A. E. Van Vogt - The Book of Ptath

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The Book of Ptath
by A.E.Van Vogt
Version 1.0
CHAPTER I
THE RETURN OF PTATH
HE was Ptath. Not that he thought of his name. It
was simply there, a part of him, like his body and his arms
and legs, like the ground over which he walked. No, that
last was wrong. The ground was not of him. There was a
relation, of course, but it was a little puzzling. He was
Ptath, and he was walking on ground, walking to Ptath.
Returning to the city of Ptath, capital of his empire of
Gonwonlane after a long absence.
That much was clear, accepted without thought, and it
was important. He felt the urgency of it in the way he kept
quickening his pace to see whether the next bend of the river
would make it possible for him to turn westward.
To the west was a vast spread of grass, trees and blue-
misted hills, and somewhere beyond the hills, his destina-
tion. With annoyance, he stared down at the river that
barred his way. It had kept winding, twisting back on itself,
forcing him time and again to retrace his footsteps. At first
that hadn't seemed to matter. Now it did. With all his heart
and all his dim consciousness, he longed to be rushing
toward those western hills, laughing, shouting in his glee
for what he would find there.
Just what he would find wasn't completely certain. He
was Ptath, returning to his people. What were those people
like? What was Gonwonlane like? He couldn't remember.
He strained for the answer that seemed to quiver just
beyond reach of his consciousness.
He must cross the river, that much he knew. Twice he
stepped down into the shallow wetness nearest shore; and
each time drew back, repelled by the alienness. The problem
brought the first pain of purposeful thought that he had
known since he came out of blackness. In bewilderment he
turned his gaze to the hills that lay low on the horizon to
the south, and east, and north. They looked the same as the
hills to the west, with one vital difference: He wasn't
interested in them.
He brought his gaze back to the western hills. He had to
go to them, river or no river. Nothing could stop him. The
purpose was like a wind, a storm that raged inside him.
Across the river, a world of glory beckoned. He stepped
down into the water, shrank back momentarily, then waded
into the dark, swirling current. The river tugged at him, and
it seemed to be alive like himself. It too, moved over the
land, and was not a part of the land.
His thought ended as he stepped into a deep hole. The
water crowded hungrily over his chin, tasted flat and luke-
warm in his mouth. Agony stabbed through his chest. He
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struggled, smashing at the yielding water with his hands,
fighting back to higher ground. He stood breast deep, scowl-
ing at the water that had attacked him. He had no fear,
simply dislike, and a conviction that he had been treated
unfairly. He wanted to go to the hills, and the river was
trying to stop him. But he would not let it. If pain there must
be; so be it. He stepped forward.
This time he ignored the agony in his chest and walked
on, straight through the watery darkness that engulfed him.
And finally, as if realizing its defeat, the pain went away.
'The water kept pushing at him, pulling his feet off the soft
muddy bottom, but each time his head broke the water he
could see that he was making progress.
The twisting chest pain came back as he emerged at last
into shallower water. Water sprayed from his lips. He
coughed and retched until tears blurred his vision, and for a
while he lay contorted on the grassy bank. The paroxysm
ended. He climbed to his feet, and for a long minute stood
staring at the dark, rushing stream. When he turned away,
he was conscious of one thing: He didn't like water.
The road puzzled him when he came to it. It stretched in
an almost straight line toward the western horizon; and its
very uniformity gave it character. It was obvious that, like
himself, it had a purpose, but it wasn't actively going
anywhere. He tried to think of it as a river that was not
moving, but he felt no sense of repulsion, no dislike; and
when he stepped on it he didn't sink into it.
A sound drew him out of his mental effort. It came from
the north where the road wound into sight from behind a
tree-covered hill. At first he saw nothing, then the thing
came into sight. Part of the thing's body was like his own.
That part had arms, legs, body and head, almost exactly as
he had. Its face was white, but the rest was mostly dark in
color. And there all resemblance to himself ended. Below
the curious image of himself was a wooden thing with
wheels; and in front of that a sleek, scarlet, four-legged
thing with one horn sticking out of the center of its head.
Ptath moved straight toward the beast, eyes wide, mind
grasping at details. He heard the top part of the thing yell at
him, and then the nose with the horn on it caught him in
the chest. The animal stopped.
Ptath picked himself off the gravel angrily. The man part
of the creature was still yelling at him; and it wasn't that he
didn't understand. It was simply that the thing was standing
up, shaking its arms at him. It wasn't attached. Like himself,
it was separate, different. He heard it say:
'What's the matter with you, walking right into my
dottle? Are you sick? And what's the idea of wandering
around naked? Do you want the soldiers of the goddess to
see you?'
There was too much meaning, too many words piling one
on top of another. His anger faded before his effort to bring
all the words together into one whole.
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'Matter?' he repeated finally. 'Sick?'
The man stared at him curiously. 'Say,' the fellow said
slowly, 'you are sick. You'd better climb up here beside me
and I'll take you to the temple at Linn. It's only five kanbs
away; and they'll feed you and give you medical attention
there. Here, I'll come down and give you a hand up.'
As the dottle started forward the man said: 'What hap-
pened to your clothes?'
'Clothes?' Ptath said curiously.
'Sure.' The man stared at him. 'By the zard of Accadis-
tran, you mean to say you don't know you're naked? Looks
like amnesia to me.'
Ptath shifted uneasily. There was a quality in the fellow's
tone that he didn't like, a suggestion that something was
wrong with him. He glared the beginning of anger and said
loudly:
'Naked! Clothes!'
'Don't get excited.' The man sounded startled. He said
hastily, 'Look—clothes, like this!'
He fumbled at his own rough coat, held up an edge of it.
Rage evaporated out of Ptath. He stared at the man trying
to comprehend that the fellow was not really dark in color,
but that a dark something covered him. He snatched at the
coat and drew it closer the better to examine it. There was a
tearing sound, and a piece of cloth came free in his fingers.
The man let out a yell. 'Hey, what in——'
Ptath turned a puzzled gaze on the fellow. The thought in
his mind was that this creature who made so much noise
wanted him to stop looking at the coat. Abruptly impatient,
he shoved the torn section back. But it didn't seem to be
enough. The man's eyes were narrowed, his lips twisted, as
he said:
'You ripped that cloth as if it was so much paper. You're
not sick. You're——'
Decision hardened his face. His hands jerked up, shoved
furiously. There was no resisting an action that had no
meaning until it was over. Ptath struck the ground with a
jar. He was too angry to be aware of pain. With a grunt he
jumped to his feet and saw that the cart was moving rapidly
along the road to the west. The one-horned dottle was run-
ning in great, galloping strides. And the man was standing
erect in the cart, lashing at the animal with the reins.
Ptath trudged along the road thinking of the dottle and
cart. It would be pleasant to ride in the cart all the way to
Ptath.
It was a long time after that the great beasts appeared on
the road far ahead. He watched them and felt his first
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tightening interest as he saw that men were on their backs.
The trick, of course, was to get up close to the rider and
shove him off fast. And ride rapidly away down the road.
He waited, trembling in his eagerness. Puzzlement came
only when the four animals came near.
They were bigger than he had thought. They towered.
They were twice as tall as he was, and massively built. Their
necks were long and supported small, wicked-looking, three-
horned heads. The bright yellow of their necks contrasted
vividly with their green bodies and the bluish violet of their
long, tapering tails. They pounded up quickly and reared to
a halt in a cloud of dust.
'That's him all right,' said one of the men. 'The farmer
described him exactly.'
'Fine-looking chap,' a second said. 'Just how are we
going to handle him.'
A third frowned. 'I've seen him somewhere. I'm sure of
it. Can't just place him, though.'
They had come for him because somebody had described
him to them. The man with the dottle, of course, his enemy.
The why of it was beyond his comprehension, but it only
stiffened his determination. The long, sloping tail, he
thought carefully, offered the best method of climbing, but
that way the rider would know his purpose. Actually the
best approach would be a variation of the one the man had
used on him.
He said, 'Will you help me up? It is five kanbs to Linn,
and they will feed me and give me medical attention at the
temple there. Come down and give me a handup. I am sick
and have no clothes.'
It sounded convincing in his own ears. He waited, watch-
ing their reaction, alert to every word and gesture, noting
phrases for future study, grim with his purpose. The men
looked at each other, then laughed. Finally, one said toler-
antly :
'Sure, fellow, we'll give you a lift. That's what we're here
for.'
Another said, 'You've got your distances slightly mixed,
stranger. Linn is three kanbs away, not five.' He laughed.
'You're lucky you turned out to be harmless. We thought it
was some rebel stunt. Throw him the clothes we brought
along, Dallird.'
A bundle landed in the grass beside the road. Ptath
fumbled at it curiously, laid each piece out on the green,
studying from the corners of his eyes the way the men were
dressed. There were a few extras in the bundle which he
examined and finally tossed aside as unnecessary. He saw
that the men were watching him with wide grins.
'You stupid idiot,' one said abruptly, 'don't you know
anything about clothes! Look, that's underclothing. It goes
on underneath. You put it on first.'
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Ptath's mind was quicker now. There were more facts on
which to build. In a flash of understanding he grasped at the
words and in two minutes he was dressed. He walked up to
one of the animals and held up his hand to the man,
Dallird, who had thrown him the clothes.
'Up,' he said, 'Help me up.'
The version of his plan that had suddenly occurred to
him was as simple as it was effective. The man reached
down, said:
Take my hand and grab hold of the saddle.'
That was easy. It was all easy. Ptath pulled himself up
with one effortless contraction of the muscles of one arm.
With the other he jerked at the man's hand. Dallird yelped
shrilly as he soared out of his saddle. He landed on his
knees and was crouching there, groaning and cursing as
Ptath pulled himself firmly into the saddle, caught up the
reins, wheeled the animal toward the west and beat at it
with the reins as it ran just as he had seen the man do with
the dottle.
The swift ride fascinated him. There was no jar, no up-
and-down movement, no swaying. The dottle cart had been
bumpy; this was a flow, a dreamlike rhythm. There was no
doubt about it, he would travel all the rest of his journey
this way.
He was watching the galloping motion of the beast's hind
legs, and the way the seemingly heavy tail floated in the air
behind the great animal, when his glance caught a part of
the road behind him. There, a few lengths away, were the
other three beasts, one with two men mounted on it.
They made an interesting, colorful picture, strung out at
full racing gallop. It was absorbing to watch them so near
him, drawing closer, closer. He felt no dismay, no sense of
being personally involved. What finally brought a thin
frown to his face was the way the mouths of the men
opened and shut. The sound of their shouting penetrated to
him above the pounding of the paws of his own beast. Their
yells startled him. They were after him, and it wasn't right.
He had not chased the man on the cart. It was becoming
clear that he had made a mistake.
With a gathering dislike he watched the beasts draw
abreast of him. Whipping his own animal did no good. It
was slower than the others, or else these men knew some
mysterious way of getting speed out of their mounts. Two
of the big beasts were pushing with their long necks against
the head of his mount. It slowed, then began to rear, then
stopped.
Ptath sat angry and nonplused. The situation was abso-
lutely new, different and strange. Unless he could think of
some drastic action, these men might try to force him off
the back of the animal.
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One of the men spoke: 'Well, we've got him cornered.
Now what?'
'Let me get a poke at him,' snarled Dallird. 'I'll punch
that handsome face of his to a bloody pulp.'
Ptath glared at the man. He wasn't sure what the words
meant, but there was a suggestion of further shoving, and
his neck muscles swelled in answering rage. A vague plan
that had been in the back of his mind leaped to the fore. It
seemed abruptly a simple and satisfactory solution.
He would knock all the men off their mounts, drive the
beasts in front of him for a distance, and thus with one
action prevent the men from following him and from
sending out others to annoy him.
He saw that one of the men was drawing a long, pointed
thing from a scabbard that lay across the back of the man's
own mount. The pointed thing flashed up high into the
air.
'Get off!' the man cried. 'Get down to the road or I'll hit
you over the head with my spear.'
'Why not stick it into him?' urged Dallird. 'Teach him
not to interfere with temple soldiers.'
Ptath's mind blazed with anger, with a sense of outrage,
and a fierce determination to carry out his purpose. There
was a way, he saw, that it might be worked against Dallird
and the man mounted with him. The beast they rode was
just beyond easy arm's reach. By hanging onto the saddle
with his fingers, slipping his left leg over and reaching
swiftly——
That would leave him open to the attack from the man
with the spear and the man on the third beast; but it was
already clear that he would have to carry out his plan by
stages. With a sliding movement he snatched at the two
men. A fist landed on his face. It stung, but it was the
novelty of it, not the pain, that made him retaliate in kind.
His knuckles crashed into the face of the man beside
Dallird. Bones cracked, blood spurted. The man crumpled
back with a single cry and hung limply down from the
saddle. It was such an effective method that Ptath lashed at
Dallird. The man shrank back, and half fell, half slid to the
ground. He stood there shouting shrilly:
'Stick him, Bir, stick him! He's killed San.'
Ptath jerked back into the saddle. He expected pain in his
back, but nothing happened. The man with the spear was
well down the road, disappearing over the crest of a hill.
Ptath frowned and urged his own mount forward. His in-
tention was to try to catch the fellow. But as he came to the
rim of the great valley down which the road wound, he saw
that the man was steadily widening the gap between them.
He disappeared into a distant grove of trees.
The road kept twisting gently to the right as Ptath
plunged down into the valley. It curved past men working
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in the dark, grassless field, past curious-looking wooden and
stone mounds that stood well back among the trees. It came
finally to the clump of trees where Bir had disappeared, and
divided neatly in two.
Astounded, Ptath pulled his beast to a halt. The spectacle
of what he had come to accept as a perfectly normal road
splitting into two roads of equal size was a major develop-
ment that required long seconds to absorb. His tenseness
yielded to the drab fact. The roads just lay there. One
section continued rightward; the other turned westward
onto a great plain, westward toward distant Ptath. He had
been on the west road a long time when the sound came
from the sky.
The flying beast swept low over him, its great blue-gray
wings flapping explosively, its long, triangular head poking
down, peering at him from livid, fire-colored eyes. It was
not until it swung back toward him that he saw that one of
the two men mounted on its back was the man, Bir. Ptath
stiffened. The man had gone to get this enormous flying
thing so that he could continue to annoy him. This per-
sistent pursuit was becoming unbearable. Ptath shook his fist
at the bird and shouted, the way the riders of the long-
necked beasts had done to him. The flying beast circled him
once more, then whirled off ahead, flying swiftly. It became
a spot in the sky, vanished in the blue mists of the west.
Ptath rode on. Suddenly, the sun, which he had scarcely
noticed when it was high above him, appeared well down
toward the western horizon, directly over a gathering cloud
of dust. The dust came nearer, dissolved finally into a long
line of beasts like his own, each with a rider. Above the
racing animals soared a host of bluish-gray flying things.
The great concourse swept toward him; a solid wave of a
score of animals engulfed him. Something long and thin,
like an elongated rein, flicked at him. Instantly, his arms
were pinioned, and he was jerked to the ground. He landed
on his hands and knees; and for a moment the confusion
was complete. Beasts milled around him. There were
shouts, a bedlam that made thinking hard. At last, almost
blankly, he climbed to his feet. He snatched at the lasso, and
with one jerk flung it aside. Free of that restraint, he grew
conscious that he was dismounted once more, and that the
whole process of obtaining an animal to ride must be gone
through again.
His eyes narrowed; his gaze flashed to the faces of the
riders surrounding him, searching for Bir. He wasn't there;
and that was good. That meant they wouldn't know about
his version of the trick. He thought for a moment, consider-
ing intently the exact words he should use in view of what
he had heard and seen. Then he said:
'Someone come down and give me a hand up. It is only
three kanbs to Linn and they will feed me at the temple
there and give me medical attention. I——'
He stopped at that point because his gaze fell on a—not
man. The creature resembled the others, but in place of
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shorts she wore a long dark gown; and instead of sitting in
a saddle on the neck of the mount, she rode in a box under
a canopy that was strapped to the broad back of the gigantic
animal. The woman spoke in a rich contralto :
'My lord,' she said, 'that is the strangest speech I have
ever heard. Is the man mad?'
A tall man with iron-gray hair said, 'I'm afraid so. I for-
got to tell you, daughter, that the screer sider, knowing we
were homeward bound, flew out to warn us that we would
meet this fellow. It seems he has already committed murder.
Captain, inform the temple princess of the situation.'
Ptath listened to the explanation with interest. There
were puzzling things about it, words that conjured up no
pictures, but enough came clear to bring quick anger at the
distorted account. But it did not occur to him to correct the
story, or even that anything more would grow out of the
affair.
The simple fact was that, starting with the man in the
dottle cart, there had been a whole series of attempts to
prevent him from riding. It was very irritating, but their
numbers were now so great that, for the time being at least
he had better accept the situation. He would continue on
foot. The decision made, he turned, stooped under the great
green belly of a beast and started off along the road.
A soft cool breeze was blowing. It brushed steadily
against his cheeks as he walked. It brought with it a strong
but not unpleasant odor of sweating animals; and a thin
perfume of grass, trees and plowed fields and grain that
stood low and. green; the whole combining into a rich,
heady mixture that was exhilarating. Discord came
abruptly as a shout rent the air. There was a stirring of
animals, and a great milling and stamping. Then they had
him surrounded again. The women said softly:
'Even for a madman, his psychology is strange. What are
you going to do with him, my lord?'
The man shrugged. 'Execute him, of course. Murder is
murder.' He nodded to the captain: 'Dismount six men.
Take him into that plowed field and bury him. A three-foot
grave will do.'
Ptath watched curiously as the men dismounted. The
words the man called 'my lord' had spoken had meaning of
a sort, but there was so much new in them that his mind
would build no pictures. And the very quiet seriousness of
the tone added dimness and abstractness to a situation that
was becoming more puzzling by the second.
Reality came sharply as two men he had not noticed
stepped from behind him and grabbed his elbows. The action
was so personal that he shoved them violently away. The
men went flying into the dirt. Ptath turned irritably as a
third man dived for his knees. He staggered as the man's
shoulder struck him, and he hit out fiercely at the fellow's
head. The man slumped to the ground and lay there.
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Ptath stepped clear of the fallen body, and was grabbed
around the body and arms by two of the remaining three;
the third caught his legs. The trio lifted him clear of the
ground, and that was unendurable. With a single kick he
smashed at the face of the man who held his legs. Instantly,
back on his feet, Ptath snatched at the two other men,
caught them, held them up for a moment, one twisting,
struggling body in each hand, then flung them angrily
aside.
He looked up then from the man 'my lord,' to the
woman, then back to the man. For the first time he blamed
him for this inexplicable assault. His eyes blazed at the
fellow and in a single glance measured the distance between
himself and the other. If he could silence him as he had the
others, this stupidity might end. He grew aware that the
woman was speaking:
'I seem to have seen him before somewhere. Stranger,
what is your name?'
The question stopped him at the beginning of his run. His
name? Why, Ptath, of course. Ptath of Gonwonlane. Thrice
greatest Ptath. He felt astounded that the question should
have been asked at all. He shook his head, impatient of the
shouts that made it almost impossible for his answer to
reach the woman. My lord was yelling something about
arrows; and, simultaneously, there was a poignant pain in
Ptath's chest.
He looked down and was amazed to see a thin piece of
wood protruding from his left breast. He stared at it blankly
for a moment, then pulled it out and threw it on the
ground. The pain vanished. A second arrow pinned his arm
to his body. He tore that out too; and once more he turned
to the man who was causing him all this trouble. He heard
the woman cry out:
'My lord, stop them, stop them! Didn't you hear what he
said? Don't you see?'
'Eh?' The man turned toward her. Ptath, struggling in a
rising fury with a third arrow, heard the puzzled note in his
voice.
'Don't you see?' the woman answered. 'He whose
strength is unlimited, who tires not, and knows no fear——'
The man's voice lashed out: 'What madness are you talk-
ing? That's a myth we keep alive for the masses. We've
agreed a thousand times that the Goddess Ineznia uses the
name, Ptath, as propaganda.' He broke off: 'Why, it's
impossible.'
She screamed, 'Stop them! He's come back after ages of
being merged with the race. Look closely! His face! Like
the statue in the temple.'
'Or like Prince Ineznio, the goddess' lover,' said the man.
'But never mind. Let me handle this.'
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The hysteria faded from the woman's face; her eyes
narrowed. 'Not here,' she said quickly. 'Get him to the
temple.'
My lord spoke to his men, then said quietly to Ptath:
'You will come with us to the temple at Linn. We will feed
you and give you medical attention, and then we will give
you a flying screer that will take you where you want to.
go.'
As swiftly as that the incomprehensible attack ended.
CHAPTER II
A GODDESS IN CHAINS
IN the depths of the great citadel palace of the city of
Ptath the dark, glorious woman sighed drearily. The stone
floor where she lay huddled was damp and cold. In all the
ages of her imprisonment she had never yet succeeded in
warming the chill out of the enlacing metal chains that
sagged endlessly on top of her. From where she lay she
could see the chair where the golden-haired woman sat
laughing with triumph, could hear that soft, ringing
laughter which ended as the golden woman said in a rich,
clear voice:
'And do you doubt me now, L'onee darling? Once again
it is the old story. Do you remember the time when you
refused to believe that I could imprison you? Yet here you
are.
'And do you remember when I first came down here to
tell you that I intended to destroy mighty Ptath, how you
reminded me that only the two of us could bring him back;
that I would have to use you as a pole of power, and that
that would require your consent? Yet here he is. And you
know now that I used you as a pole of power without your
consent. Perhaps at last you are beginning to realize that
while you waited with trusting simplicity for your Ptath to
live his myriad human spans, I learned the potent vastness
of the god power he had given into our care.'
The dark woman stirred. Her cold lips parted. She said in
a weary yet steely, contemptuous voice:
'You traitor, Ineznia!'
In the half light, a smile played around the lips of the
other woman. 'How naive we are,' she said softly. 'And yet
how clearly your every word shows that you realize I can-
not fail to win. Those biting words of yours will seem very
empty indeed when Ptath is dead, and you are dead,
forever.'
The dark woman sat up. Something of the intensity of
her spirit showed in the fire that was suddenly in her voice.
'We're not dead yet, either of us. And now that you have
watched him in action do you not feel just a little bit
alarmed, Ineznia? The dynamic reality of Ptath, even
though you have him in Gonwonlane before his time, even
file:///F|/rah/A.%20E.%20Van%20Vogt/A.%20E....an%20Vogt%20-%20The%20Book%20of%20Ptath.txt (10 of 112) [6/30/03 11:36:49 PM]
摘要：

file:///F|/rah/A.%20E.%20Van%20Vogt/A.%20E.%20van%20Vogt%20-%20The%20Book%20of%20Ptath.txtTheBookofPtathbyA.E.VanVogtVersion1.0CHAPTERITHERETURNOFPTATHHEwasPtath.Notthathethoughtofhisname.Itwassimplythere,apartofhim,likehisbodyandhisarmsandlegs,likethegroundoverwhichhewalked.No,thatlastwaswrong.The...

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