Lin Carter - Callisto 2 - Black Legion Of Callisto

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Jandar 2: Black Legion of Callisto
By Lin Carter
BOOK ONE
THE BOOK OF JANDAR
CHAPTER ONE
YARRAK, LORD Of THE KU THAD
It is one of the more remarkable of the verities of life that in many circumstances one man can accomplish
that which thousands would find impossible.
I refer to the means by which I achieved the solution of my dilemma.
Through the action of a mysterious force, whose nature was still an inexplicable enigma, I had been
transported across the tremendous gulf of space which yawns between the planet of my birth and
Callisto, moon of Jupiter.
No sooner had I materialized on the surface of that strange and beautiful world of black and crimson
jungles, whose queer skies of golden vapor are lit by enormous moons, than I found myself thrust into the
midst of adventures beyond parallel in human history.
Alone and friendless in an alien world of curious peoples and ferocious monsters, that I managed to
survive unscathed I owe to a mixture of audacity, chance, and accident, rather than courage or wisdom.
I found a primitive world torn by savage antagonisms, where the hand of every man was lifted in eternal
enmity against every other. Three races of sentient beings, each distinctly differing from the other, had I
thus far encountered during my wandering adventures across the face of the jungle moon.
Lowest in the scale of civilization was the Yathoon Horde, a primitive nation of warrior clans. The
Yathoon are not human beings, are not, in fact, even remotely hominid, but a peculiar species of
arthropod.
Like tall, jointed insect-men they seem, their gaunt yet not ungraceful limbs clad in sheaths of gray chitin,
their faces mere featureless masks of glistening horny substance adorned with quivering antennae, their
eyes somber and expressionless orbs of jeweled blackness, their clacking and metallic voices devoid of
inflection. Naked, seemingly sexless, the stalking monstrosities live lives of endless warfare and know
nothing of the finer sensibilities: love, paternity, friendship, mercy-all the emotions which adorn the human
soul are unknown to them.
At first I feared the uncanny arthropods and found them loathsome. But eventually, during the months of
my captivity in which I was not mistreated, I came to understand the poor creatures and to sympathize
with their cold, lonely lives. I found them no longer ugly or repellent; their stalking, multi-jointed limbs
assumed the functional perfection of a beautifully designed machine, their gaunt skeletal figures the
elongated beauty of an attenuated sculpture by Giacometti.
At length I succeeded in making my first friend upon Thanator, which is the name by which the natives of
Callisto call their mysterious world. This individual, a chieftain named Koja, to whom I belonged, proved
susceptible to the finer emotions once their practical utility was demonstrated to him. I saved his life when
the indifference of his fellow warriors would have left him to die, and in so doing I placed him under a
certain obligation, for the Yathoon are not without a primitive code of honor and are cognizant of
indebtedness (which they call uhorz). Ere long he reciprocated my kindness by releasing me from my
involuntary servitude.
And thus, in my new freedom, I encountered the second of the higher races of Thanator, for I chanced to
rescue from the attack of a savage dragon-cat, or yathrib, a beautiful girl named Darloona. She was the
reigning princess of a walled stone city, Shondakor, whose people, the Ku Thad, had but recently been
driven into exile by a bandit army. The Ku Thad are fully human and represent a higher level of civilization
than that yet achieved by the poor arthropods. In appearance they resemble an unlikely combination of
Southeast Asian and Nordic racial features, with their honey-amber skin, slanted emerald eyes, and curly
red-gold manes. Seized by a rival Yathoon chieftain, one Gamchan, and condemned to torment, we were
freed by my friend Koja, only to fall into the clutches of yet another race.
This race, the Sky Pirates, as they are called, represent the most advanced civilization on all of Thanator.
They dwell in a mountaintop city called Zanadar, whose lofty elevation would render it inaccessible save
for their remarkable and ingenious flying ships, which are unlike any form of aerial vehicle ever perfected
upon Earth and demonstrate an astonishing level of technological ingenuity. The Sky Pirates differ from
the Ku Thad in their papery-white flesh, lank black hair, and Caucasoid features.
The cunning and unscrupulous monarch of the Sky Pirates, Prince Thuton, condemned me to slavery
while pretending to befriend Darloona. I won freedom, and found a friend among the Zanadarians in the
person of Master Lukor, a gallant and gentlemanly master swordsman who taught me the skills and
secrets of his craft. Learning that Thuton was secretly negotiating with Darloona's deadliest foe, the
bandit chief who had overwhelmed her city, Lukor, Koja, and I effected our escape from the City in the
Clouds by means of one of the ingenious flying contraptions.
Injured in a gale, the flying machine crashed in a mighty zone of dense jungles called the Grand Kumala.
Although we had escaped the wreck without harm, our party was attacked by one of the savage
predators of the jungle and the Princess Darloona became separated from us and was taken prisoner by
a bandit patrol. Helpless to render aid, we watched from the margin of the jungle as she was borne a
prisoner into her own city of Shondakor.
Wandering in the jungles, we eventually encountered her people, the Ku Thad, and joined forces with
them.
Although the Ku Thad were able to direct me to the mysterious Gate Between The Worlds, whereby I
had first come to this barbaric world, I elected to remain behind, for I realized at last that I was
hopelessly in love with the flame-haired beauty of Darloona. I employ the word "hopeless" to describe
my suit, and for excellent reason. Not only did it seem impossible that I should ever see her again, but
even were such to occur, she would coldly spurn my affections, for the proud, fiery Princess had
conceived a misapprehension concerning me, and deemed me a coward, a weakling, and virtually an
enemy.
At an impasse, helpless to rescue the woman I loved from her captivity, I set down an account of my
adventures on Thanator, feeling that some narrative of my remarkable discoveries, however crudely
composed, should be preserved. This manuscript I placed within the Gate, hoping that it should thus be
transported to the far-distant planet of my birth. It was with mixed emotions that I observed it as it
disappeared in the weird beam of sparkling force. Whether or not it safely traversed the colossal
distances between the worlds, to reach the surface of Earth at last, I shall probably never know.
Shondakor was in the grip of a wandering bandit host known as the Chac Yuul-the Black Legion-who
had taken the city by surprise or treachery some months before.
I am at a loss to find any parallel in terrene history for this bandit legion. A large and disciplined force of
fighting men, homeless nomads, willing on the one hand to sell their swords as mercenaries in any conflict
between opposed cities, and on the other, to seize by force lands or loot, they are uniquely Thanatorian. I
suppose the closest parallels could be found in the nomadic warrior clans of seventeenth-century Russia,
such as the Don Cossacks. Then again, in certain characteristics the Black Legion resembles the
wandering bands of condottieri found in fifteenth-century Italy.
Professional warriors, forswearing homeland and family, banded together under a military commander
selected by popular acclaim, they go where they will, living off the land, here attacking a merchant
caravan, there seizing a fishing village or a farming hamlet, sometimes laying siege to the' castle of some
wealthy aristocrat, at other times selling their swords as a mercenary unit in some internecine conflict.
What had led them to assault one of the most splendid and brilliant of all the great cities of this world was
still an unsolved mystery, but they had seized control of the metropolis in a blitzkrieg attack. Perhaps their
war-. lord, Arkola, wearied of the rude nomadic life of camp and march and yearned to wield power
over a kingdom of his own.
The enemy already within the gates, the Princess of Shondakor chose a reckless expedient and led many
of her people forth to the freedom of the open plains, rather than attempt the defense of the city, which
would have resulted in a massacre. The class of warrior nobility which followed her into self-imposed
exile did not unanimously favor her decision, but they venerated their gorgeous and high-spirited princess,
the descendant of a thousand kings, and at length were persuaded as to the truth of the old adage, "he
who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day."
Now bereft of their princess, the leadership of the Ku Thad had devolved upon the stout shoulders of
Lord Yarrak, Darloona's uncle. He was a tall, stately, martial leader with a natural ability for command.
When Lukor, Koja, and I were first brought before him and he learned of the various assistances we had
rendered to his niece and queen, he welcomed us with great honor and hospitality. And thus for weeks
we had lived with the Ku Thad warriors amid the trackless jungles of the Grand Kumala.
These jungles covered literally thousands of square miles and in their density and tracklessness afforded
the Shondakorians the most perfect hiding place imaginable. The Black Legion warriors had never
pursued the exiled nobles, not caring what became of them so long as they presented no menace.
And indeed they did not. Although the Ku Thad were stalwart and courageous fighting men, and although
they hungered to free their captive nation from their bandit overlords, they were too few in number to
offer the Chac Yuul a challenge. The Shondakorians totaled no more than two or three thousand, and the
Black Legion could summon to arms three times their number. Also, the walls of the city were
monumental, and their girth immense. So huge a metropolis was Shondakor that it would take an army of
no less than ten thousand warriors to effectively lay siege and block all gates and exits. The irony of our
situation lay in this trick of fate, that it had been the ancestors of the Ku Thad who had, with infinite labor
and over scores of years, raised those strong walls which now formed an impassable barrier to their own
descendants.
Night after night around the council fires we discussed the ways and means whereby we might
successfully wrest Shondakor from her conquerors. The great many-colored moons of Thanator gazed
down on our fruitless arguments and vain discussions, and the problem remained unsolved when the
vaporous golden skies paled with the sudden flare of the Thanatorian dawn.
Overwhelming force of arms might have breached the walls, but our numbers were insufficient.
A surprise attack might well gain us entry through one of the less well-guarded gates, but our very
smallness of number made it hard to see how we could manage to overcome so great a force as would
then oppose us.
Eventually, I conceived of a desperate plan.
It had one chance in a thousand of success.
I would attempt to enter the gates of Shondakor alone!
Yarrak regarded me with an expression generally reserved for the ravings of a madman.
"Jandar, no one doubts your courage or cunning, but what can one man possibly do against so many?"
"He can do one thing alone, which would be impossible to a number," I replied. "He can get in."
"I do not follow your reasoning," he admitted.
"Simply this. The Black Legion guards would hardly permit two thousand armed warriors to enter the
gates without a pitched battle. But one man will enter easily and without opposition. Because they will
feel the same as you-what can one man do against them?"
My old friend, Lukor the Swordmaster, instantly realized the truth of my observation.
"And, once within, you will have considerable freedom and an opportunity, at least, to see what can be
done towards freeing the Princess!" he suggested.
"Even so," I nodded.
Lord Yarrak considered the matter in silence. "But why should they admit you at all?" he asked at length.
I shrugged. "Why not? I am not of the Ku Thad race, as my tan skin, yellow hair, and blue eyes freely
attest. A Ku Thad seeking entry would arouse suspicions, but I will not. I will present myself in disguise
as a wandering mercenary seeking entry into their ranks. The Chac Yuul are not a race, a nation, or a
clan, but a free association of fighting men from every corner of Thanator, brought together through a
common desire for loot. A solitary warrior should have no great difficulty in gaining access to their host"
Yarrak smiled, his troubled face clearing.
"I must confess myself reluctantly persuaded to the strength of your plan," he said, "although I still
question whether one man behind the city walls can aid our plans in any way."
"One agent within the walls can do more than no agent within the walls, my lord," Lukor pointedly
observed.
Yarrak laughed and admitted the truth of that statement.
"I shall wear the simple leather tunic of a common warrior," I said, "and bear unmarked steel. The most
they can do is turn me away. But if they do not, then I have a fighting chance of winning a place in their
army, and, in time, perhaps of affording the Princess some opportunity of escape."
"You will need a covering story, to account for yourself," mused Lord Yarrak, falling in with my plan.
"You could say you had been a mercenary swordsman m the service of Soraba, which is a city of the
north. The Chac Yuul have not been in the north for ten years, so you will run no danger of having the
details of your account brought into question."
"My lord, Jandar may find some difficulty because of his unusual coloring," spoke up wise old Zastro, a
sage elder of the Ku Thad who had been listening to our discussion.
"I shall tell them simply that I am a traveler from a far distant land," I said, "which is nothing more than the
truth."
They smiled at this, for of course they knew my story, and my remark, although true, was something of
an understatement. For my homeland was three hundred and eighty-seven million, nine hundred and thirty
thousand miles away-"far distant" indeed!
"I do not think you should go into this danger alone, Jandar," said Koja in his solemn way. The gallant old
Swordmaster nodded in vigorous assent.
"I could not agree with friend Koja more," he said. "Together, the two of us-"
"The three of us-" added Koja.
"Thanks, but I think one man has a better chance of getting in, than three," I said firmly.
"But-"
"I am young enough, and a fair-enough swordsman, to pass myself off as a landless, penniless
mercenary," I pointed out. "But you, Lukor, area master in the art of fence, and a most distinguished
gentleman in your appearance, taste, and manner. It would be hard going to convince the suspicious
Chac Yuul that any gentleman of your evident sophistication and sense of honor is a wandering
sell-sword rogue. And, Koja, when have the noble chieftains of the Yathoon clans enlisted with the Black
Legion bandits? No, friends, I thank you. But this adventure is mine alone."
There were several further arguments to be thrashed out, but in the end it was decided to my satisfaction.
I would leave at dawn.
CHAPTER TWO
TO THE GATES Of SHONDAKOR
The dawns of Callisto-or Thanator, as I should accustom myself to thinking of this jungle world-are a
unique experience. They have to be seen to be believed.
Thanator, the fifth moon of Jupiter, literally has no sun. In common with the rest of the twelve moons of
the giant planet, it is so very distant from the central luminary of our solar system that the sun seems but
the brightest of the stars visible in its skies.
By all rights, I suppose that the surface of Callisto should be a cold and airless waste of dead, frozen
stone, drenched in perpetual gloom, illuminated only by the dim reflected glory of the Jove-light, for that
mightiest of the planets bulks enormous in its skies. The above description doubtless tallies with the sober
and considered pronouncements of terrene science.*
But in fact, Callisto enjoys a gravity only fractionally less than that of my home world; and however
impossible it may be, according to the currently accepted dogmas of science, Thanator is a warm and
even tropic world, teeming with fecund life.
The skies of this jungle moon are composed of breathable vapors whose composition seems to me
identical with that of Earth's own atmosphere (if this were not so, then how could I breathe it and
continue to live?) with just one rather peculiar difference.
And that difference is the sky itself.
For high in the stratosphere of the Thanatorian atmosphere a layer of strange golden mist may be seen.
Indeed, the skies of jungle-clad Thanator are not azure, but a glowing amber!
Dawn on Thanator is a sudden, sourceless brightening of this dome of golden vapor, which changes from
complete darkness to a full and noonlike brilliance in just a matter of minutes.
This peculiar illuminative effect extends uniformly across the entire dome of the heavens, and it does not
"rise" in the east and "set" in the west. I have never found a satisfactory answer to this phenomenon, but
many are the mysteries of Thanator, and this is but one more.
All night we had traveled north through the Kumala, until shortly before dawn we were some distance
north of Shondakor. Here I bade my comrades an affectionate farewell. From this point I must go
forward alone in the face of whatever perils the unknown future held for me.
I traversed the plains to the shores of the river Ajand, forded the river, and came to a stone-paved
highway which Lord Yarrak had called to my attention; from thence I turned south and rode for
Shondakor. Since my story would have it that I came from Soraba, which is on the southern shore of the
inland sea of Corund Laj, it would not do were I to approach the city from any direction but the north. I
rode steadily, while the golden sky flushed suddenly with brilliance above me and bathed all of the level
plains round about with noontime light.
My steed was a thaptor, a beast used by the natives of Callisto in place of the horse, which is unknown
upon this world. In fact, mammals of any description are exceedingly rare upon Thanator, I have noticed.
Thaptors are wingless, four-legged avians. They resembled nothing so much as an unlikely hybrid of bird
and horse, and whenever I see one I am irresistibly reminded of old Earth legends of the hippogriff,° for
the thaptor might well have modeled for this fabulous creature. It is about the size of a large horse, but
has clawed bird-feet, is clad in feathers, which rise in a manelike ruff just behind its head. Its beaked
head and staring eyes bear a marked resemblance to the parrot.
The thaptors are unruly and restive and have never been completely domesticated, which makes riding
one of them partake of the element of an adventure. Indeed, a mounted Thanatorian warrior habitually
carries, strapped to his saddle, a small wooden club called an olo wherewith to crack his mount soundly
atop the head should it seek to dislodge him from his place, or strive to crane its neck around and bite
out a portion of his leg. This last habit of the thaptor makes me puzzle that the Thanatorians seem never
to have invented the riding boot.
In their jungle home, the Ku Thad have little use for thaptors, but retain a few whereby their messengers
can travel more rapidly than on foot. Thus it was that Yarrak was able to lend me a mount: it would have
aroused needless suspicions in the breasts of the Black Legion had I arrived before their gates
unmounted, claiming to have traversed the many miles of road from Soraba on foot.
After an hour of hard riding I came within sight of Shondakor.
The great city of the Ku Thad rose amidst the Plains of Haratha, on the eastern shore of the river. It was
a splendid metropolis. The massive ramparts of its mighty wall encircled the city; tall spires rose in the
brilliant morning light, and I could see the domes of palaces and mansions. All was built of stone, and the
outer walls were faced with plaster that gleamed pale golden-hence its appellation, the "Golden City."
As I rode down to the gates of the walled stone city, I could not help feeling like some heroic warrior in a
Sword and Sorcery novel. I'm sure I straightened my back, threw out my shoulders, and let my hand rest
on the pommel of my sword in a swashbuckling manner.
Somewhat to my surprise, the gates were open and a number of farmers were passing through, leading
carts and wagons filled with bags of grain, sides of meat, sacks of vegetables, and the like. This, I soon
realized, was market day and the farmers from the surrounding countryside were bringing their goods to
the bazaar. Ahead of me, as I joined the line filing through the gates, I saw warriors of the Chac Yuul
negligently waving the peasants through the portals. Wheels creaked, dust swirled, and the heavy wagons
clattered over the stone pavement. They were drawn by a species of draft animals unfamiliar to me-a
heavy, lumbering beast with a thick short tail and a massive head, beaked, and horned, which looked like
some ungainly cross between rhinoceros and triceratops.
I observed with a touch of wry humor that evidently life must go on, even in a conquered city which lay in
the grip of its enemies. Farmers must sell their produce at market, housewives must purchase them, and
men must eat, the rise and fall of dynasties notwithstanding.
I joined the end of the line and rode slowly towards the moment of decision. Would I be permitted to
enter the city of the Chac Yuul, or would I be challenged?
As I approached the gates I felt the eyes of the guards upon me. One of them, a flat-faced, Mongollike
little warrior with bandy legs and long, apelike arms, gestured me to a halt.
"You, there! Where do you think you are going?"
I looked down at him from the height of my saddle.
"Since this path leads only within the city, you should be able to figure out the answer to that question
yourself," I replied calmly. Some urge of inner deviltry inspired the mocking insolence of my manner. I do
not know whether or not it was wise, but it aroused a chorus of laughter from the bowlegged guard's
comrades. His swarthy cheeks flushed and his eyes went cold.
"Get down off that thaptor," he snarled.
"Certainly. But I will still be taller than you, even when dismounted," I smiled. He flushed again, and again
the hooting mockery of his comrades stung him. He turned on them.
"You-Calcan! Fetch the komad," he snarled. Then, displaying a vicious little hooked dagger, he said in a
cold, level warning voice: "The next one of you horeb to laugh will kiss this."
They fell silent.
A horeb is a repulsive, wriggling rodent, a scavenger of loathsome habits, not the least of which is that it
feeds off rotting garbage.
I waited, standing quietly, ready for anything. My hands swung easily at my sides, only a fingerbreadth
from the pommel of sword and dagger. The bandy-legged little guard eyed me with cold malevolence
and spat into the road dust eloquently.
"What's the trouble here?" a deep voice boomed.
A burly-shouldered, hulking Black Legion warrior strode through the gates, to look over our little
tableau.
"It's this fellow here, Captain Bluto," the bandy-legged little guard who had challenged me at the gate
whined, cocking a thumb in my general direction. "He wants to get in the city, but he wears weapons,
which is against the rule."
Bluto looked me up and down with a squinting eye. He was truly enormous, one of the tallest men I have
ever seen, And he literally towered over the other Chac Yuul guardsmen, who tended to shortness on the
average. And he looked to be every bit as tough and as strong as he was big. I felt an inward qualm.
Then I caught the look in the little bandy-legged guard's eye. It was a smirk. I could read his thought
clearly: let's see you crack wise in front of Bluto, he was thinking. I straightened my shoulders. In for a
penny, in for a pound.
"So you want to get in the city," Bluto grunted. He rubbed a black-stubbled jaw with one hand the size of
a ham. Truly he was an enormous specimen of manhood, although, I suspected, an abnormal specimen. I
thought I detected in his underslung, prognathous jaw and the swollen muscles of his broad shoulders,
deep chest, and heavy legs the signs of a glandular malfunction.
"That's right," I agreed. "Why all this? If a bunch of mere peasants can troop in, who is to stop a trained
and experienced fighting man?"
Bluto grinned nastily, and a hot eager glint came into his eyes. Instantly I had him pegged for a bully.
Most big men I have known were extraordinarily gentle; it was as if with their unusual size and strength
went an obligation not to swagger it before less burly men than themselves. Not so with Bluto, I guessed.
He delighted in crushing a man smaller than himself.
"So, he's a fighting man, is he?" he chuckled coarsely. And he began striding around me, looking me up
and down with mock admiration. Then he looked a trifle disgruntled. His broad humor would have been
more appropriate if I had been a lesser man myself, but I am considered rather tall and I believe I may
truthfully state that the past months of action and adventure I had come through amidst the thousand
perils of this jungle world had developed my musculature to a superb degree.
"In this city there are no fighting men but warriors of the Chac Yuul," he growled. I nodded amicably.
"So I have been given to understand. It is for that reason that I am here-to join forces with the Black
Legion," I said.
He gave a belch of crude laughter. "The Black Legion! So, you think you are worthy to stand and fight
by our side, eh? A little fellow like you?"
His men chuckled, but their humor was forced. For, in all truth, I must have looked rather prepossessing
to men of their dwarfed stature, even when standing beside Bluto.
He slapped his arms and thumped his chest. "You think men like me need you to defend them?" he
demanded, obviously working himself up into a fighting rage. Doubtless the poor lout's single pleasure lay
in showing off his prowess before his warriors.
"I may not be as tall a man as yourself," I said with a cool, level glance, "but I have a long arm," and here
I indicated the rapier that swung at my side.
"Give it to him, Komad," the bandy-legged little guard leered. "Show him how a Chac Yuul swordsman
deals with braggarts!"
Bluto was breathing heavily now, his dark face flushed, his brows congested. "You want to fight Bluto?
You want to see what it takes to measure up to a Black Legion warrior?"
"I would prefer to save my fighting for the enemies of the Chac Yuul," I said. "To whom should I apply
for enlistment?" And I made as if to step past him. He let loose with a bull-like roar and, reaching out,
seized me by the upper arm and swung me about so that I faced him again.
"Stand still little man, when Bluto is talking to you -uhh!"
That gasp with which his bellow ended is easily explained. I dislike being handled, so I broke his hold
with a karate chop that must have numbed him from elbow to wrist.
With an inarticulate roar, he struck me across the face!
I staggered-more shaken by surprise and astonishment than actually hurt by the clumsy blow.
My foot slipped and I went down on one knee.
A deathly silence had fallen over the thronged guards.
I felt my heart sink within me. Not that this noisy braggart worried me, for I was well aware that my skills
with the sword were superior to anything this oafish bully could bring against me. But it had been my
hope to enter the city of Shondakor without attracting any attention to myself. And nothing was more
likely to bring me to the attention of the Lords of the Black Legion than a display of superb
swordsmanship before their very gates, by one who pretended to be nothing more than just another
ordinary mercenary!
Those hopes were dashed now, for it was unlikely that I would be able to get past this Bluto without a
fight.
Cursing the luck, I rose to my feet again and brushed the road dust from my garments while my mind
raced furiously, striving to think of a way out of this dilemma.
CHAPTER THREE
I WIN A FIGHT AND MAKE A FRIEND
There was no way to avoid the conflict, for a blow had been given and heated words had been
exchanged.
Bluto stood there before me, legs spread, one hand hanging by the pommel of his sword. He was
breathing heavily, his coarse features flushed, his little piglike eyes gleaming with fury.
"Draw your steel, man," he growled. "Let Bluto see what sort of a man you are and what your guts are
made of."
I kept my hand well away from my blade, and with some difficulty I retained a calm smile.
A flash of excitement lit his little glinting eyes. I think he thought he faced a coward, and the bully within
him heated to excitement at the thought. But this, also, was not the way out-for a coward would not be
welcome in the ranks of the Black Legion.
Suddenly an inspiration occurred to me. I relaxed, breathing easily. For there was after all one mode of
combat in which I could display superior prowess without arousing suspicion in those who were soon to
be my superior officers.
"Well? What are you waiting for, you horeb?" he snarled.
I smiled and stood calmly, letting all see that I was at my ease.
"I presume even a band of ruffians such as yourselves has some conception of warriors' honor, and that a
man struck in the face has the: right to defend himself without charge of treason, riot, or insurrection," I
remarked.
Bluto nodded, grunting. "Draw steel," he growled. "No man will speak against you. This is between the
two of us."
"Very well," I said evenly. "If this is between we two alone, then it is a duel, and, being such, is under the
code of honor. As the challenged, I have the right to choose weapons, and, as I refer not to sully my steel
with the vile gore of a bully and a coward, I choose-fists!"
Balling a fist, I swung a firm right and caught him in the pit of the stomach with every ounce of strength in
arm, shoulder, and back. He was not anticipating such a blow, and the muscles of his abdomen were
slack. Thus my balled fist struck his middle with an audible smack, like a butcher's mallet smacking a side
of meat. My fist sank into his guts a good two inches.
His mouth drooped slackly; his face went sallow; he swayed, the heavy sword dropping from loose
fingers to clang against the stony pave. He regarded me with a look of blank astonishment in his little
piglike eyes.
Then I followed with a right to the jaw that must have broken a tooth or two. He bounced backwards,
lifted a couple of inches off the ground by the impact of my blow, and fell with his back in the dust with a
terrific thump and clatter of accouterments. And he did not get up again. He was out cold.
The fine art of fisticuffs, I should perhaps note here, is all but unknown on Thanator. It is not that pugilism
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Jandar2:BlackLegionofCallistoByLinCarterBOOKONETHEBOOKOFJANDARCHAPTERONEYARRAK,LORDOfTHEKUTHADItisoneofthemoreremarkableoftheveritiesoflifethatinmanycircumstancesonemancanaccomplishthatwhichthousandswouldfindimpossible.IrefertothemeansbywhichIachievedthesolutionofmydilemma.Throughtheactionofamysteri...

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Lin Carter - Callisto 2 - Black Legion Of Callisto.pdf

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：84 页 大小：209.45KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-23

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