C. L. Moore - Julhi

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JULHI

The tale of Smith's scars would make a saga. From head to foot his brown and

sunburnt hide was scored with the marks of, battle. The eye of a connoisseur

would recognize the distinctive tracks of knife and talon andrayburn, the

slash of the Martian drylandercrwg, the clean, thin stab of the Venu-sian

stiletto, the crisscross lacing of Earth's penal whip. But one or two scars

that he carried would have baffled the most discerning eye. That curious,

convoluted red circlet, for instance, like some bloody rose on the left side

of his chest just where the beating of his heart stirred the sun-darkened

flesh. ...

In the starless dark of the thick Venusian night Northwest Smith's pale steel

eyes were keen and wary. Save for those restless eyes he did not stir. He

crouched against a wall that his searching fingers had told him was stone, and

cold; but he could see nothing and he had no faintest idea of where he was or

how he had come there. Upon this dark five minutes ago he had opened puzzled

eyes, and he was still puzzled. The dark-piercing pallor of his gaze flickered

restlessly through

the blackness, searching in vain for some point of familiarity. He could find

nothing. The dark was blurred and formless around him, and though his keen

senses spoke to him of enclosed spaces, yet there was a contradiction even in

that, for the ah- was fresh and blowing.

He crouched motionless in the windy dark, smelling earth and cold stone, and

faintly-very faintly-a whiff of something unfamiliar that made him gather his

feet under him noiselessly and poise with one hand against the chill stone

wall, tense as a steel spring. There was motion in the dark. He could see

nothing, hear nothing, but he felt that stirring come cautiously nearer. He

stretched out exploring toes, found the ground firm underfoot, and stepped

aside a soundless pace or two, holding his breath. Against the stone where he

had been leaning an instant before he heard the soft sound of hands fumbling,

with a queer, sucking noise, as if they were sticky. Something exhaled with a

small, impatient sound. In a lull of the wind he heard quite distinctly the

slither over stone of something that was neither feet nor paws nor

serpent-coils, but akin to all three.

Smith's hand sought his hip by instinct, and came away empty. Where he was and

how he came there he did not know, but his weapons were gone and he knew that

their absence was not accidental. The something that was pursuing him sighed

again, queerly, and the shuffling sound over the stones moved with sudden,

appalling swiftness, and something touched him that stung like an electric

shock. There were hands upon him, but he scarcely realized it, or that they

were no human hands, before the darkness spun around him and the queer,

thrilling shock sent him reeling into a blurred oblivion.

When he opened his eyes again he lay once more upon cold stone in the

unfathomable dark to which he had awakened before. He lay as he must have

fallen when the searcher dropped him, and he was unhurt. He waited, tense and

listening, until his ears ached with the strain and the silence. So far as his

blade-keen senses could tell him, he was quite

alone. No sound broke the utter stillness, no sensation of movement, no whiff

of scent. Very cautiously he rose once more, supporting himself against the

unseen stones and flexing his limbs to be sure that he was unhurt.

The floor was uneven underfoot. He had the idea now that he must be in some

ancient ruins, for the smell of stone and chill and desolation was clear to

him, and the breeze moaned a little through unseen openings. He felt his way

along the broken wall, stumbling over fallen blocks and straining his senses

against the blanketing gloom around him. He was trying vainly to recall how he

had come here, and succeeding in recapturing only vague memories of much red

segir whisky in a nameless dive, and confusion and muffled voices thereafter,

and wide spaces of utter blank-and then awakening here in the dark. The whisky

must have been drugged, he told himself defensively, and a slow anger began to

smolder within him at the temerity of whoever it was who had dared lay hands

upon Northwest Smith.

Then he froze into stony quiet, rigid in mid-step, at the all but soundless

stirring of something in the dark near by. Blurred visions of the unseen thing

that had seized him ran through his head-some monster whose gait was a

pattering glide and whose hands were armed with the stunning shock of an

unknown force. He stood frozen, wondering if it could see him in the dark.

Feet whispered over the stone very near him, and something breathed pantingly,

and a hand brushed his face. There was a quick suck of indrawn breath, and

then Smith's arms leaped out to grapple the invisible thing to him. The

surprise of mat instant took his breath, and then he laughed deep in his

throat and swung the girl round to face him in the dark.

He could not see her, but he knew from the firm curves of her under his hands

that she was young and feminine, and from the sound of her breath that she was

near to fainting with fright.

"Sh-h-h," he whispered urgently, his lips at her ear and her hah- brushing his

cheek fragrantly. "Don't be afraid.

Where are we?"

It might have been reaction from her terror that relaxed the tense body he

held, so that she went limp in his arms and the sound of her breathing almost

ceased. He lifted her clear of the ground-she was light and fragrant and he

felt the brush of velvet garments against his bare arms as unseen robes swept

him-and carried her across to the wall. He felt better with something solid at

his back. He laid her down there in the angle of the stones and crouched

beside her, listening, while she slowly regained control of herself.

When her breathing was normal again, save for the faint hurrying of excitement

and alarm, he heard the sound of her sitting up against the wall, and bent

closer to catch her . whisper.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

' 'Northwest Smith,'' he said under his breath, and grinned at her softly

murmured "Oh-h!" of recognition. Whoever she was, she had heard that name

before. Then,

"There has been a mistake," she breathed, half to herself. ' 'They never take

any but the-space-rats and the scum of the ports for Julhi to-I mean, to bring

here. They must not have known you, and they will pay for that mistake. No man

is brought here who might be searched for-afterward."

Smith was silent for a moment. He had thought her lost like himself, and her

fright had been too genuine for pretense. Yet she seemed to know the secrets

of this curious, unlit place. He must go warily.

"Who are you?" he murmured. "Why were you so frightened? Where are we?"

In the dark her breath caught in a little gasp, and went on unevenly.

"We are in the ruins of Vonng," she whispered. "I am Apri, and I am condemned

to death. I thought you were death coming for me, as it will come at any

instant now.'' Her voice failed on the last syllables, so that she spoke in a

fading gasp as if terror had her by the throat and would not let her breathe.

He felt her trembling against his arm.

Many questions crowded up to his lips, but the most urgent * found utterance.

' 'What will come?'' he demanded.' 'What is the danger?''

"The haunters of Vonng," she whispered fearfully. "It is to feed them that

Julhi's slaves bring men here. And those among us who are disobedient must

feed the haunters too. I have suffered her displeasure-and I must die."

"The haunters-what are they? Something with a touch like a live wire had me

awhile ago, but it let me loose again. Could that have been-"

"Yes, one of them. My coming must have disturbed it. But as to what they are,

I don't know. They come in the darkness. They are of Julhi's race, I think,

but not flesh and blood, like her. I-I can't explain."

"And Julhi-?"

"Is-well, simply Julhi. You don't know?"

' 'A woman? Some queen, perhaps? You must remember I don't even know where I

am."

"No, not a woman. At least, not as I am. And much more than queen. A great

sorceress, I have thought, or perhaps a goddess. I don't know. It makes me ill

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C. L. Moore - Julhi

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