The Scaly Ones broke up
into scores of fleeing groups and fresh companies of Amazons bounded in
pursuit with their long bows twanging. Closana leaned on her dripping
blade and held out her hand.
"It was a good fight, Geree. I think I will take you for my husband."
"I think," Gerry said, "We'll just leave that idea for discussion some
other time."
* * * * *
The fleeing survivors of the Scaly Ones had gone, with companies of
light armed Amazons in hot pursuit. The others were tending the wounded
and gathering up the dead, picking up fallen weapons, doing all the
routine tasks that are the aftermath of battle. Closana was now
surrounded by a body-guard of tall, blonde Amazons whose loin-cloths
bore the same design of a golden arrow-head as her own.
"I think," she said to Gerry, "that you should come to see my father
Rupin-Sang, who is ruler of this land."
Quite a thinker, decided Gerry.
"We can take you there in the ship if you show us the way," he said
shortly.
A horde of Amazons thronged around the big blue-and-silver hull of the
_Viking_ where she lay in the knee-high grass. As the members of the
landing party filed on board and turned their ray-tubes in to the
Ordnance Officer to be recharged, the other members of the crew came out
to stare at the visitors. Angus McTavish stood on the steps of the
ladder with his big fists on his hips.
"Will ye look at all the bonny lassies!" he said, "This may not be such
a bad planet after all."
The feminine warriors of Venus saw McTavish then, and a sudden murmur
swept over the throng. An instant later a hundred blades flashed in the
air in salute, and then all the Amazons dropped down on one knee.
"Now what the devil...?" muttered Steve Brent who had come out of the
ship just behind McTavish.
"Just a proper tribute to my outstanding personality, lad!" the big Scot
muttered aside. Closana read the surprise in Gerry Norton's eyes.
"There are few men in this land of Savissa," she explained, "And the
wearing of a beard is the sign of a noble of the highest rank."
"Wonder how long it will take me to grow a good crop of whiskers!" Steve
said.
Closana and a dozen of her body-guard came aboard, looking curiously
about them. As the Venusian princess walked into the control room she
came face to face with Olga Stark. For a long moment the two women
stood looking at each other, their clashing glances hard and intent. The
golden Venusian and the dark haired Earthling. Then Closana shrugged and
turned away.
"I do not like her," she said calmly. A slow flush spread over Olga
Stark's face, and her eyes smoldered, but she did not answer.
With helicopters spinning, the _Viking_ rose a thousand feet in the air.
Then she moved ahead at minimum cruising speed. Closana stood at one of
the control room windows to point the way.
* * * * *
It was a strange land that they saw moving past below them, though a
pleasant one. There were rolling uplands, and patches of forest, and
occasional villages surrounded by broad tilled fields. Except for the
yellowish tinge to the vegetation, and the odd shapes of the trees, it
might have been an Earthly countryside. Then Gerry noticed another
thing! Though it was broad daylight, as bright as it could become on
this planet, there were no shadows at all. The diffusing effect of the
eternal cloud barrier kept the light equal on all sides.
"The Land of No Shadow!" he said aloud. For the first time in this busy
day he thought of the fact that they were forty million miles from home.
If anything happened to the _Viking_, they would spend the rest of their
lives here.
They passed some of the barrier forts, square and stone walled buildings
reminiscent of medieval castles on Earth. In the misty hills beyond,
Closana told Gerry, lay the country of the Scaly Ones.
"What is it like?" he asked. She shrugged, but her eyes were shadowed.
"All I know about it is legend, the sort of tales that old women tell in
the evenings. Many of our people have been taken there as prisoners in
raids, but none has ever returned alive."
Leaving Steve Brent in command in the control room for the moment, Gerry
went aft to his quarters where he had a compact Tri-dimensional-cinema
outfit. He was passing along one of the corridors on B-deck when he
abruptly halted. A faint humming was coming from behind the closed door
of the radio room!
The _Viking's_ sending outfit was not strong enough to bridge the
vastness of interplanetary space. Such outfits existed, of course, but
only a small set had been installed on the space-ship because of the
extra weight involved. The radio room had been closed and locked weeks
ago. No one was supposed to have access to it except Steve Brent and
Gerry himself. And yet--the unmistakable hum of a generator was coming
from behind the closed door!
Gerry cautiously tested the knob of the door. It gave under his hand. As
he opened the portal a crack, he clearly heard the sharp murmur of the
sending apparatus. Then he swung the door wide on its noiseless and well
oiled hinges. A dim light gleamed across the room! A dark figure was
crouched tensely over the table that held the sending set. At the moment
Gerry could not see who it was.
Two steps Gerry took into the room. Three steps. The rubberoid soles of
his shoes made no sound. Then a crushing weight descended on top of his
head! In the half second before he lost consciousness, he realized that
there had been a second interloper in the radio room. Someone who had
been crouching against the wall by the door, and who had slugged him as
he passed.
* * * * *
When consciousness returned to Gerry Norton, he was lying alone on the
floor of the darkened radio room. He sat up, and rubbed his aching head,
and swore softly. There was no sign of the interlopers, nor any clue to
their identity.
The whole incident puzzled him. His assailants must have been from among
the _Viking's_ crew. That was surprising enough in itself, but there was
also the problem of motive. Why would anybody be sending a secret
message when there was no receiving set within millions of miles? The
thing just didn't make sense.
Closing the radio room behind him Gerry went back to the control-room
and drew Steve Brent aside.
"Look here, Steve! I just found someone sending a secret message out
over the radio, and got knocked on the head before I could see who it
was."
"You must have been reading some of those funny old Twentieth Century
gangster yarns of evil deeds!" Steve grinned.
"I'm serious. That really happened." Gerry snapped. The grin faded from
Brent's freckled face.
"Then it must have been Chester Sand," he said promptly.
"Why do you say that?"
Brent shrugged.
"Because he's the only man aboard that I don't know too well to
suspect."
"Interesting logic," Gerry grunted, "But we can't lock a man up on such
negative grounds. Keep your eyes open. I'm going to try to sweat some
information out of someone as soon as we get through this ceremony of
visiting the king of this place."
* * * * *
Women working in the fields looked up as the _Viking_ passed, lifting a
hand to shade their eyes as they stared aloft at the soaring space-ship.
Other women drove small carts along the white roads that wound through
the fields. There did not seem to be any men in this land at all. Then,
along the far horizon ahead, there began to lift the domes and towers
and minarets of a mighty city. Closana proudly lifted her arm.
"The Golden City of Larr!" she said, "Capitol of our land of Savissa.
None but our own people have ever penetrated those walls except as
prisoners of war."
The walled city of Larr dominated the plain in all its towered splendor.
Its walls of polished yellow stone were more than a hundred feet high.
The serrated battlements at the top were faced with plates of thin gold.
Domes of blue and scarlet gleamed within the walls. Slender minarets
lifted their lattices high in the air. In the center was a massive round
tower whose top was shaped like the point of a golden arrow.
"But surely your people never built this place!" he gasped. Closana
shook her head.
"The city was not built by my people as they are now. Larr, the Golden
City, is very ancient. It was built by the Old Ones--they who lived here
long ago, in the dim dawn of time. I have forgotten most of the tale but
my father can tell you."
As they passed over the outer walls, Gerry saw some long steel tubes
mounted on swivels above the battlements. They were protected by
gleaming metal shields. He touched Closana's arm.
"What are those things that look like giant ray-guns?"
"Those are the defences of the walls," the girl answered, "We also have
them at the barrier forts. In some way they send out rays of heat that
burn and shrivel all things within reach. I do not know much about them,
but my father can tell you."
"Looks like he's going to tell me a lot of things," Gerry said. Closana
shook back her long hair and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
"Yes, Geree. He will also tell you why you had better marry me as I
suggested."
"I told you we'd have to let that subject wait till later!" he said
grimly. Steve Brent prodded him gently in the ribs.
"Persistent souls, these Golden Amazons!" he said in English.
* * * * *
The appearance of the _Viking_ in the air over Larr created a mounting
excitement among the citizens of the city. Through the open windows of
the control room Gerry could hear the brazen clamor of many trumpets,
sounding the alarm. Crowds appeared on the roofs. Arrows streaked up at
the space-ship, futile shafts that fell short of the mark. As they
neared the central tower, gun crews swarmed about two of the ray-tubes.
Knowing the resisting power of the _Viking's_ duralite hull, Gerry was
not greatly worried, but Closana seemed to feel that things had gone far
enough.
Hitherto the girl had been quite evidently enjoying the consternation
that the _Viking's_ arrival had caused among the defenders of the city.
Now she leaned far out from the open window and waved reassuringly. As
she was recognized, defense preparations ceased and the gun crews began
to cover their weapons up again.
The _Viking_ settled gently down on the worn stone pavement of a square
plaza directly before the central tower. A ring of amazon spearmen
instantly formed to keep back the curious crowds, and other companies
were drawn up as a guard of honor. They saluted Closana with a shout and
a surge of uplifted spears when she and Gerry stepped out the opened
starboard door. Then, when Angus McTavish came out with a group of
senior officers a few seconds later, all the Amazon warriors dropped
instantly down on one knee while their spear-points rattled on the
stones. The big engineer beamed through his beard, and tilted his
uniform cap to a more rakish angle.
"I have already stated that these folk are a verra discriminating
people!" he said with deep satisfaction. Closana turned to Gerry.
"It would be better to take only a few of your people along when we go
into see my father."
Gerry faced about, his glance running quickly over those of his crew who
had emerged from the hull and were standing nearby.
"Steve Brent stays here in command," he said quietly, "You come with me,
Angus. And Portok. And one other...." He hesitated, then named Olga
Stark. Later he was to wonder what evil genius had led him to select her
as one of the party. He could not quite remember. Probably it was just a
desire to take as varied and representative a group along with him as
possible. Closana looked annoyed at his choice, but did not comment.
* * * * *
They passed through the ranks of the spear-guard, and up to the
octagonal main door of the tower where carved golden leaves slid back
into the wall on each side. A blue light glowed around the inner frame
of the door, and Closana held up her arm.
"Wait till the blue light fades, for it is Death," she said quietly.
Then, as the light died out, they all stepped inside while the golden
leaves of the door closed clashing behind them.
They were in a winding corridor whose stone walls were faced with
polished stone and hung with ancient tapestries. The place was lighted
by metal discs set flush in the ceiling, discs of a substance that gave
forth a soft and golden glow. Even this light, Gerry noticed, was so
diffused as to be shadowless. "The Land of No-Shadow!" he muttered under
his breath, remembering the phrase that had come to him earlier. Somehow
the friendly old Earth seemed very far away at that moment!
In an ante-chamber they met the first man they had seen since they
reached Venus, aside from the half-animal raiders of the Scaly Ones.
This man was short and slight, with a very high forehead and unusually
large eyes. His skin had the same tawny tinge as that of the feminine
warriors of his race, but he was more lightly built than they. He wore a
loose yellow tunic, and his hair and thin beard were heavily shot with
gray. Somehow he looked tired, and old even beyond his years, as though
the sands of his race were running very low.