Lin Carter - Callisto 3 - Sky Pirates Of Callisto

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Jandar 3: Sky Pirates of Callisto
By Lin Carter
Book I
VOYAGE INTO PERIL
Chapter 1
ONE CHANCE IN A THOUSAND
When all is lost, the most foolhardy course of action becomes feasible.
When you have nothing more to lose-except, possibly, your life-even one chance in a thousand seems
well worth the risk.
It was thus that we resolved upon the most absurdly dangerous solution to our intolerable dilemma.
It had been a year, perhaps a trifle more or a trifle less, since I had stumbled upon the Lost City of
Arangkhor, abandoned untold ages before in the trackless jungles of Cambodia. In that colossal stone
ruin I had passed the portals of the Gate Between The Worlds. An unknown force, whose secret was
still an unsolved mystery to me, had miraculously transported me more than three hundred million miles
from the planet of my birth to the surface of a strange and beautiful and terrifying world of marvels and
monsters-a world where black and crimson jungles sprawl under weird skies of golden vapor, lit by five
glorious moons.
It was a world of barbaric splendor, that world of Thanator, where savage beasts and curious peoples
vied for supremacy. Three widely different races of intelligent beings shared this jungle Moon between
them -three races locked in unending warfare.
Into the very midst of this planet-wide struggle, a mysterious force had thrust me, lone, friendless,
ignorant even of the tongue spoken by the strange Thanatorian civilizations.
The first of the Thanatorian races I encountered in my travels was not even remotely human-a savage,
merciless, warrior horde of monstrous and emotionless arthopodes called the Yathoon. Not unlike tall,
jointed insectoid beings were they, their gaunt yet graceful limbs clad in shiny grey chitin, their
expressionless faces glistening masks of horn crowned by weird antennae and eyed with huge jewel-like
orbs, black and glittering.
By these inhuman creatures I was enslaved and under their emotionless tutelage I mastered the single
language spoken by all intelligent beings across the face of Thanator.
While a slave of the Yathoon Horde, I made my first friend on the jungle world-Koja, the tall, stalking,
coldly logical chieftain of the Yathoon, who did not even comprehend the meaning of friendship until I
taught him the sentiment. And, as well, while a Yathoon slave, I met and came to love the most beautiful
woman in two worlds-Darloona, warrior princess of the Ku Thad.
Escaping by Koja's aid from our slavery, we were again made prisoners, this time by yet another
mysterious people, the Sky Pirates of Zanadar. Humanoid in very truth were the Sky Pirates, sharing the
worst traits of mankind; these cruel aerial corsairs lived like vampires, preying upon the lesser peoples of
Thanator, who lacked their scientific mastery of the skies.
During the months of my captivity, first by the Yathoon and then by the Zanadarians, I learned something
of the recent events which had transformed the jungle world to a gigantic theatre of war. Darloona's folk,
the Ku Thad, or Golden People-so-called from their tawny amber skin which was not unlike that of the
Polynesian peoples of my own world-had been driven from their home in the walled stone city of
Shondakor and all their domain had been conquered by a migrant bandit army called the Black Legion.
Whereas Koja and I became mere slave laborers, toiling under the whips of the Sky Pirates, the Princess
Darloona was held as a valued guest of Prince Thuton, the brilliant and unscrupulous leader of the
Zanadarians. Ambitious to extend his empire, Thuton dreamed of wedding the princess End of pressing
his claim to her throne by waging war against the Black Legion, now ruling the kingdom of Shondakor.
Half-persuaded that to accept Thuton's suit would win freedom for her exiled people, Darloona would
not listen to my protestations of Thuton's innate villainy. At length I managed to escape the slave pens of
Zanadar, finding refuge in the house of a Ganatolian master-swordsman named Lukor. This gallant and
chivalrous old gentleman, revolted by Thuton's villainy as was I, became my co-conspirator in an attempt
to free Princess Darloona as well as the Yathoon chieftain, Koja. During this period of enforced
inactivity, I learned from Lukor the secrets of swordsmanship.
After some time we did indeed rescue the woman I had come to love, and my friend Koja, as well; and
traveled the breadth of Thanator in a stolen aerial vehicle, eventually rejoining Darloona's exiled people
who were hiding in the jungles of the Grand Kumala. Alas, my princess was captured by the Black
Legion ere we had combined forces with the Ku Thad warriors-whereupon I conceived of a bold and
daring plan, entering Shondakor in disguise and joining the ranks of the Chac Yuul (as the Legion was
called), pretending to be a wandering mercenary swordsman. A carefully timed plot to free Darloona
from the clutches of the conquering Legion and overthrow the Chac Yuul by smuggling Ku Thad warriors
into the city via a secret route was interrupted and almost ruined by a sudden attack upon Shondakor by
Prince Thuton's flying navy.
By an odd quirk of fate, however, we both succeeded and failed. That is, we did indeed break the Chac
Yuul hold on the city of Shondakor, slay their leader, and drive them from the kingdom-but my beloved
princess was seized in the confusion and carried off by the vengeful and cunning Prince Thuton. For many
weeks now she had been held captive for a second time in remote and inaccessible Zanadar, rightfully
called the City in the Clouds. And this time her captivity was not shared by friends able to strive for her
freedom.
For weeks now, ever since the battle that freed Shondakor, we, the victors, had been sunken in a
profound depression. While the dominion was ruled wisely and well by Darloona's noble and courageous
uncle, Lord Yarrak, the citizenry of Shondakor mourned the loss of their princess and cried out that she
somehow be delivered from the cruel captivity of the Sky Pirates.
Their determination to free Darloona was no less than my own. Freedom in Shondakor meant nothing to
me, nor did life itself, unless I could share that freedom with the most beautiful princess in two worlds.
For the last words I had heard from Darloona's lovely lips, even as the flying vessel bore her into the
skies beyond my reach, was an avowal of her love for me.
It was a fortuitous accident that gave us a method with which to attempt the rescue of Darloona.
During the three-way battle between the Ku Thad, the Black Legion, and the Sky Pirates, one of the
remarkable aerial contrivances of the Zanadarian fleet had become partially disabled and was taken
captive. The remainder of the flying armada had either returned safely, it must be assumed, to the City in
the Clouds, or had been destroyed in the battle. Only one vessel had been left behind unharmed.
The daring scheme which I had at length decided to endeavor to use was, simply, this:
Repairing the aerial galleon, stocking it with loyal Ku Thad warriors, I would fly the aerial craft across the
face of Thanator to the very gates of Zanadar, and, attempting to impersonate Zanadarians, we would
assault the royal citadel and carry off our princess to freedom!
As I have already stated, there was one chance in a thousand that this audacious plan would succeed.
Whatever the risks, I was determined to make the attempt.
This desperate scheme I broached to my comrades only a few days after our victory in the battle against
the Black Legion.
The loss of our princess in the very hour of triumph had plunged the victorious Ku Thad into a profound
depression, mingled with a grim determination to somehow effect her rescue.
We were met in an upper council chamber, high in the lofty towers of the royal palace of Shondakor.
About us, clearly visible through the immense crystal windows, the spacious city lay spread out.
Broad, well-paved avenues radiated from the palace, which stood encircled by parks and gardens at the
very heart of the walled stone metropolis. The broad, tree-lined boulevards extended in every direction
from the palace like spokes from the hub of a wheel.
Above, the strange skies of Callisto were a glowing canopy of golden mists, illuminated by no visible
source of light. The distance of Callisto from the sun is so great that the sun is but a very brilliant star from
the viewpoint of the dwellers upon the jungle Moon. The mystery of the light source is but one of the
numerous enigmas of this weird world to which I have never found the key.
The council chamber was cut from massy stone, faced with softly golden marble sculpted into a fantastic
frieze of godlike forms. The floor was carpeted with glowing tapestries of ancient work and the oval table
was one glistening slab of dark green malachite. At the head of the table sat the kingly form of an older
man whose noble frame, molded in the image of heroic strength, was draped in superb robes which
glittered with gems and crystals unknown to me. This was the Lord Yarrak, Darloona's loyal uncle and
regent of the domain in her absence.
About the curve of the table sat five personages. First was the ancient Ku Thad sage and philosopher,
Zastro, his lined face and snowy cataract of beard giving mute testimony to the many years of his service
to the throne of Shondakor.
Next to him sat the Yathoon chieftain, Koja. The gaunt, skeletal limbs of the giant arthopode were folded
uncomfortably in a chair designed for a human occupant, but the glistening horny ovoid of his
expressionless visage, with its black, gemmy, compound eyes, revealed no sign of discomfort.
A noble young warrior was seated next to the chitin-mailed insect-man. His frank and open face, keen,
alert eyes, and breadth of brow showed him for one of high birth and gentle rearing. This was the
Prince Valkar, a lord of the Ku Thad betrothed from childhood to Darloona. I had made his
acquaintance while serving incognito in the Black Legion, as, indeed, was he. Both of us had enlisted in
the bandit army under false identities, and both with the same purpose in mind-to bring about the freedom
of Princess Darloona.
A lean, elderly man was seated beyond him, a man whose clear, tanned features and alert dark eyes
denoted him as a member of another race than the amber-skinned, crimson-maned, emerald-eyed Ku
Thad. Although his seniority was evident, this man held himself erectly, and his slender, well-knit limbs,
disposed gracefully, revealed extraordinary strength and suppleness for one of his years. This was Lukor
the Swordmaster, a Ganatolian, whose friendship I had won in the streets of Zanadar and from whom I
had learned the most hidden secrets of the art of fence.
The last person at this council was myself. A grateful populace had awarded me with the high title of
komor of the Ku Thad in recognition of my daring attempt to rescue Darloona from the clutches of
Arkola, warlord of the Legion.
To this small circle I revealed my wild scheme whereby the freedom of Darloona might be achieved, with
luck. In all candor, and although they desired to rescue their princess with a fervor no less intense than
that which flamed within my own bosom, my comrades at first thought me mad with grief over Darloona's
loss. For surely, said they in commiseration, only one driven beyond the extremities of reason would have
seriously suggested so ludicrous and dangerous a plan.
I was forced to admit that my scheme did savor of extreme desperation, if not madness, at first thought.
But I begged them to consider further, for it was my firm opinion that upon closer consideration it would
reveal some glimmer of a chance for success.
The basic problem was a simple one. The City in the Clouds, you see, was most aptly named.
The Zanadarians had constructed their fortresslike capital upon the peak of a great mountain north of the
Grand Kumala jungles. This soaring summit of solid granite had sheer cliff walls so smooth and unbroken
as to preclude even the possibility of our leading a land-based army of invasion against it.
In fact, it was my considered opinion that it was a feat beyond human powers to climb that mountain.
Neither one man nor a thousand could achieve the summit alive. The precipitous walls climbed sheerly
from the dizzying abyss for thousands of feet without a break, a ledge, even a handhold. The greatest
alpinist on earth would have quailed before attempting to scale that soaring pillar of rock.
It was this inaccessibility that rendered the city of Zanadar invulnerable to attack. From their mountaintop
eyrie, the Sky Pirates could descend to strike at merchant caravans and defenseless towns at will, and
their foes could not carry the battle back to Zanadar, for only the Sky Pirates held the secrets of
construction of their remarkable flying ornithopter galleons, and only from clefts in the peak of the
mountain on which their capital was constructed did the natural levitating gas escape-the gas which, pent
under pressure between the double hulls of their sky ships, made it possible for their fleets to navigate the
clouds.
These facts were widely known and were accepted instantly by my associates in this mad venture.
I then pointed out my contention that, trusting to the remote height of Zanadar to render their dominion
impregnable, the Sky Pirates doubtless neglected strict guard and surveillance in other regions. And were
an enemy force, disguised as Zanadarian corsairs, riding a Zanadarian vessel, to attempt to land in the
Cloud City, it should logically find little opposition or even suspicion.
My associates were forced to agree to the logic of this supposition. It seemed indeed highly likely,
although very dangerous.
"But Jandar," my friend Valkar objected, "what do you know about flying one of these sky ships?"
"Rather a bit," I replied calmly. "Koja and I served as wheel slaves on the Zanadarian flagship Kajazell
during a flight from the great plains to Zanadar itself -we flew across the entire length of the Grand
Kumala jungles. I thoroughly understand the mechanism of the wings, and as for navigation, doubtless
that will prove a minor problem. The captain's cabin will, I assume, have charts aplenty."
"This is true," Koja assured our comrades solemnly. "But even I am forced to admit, Jandar, that there
are more problems ahead of your venture than merely maintaining the vessel in flight and navigating it."
"What further problems, then, do you foresee?"
"Landing the vessel," he said. "While I think I remember the method well enough, from observations
performed during our slavery at the wheels, we shall doubtless do a sloppy job of it, lacking the extensive
training and superior experience of the Sky Pirates themselves. Will not it seem suspicious if we land our
vessel in a blundering and amateurish manner-as we can hardly help but do?"
"Doubtless it would," I answered, `but my plan contains further details I have not yet imparted to you. It
is my intention to deliberately fake superficial damage to the craft and, when landing, to pretend the ship
is more greatly damaged than is strictly true. Thus we shall disarm any suspicions our clumsy landing
maneuvers might arouse."
Koja pondered thoughtfully, his great black jeweled eyes inscrutable. "There is merit in the plan," he said
at last. "It should be easy to break away fragments of figurehead, ornamental scrollwork, deck rails and
rigging and thus create the appearance of considerable damage. It just might work . . . ."
Old Lukor the Swordmaster spoke up next.
"Lad, my heart goes out to you, and I will join the venture nonetheless . . . but have you thought all of this
out carefully? When the flying galleons circle for a landing, they signal with colored flags, if it is day, and
with colored lamps, if by night, giving their registry number, captain's name, and squadron designation.
Surely you cannot know the code upon which these signals are based? And surely to attempt a landing
without it will arouse suspicion?"
"Quite likely," I agreed. "However, I hazard a guess that the captain's cabin will also divulge a
signal-book. And if not, we shall make certain that our artificial injuries are such as to make signaling
impossible break away all the rigging, for example, so that flags cannot be flown-cut away those portions
of wingfront and bow from where signal lamps are shown. Something like this can be done, surely."
A final argument was offered by Lord Yarrak himself.
"What of the personal appearance of the crew and yourself?" he asked. "You will not in the slightest
resemble Zanadarians."
Thus was true. The Golden People of Shondakor, with their lambent emerald eyes, blazing red-gold
manes and amber skins are startlingly different from the Zanadarians, who have papery-white skin, lank
black hair, and lusterless black eyes.
The difference between the races is so extreme that it is one of the many mysteries of Thanator.*
However, I had, of course, anticipated this objection and was ready for it.
"A simple matter of cosmetics will take care of that problem," I said. "Surely a whitening cream can be
used to give our complexions the Zanadarian pallor, and black paste will darken our hair. The corpses of
the Sky Pirates slain in the battle will supply us with authentic uniforms."
No further objections were raised, and so it was agreed.
There was just one chance in a thousand that we should succeed in this fantastic imposture and manage
to carry away the princess from amidst the very stronghold of her enemies. But even one chance in a
thousand was better than none. And even a chance so risky as the one I contemplated was worth taking,
when the life of the Princess Darloona was the prize at stake.
"I am well aware that we will be voyaging into danger," I said. "However, we have won success before in
the face of the most desperate odds, through bold enterprise. I cannot think that our luck will desert us
now. But I will understand if any of you wish to withdraw from this mission. At any rate, Lord Yarrak
must remain in Shondakor to administer his regency over the city. But if any of the rest of you would
prefer to stay and help him in his task, just speak up ....
Koja, Valkar, and even old Lukor the Swordmaster refused to be left behind on this mad venture.
And so it was agreed.
Chapter 2
THE QUEST BEGINS
Our work on the flying galleon began the following day. In this task, my most valuable assistance came
from the old philosopher Zastro. I have called him by that term for lack of a better, but he was no
ivory-tower intellect who spent his years puzzling out intricate moral dilemmas or mental mazes. Quite the
contrary, Zastro of Shondakor was more akin to those philosophic engineers of terrene antiquity whose
talents ran to problems of practical mechanics, like Archimedes, who devoted his genius to the
contrivance of elaborate and surprising war machines dedicated to the defense of Syracuse, or the mighty
brain of Leonardo da Vinci, that superman of the Renaissance, who designed everything from cathedrals
and aqueducts to tanks and protohelicopters.
The help of a master intellect of Zastro's talent was imperative if we were to repair and fly anew the
damaged ornithopter.
The cunning and resourceful warlord of the Chac Yuul, Arkola, had long anticipated such an eventuality
as the aerial invasion Thuton of Zanadar had hurled against the walled stone city. He had devised a
system of rooftop catapults as partial protection against the sky vessels. A well-placed stone missile from
one of these rooftop war engines had smashed the control cupola of the galley in question. Grappling
irons, securely hooked in the ornamental carvings, figureheads, and deck balustrade, had immobilized the
powerless aerial contrivance, drawn it against the roof of a neighboring edifice, whence warriors of the
Black Legion, stationed thereupon against just such an eventuality, had swept the decks of the captive
vessel with a torrent of deadly arrows, until the last Zanadarian of the sky ship's crew had fallen to the
barbed rain.
All had been slain aboard the ill-fated flying machine save only for her captain, a cool-headed,
suave-tongued gentleman privateer of Zanadar, who had received an arrow through the shoulder. This
officer-his name was Ulthar-was the only captive that had been taken alive during the battle. And he had
a place in my plans, I must add.
It was not impossible that we might yet win his active cooperation in repairing, manning, and navigating
the aerial galleon. Although thus far, it must be admitted, Captain Ulthar had smoothly but stead fastly
declined to assist the foes of his nation, for which I could hardly blame him. I yet had hope of converting
him to our cause, if only to escape the rigors of slavery that awaited all war captives. I had also resolved
to take him with us on the expedition, although I intended to keep close watch on him, and have him
under guard at all times.
At any rate, we toured the damaged and captive ship with an eye toward our chances of rendering her
sky-worthy once again. At my side, old Zastro searched the vessel with quick, intelligent eyes that missed
not the smallest detail. We strode the decks of the sky ship together, assessing the extent of the damage
Arkola's catapult had caused.
"Ingenious! Fantastically ingenious," the old philosopher murmured as he leaned over the deck rail to
scrutinize the complicated system of cables and joints and pulleys by which the jointed stationary wings of
the flying ship worked.
I agreed with him profoundly. Although I loathed the Sky Pirates for their callous cruelty, their merciless
rapacity, and their insatiable greed, there was no question that they were a race of engineering geniuses
without parallel in the chronicles of two worlds.
The ungainly flying contraptions of the Zanadarians were like great wooden galleons, rendered fantastical
with carved poop, fluttering banners, ornamental balustrades, and cupolas and gazebos. They hung aloft
on slowly beating wings, buoyed up against the gravitational pull of Callisto by the powerful lifting force of
the natural gas wherewith, under compression, their hollow double hulls were suffused. To the eye of the
uninitiate, that so huge a ship could float weightless, plying the winds of this world as the ancient galleons
of imperial Spain once plied the waves of terrene seas, seemed incredible-miraculous. But the secret lay
in the ingenious construction of the vessel. It was not fashioned out of wood at all, but of paper. Every
last inch of the flying galleons were made of miraculously tough and resilient laminated paper-hulls, decks,
masts, compartments.
This secret rendered the construction of the sky navy of Zanadar no less miraculous, but at least
understandable. The true miracle lay, I think, in the incredibly clever system of weights and
counterweights, wheels and pulleys, joints and hinges, by which the ungainly and enormous jointed wings
could be manipulated in a close approximation of the actions of a bird's wings and by which maneuvering
and flight were affected.
Koja and I had labored at the slave gangs that powered the vessels of Zanadar, and we were intimately
acquainted with the motive system used. But knowledge did nothing to abate my admiration for the
genius that had created the flying contrivances. No scientific achievement ever perfected on my own far
distant world equaled the fantastic achievement of the Zanadarian ships, although the immortal da Vinci
had sketched out plans for just such wingpowered ornithopters in his coded notebooks. Even his genius,
however, had failed to go beyond the conception to the practicality. The Zanadarians had turned the
dream into physical reality, and despite all their cruel ways, I could not help applauding their amazing
skills with an undimmed enthusiasm.
But now we would turn the productions of their own imaginative genius against them. For if only a flying
galleon of Zanadarian design could penetrate the remote and cloud-wrapped fortress of the Sky Pirates,
we had here the means by which it might well be possible to achieve such a goal.
"Ingenious it is-but can it be repaired?" I asked urgently. The aged philosopher pursed his lips judiciously,
then nodded firmly.
"I am confident of it," he assured me. "Look here, komor: the catapult missile sheared the control cupola
cleanly away from the deck surface-but it did not breach the hull. The supply of buoyant vapor remains
thus intact; it only requires that we reconstruct the pilot cupola anew and reconnect the cables."
"Can this be done?"
"Without question it can," he responded with a vigorous nod. "I shall assemble my students and disciples
into a work crew, and we shall if necessary press into service every carpenter and wheelwright and
mechanic in all of Shondakor. You will have your flying galleon in ten days, that I promise you!"
To a man whose beloved is the helpless captive of implacable foes and who is helpless to fight to free
her, ten days can be an eternity. Such was the case with me.
I passed the time, however, in training a force of Shondakorian warriors in the techniques of flight. There
were half a hundred and more of these gallant swordsmen, volunteers all, who were more than willing to
risk their lives in the rescue of their beloved princess. Indeed, virtually every fighting man of the Ku Thad
had volunteered to serve in the crew of the sky ship -even the aged warriors and those who bad been
sorely wounded in the battle that freed the Golden City from the grasp of the Black Legion. Lukor and
Valkar and I had examined these aspirants, choosing the youngest, the most daring, the most skillful
fighters, thus narrowing the selection down to a hand-picked regiment of seasoned veterans, disciplined
and fearless and utterly dedicated to the rescue of Darloona.
These men, some of them, would serve at the wheels. The interior hull was hollowed, and there the hands
of many men were needed to lend their strength to the wheel system that manipulated the jointed wings.
Koja trained these men in the technique, while Valkar and Lukor and I trained the others in the manifold
ship duties they must master if we were to navigate the skies of Thanator and arrive safely in the city of
the Sky Pirates.
By keeping busy at such important tasks as these, I managed to pass the ten-day eternity more painlessly
than I might otherwise. It still seemed like an eternity to me; but it did pass.
And at last we were ready to depart.
I had effected one slight improvement in the designs of the unknown Zanadarian genius, for I planned for
an eventuality even he had never contemplated.
I had caused to be erected on the foredeck a catapult of my own design to be used in defending our craft
against the actions of another galleon.
The need for such a precaution had never occurred to the Sky Pirates of Zanadar, for they were alone
and unequaled in their mastery of the skies of Callisto. No enemy nation possessed the knowledge or the
ability to design similar craft, and thus weapons for a ship-to-ship aerial battle were unheard of and
unknown.
When I displayed my sketches for such a device to Zastro his keen eyes sparkled with appreciation, for
he instantly comprehended the uses to which the weapon would be put. At the time he remarked that not
only would the Zanadarians have no defense against the actions of my catapult, but they would be
helpless to fight back.
Since we would be pitting the resources of our one lone flying ship against the entire aerial navy of the
City in the Clouds, the slight technological advantage given us by the possession of this unique weapon
might well prove invaluable. And thus his craftsman built the engine from my plans and installed it upon
the foredeck at the prow.
My knowledge of so antiquated a weapon may seem surprising-for no terrene army has employed such a
device since the Middle Ages. But in my boyhood I was fascinated by the ingenious military weapons
perfected by the ancient Romans, and my father, himself an engineer, encouraged my enthusiasm by
aiding me to design and build model catapults and ballistae. Some of these miniature war engines were
designed to fire arrows, others projected stone missiles. The skills and the knowledge of these antique
weapons had never left me, and upon this occasion I had cause to be thankful to whatever benign and
foresighted divinity had implanted in my youth the enthusiasm for this hobby.
For my design I settled upon a slight modification of the standard Roman siege catapult. The modern
meaning of the word "catapult" differs from the ancient usage. Today we think of a catapult as a curved
wooden bar, bent under pressure, which, when released, propels a stone ball held cupped at the
extremity of the bar. This weapon fires up, the projectile arcing high, to bypass a city wall and fall straight
down upon the buildings of the besieged city beyond the wall. This design was pointless for my purposes.
The ancient siege catapult, however, was quite different. It fired an arrow or other missile horizontally and
resembled more a crossbow than what we think of as a catapult. This design was the one I selected. The
ancient Roman catapult consisted of a sturdy base whereon was mounted a rectangular frame. The
horizontal bottom-beam of this frame held a long wooden trough in which the barbed missile was lodged.
This trough could be elevated or lowered by the adjustment of a simple ratchet wheel.
This was the weapon I caused to be constructed on the prow deck of our flying galleon.
The standard Roman catapult of this design could fire a twenty-six-inch arrow, weighing half a pound,
and had an effective range of four hundred yards.
My modification of this design permitted the use of a heavier arrow of forged steel weighing about six
pounds. The effective firing range was considerably reduced, but a metal arrow was required for the
simple reason that I intended to employ my projectiles for the purpose of punching a hole through the
laminated paper hulls of enemy sky ships, to damage their buoyancy. To this purpose I had the ironsmiths
of Shondakor laboring at their forges, making for me a quantity of heavy steel arrows whose length and
barbed shafts made them resemble nothing less than a sort of fantastic harpoon.
We experimented with the device and perfected our technique. The effective range of the weapon was
about three hundred yards, which would enable us to fire upon Zanadarian craft at a distance beyond the
range of the enemy's archery. Still, I was amazed that the catapult could fire its harpoons to so great a
distance. The mathematics simply did not work out, and I was at a loss to explain the mystery. The
simple answer may have been that the Thanatorian woods were more resilient than their terrene
equivalents or that the tension cords I used had a far greater elasticity than anything the ancient Romans
had been able to employ in similar weapons. Indeed this was so, for we employed thick cords made
from the "spiderwebs" found in the jungles of the Grand Kumala.
These monster spiders were the size of small dogs.
The Ku Thad word for the species was ximchak. Their web strands were the thickness of heavy
fishing-line and could be drawn incredibly taut without fear of snapping. From the thickness of these
strands, I determined I would prefer not to encounter the spinners thereof. I have nothing in particular
against insects-as witness my friendship for the arthopode, Koja-but a spider the size of a small dog is
simply too much spider for my taste.
At any rate we installed our weapon and camouflaged it with a collapsible frame over which we stretched
a bit of canvas. And we rested secure in the knowledge that we possessed a weapon that would prove
an admirable deterrent in case we were pursued by the Sky Pirates.
It was a clear windless day when we launched forth on our venture. The Thanatorian year consists of
nothing describable as seasons, so I cannot further detail the time. It may have been spring, summer, fall,
or winter, for aught I could ascertain. The timelessness of life on Thanator reminds me inescapably of
Edgar Rice Burroughs' descriptions of the world of Pellucidar, an imaginary region beneath the Earth's
crust.
The difference lies in the fact that this gifted author imagined the inability to tell one hour or day or month
from another would result in a complete ignorance of time itself and thus render his imaginary
Pellucidarian natives immortally youthful.
Such was not the case on Thanator, I can assure you.
The repairs of the sky machine had taken twenty days instead of the ten promised me by Zastro.
And in that time I could swear I had aged twenty years. No Pellucidar, this jungle world of Callisto!
But at last the waiting was over and we were launched forth on our voyage into danger.
The streets and squares of Shondakor were crowded with an immense throng of citizenry, eager to
witness our departure. The ornithopter was moored to an upper tier of the palace. Secured by heavy
cables, it floated free on the buoyant winds. My hand-picked warrior crew was aboard and at their
stations. All that remained was for us to take our final farewells.
Our captive, Ulthar, was taken aboard under heavy guard. He was a sleek-faced noble with
heavy-lidded, keenly observant eyes, and a quiet demeanor that concealed, I felt certain, an active
intelligence. I was also convinced that he would work ill to our cause if given the slightest opportunity.
As he mounted the gangplank under guard, Ulthar swept the deck with a thoughtful and quizzical gaze.
There was a quiet smile on his lips and a gleam of ironic, mocking humor in his sharp yet sleepy-lidded
eyes as he nodded a light salute to me. Then he vanished below to his locked and guarded cabin, and
Yarrak repressed a growl of discontent.
"I am not easy in my mind that you are sailing into danger with a potential spy or assassin aboard,
Jandar," the old man grumbled. "It seems foolhardy to the point of suicide to take that cunning,
smooth-tongued snake with you on such a venture."
I shrugged. "I have taken every precaution against the possibility that he might work us harm," I reassured
him. "For one thing, I have his oath of honor that he will remain our prisoner and will interfere in no way
with the safety or the operation of the galleon."
"His oath of honor, eh?" Yarrak spat, as if the words had left a vile taste on his tongue. "I would not
entrust my safety to the honor of a Sky Pirate! The only Zanadarian that a man can safely trust is a dead
Zanadarian. I hope you know what you are doing, but, somehow, I doubt it!" he concluded in a troubled
摘要：

Jandar3:SkyPiratesofCallistoByLinCarterBookIVOYAGEINTOPERILChapter1ONECHANCEINATHOUSANDWhenallislost,themostfoolhardycourseofactionbecomesfeasible.Whenyouhavenothingmoretolose-except,possibly,yourlife-evenonechanceinathousandseemswellworththerisk.Itwasthusthatweresolveduponthemostabsurdlydangerousso...

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