Princess of Amathar

By

Wesley M. Allison

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by Wesley M. Allison

All rights reserved.

Cover art: © Luca Oleastri | Dreamstime.com

Second ebook Edition

Printed in the United States

To Victoria Allison and Edgar Rice Burroughs

Princess of Amathar

Chapter One: Transported to Ecos

I don't expect you to believe this story, but it is the truth. My name is Alexander Ashton. I was born in the heart of the American west. I have often been known to say that I was born either a hundred years too late, or perhaps a hundred years too early. It always seemed to me that I had the misfortune to live in the single most unexciting period of time the panorama of history had to offer. I don't say that I longed to be transported to another time or to another world, for never in my wildest dreams did I believe this to be possible. I was destined to be surprised.

I was born in a small city. I played as a child in a park that was once a dusty street where outlaws of the old west fought famous gunfights. When I was seven, my parents were killed in a motor vehicle accident. I really remember little of them. I was put in a state run children’s home where I lived until I was eighteen, passed by time after time by prospective adoptive parents, primarily because I was too old. I hold no ill feelings about it now. If there is one thing I learned while I was a ward of the state, it is that no matter how bad off one may be, there is always some one worse off than you are. After graduating high school and being set on my own by the state, I entered college at the local university. I became a voracious reader and excelled in athletics, but did poorly in my required studies. After two semesters of academic probation I was asked to leave. I walked down the street to the Army Recruiter's office and enlisted. There wasn't much to the army, since there was no war on at the time. While I was there, I did learn to shoot, and fight with a saber, and to keep in good physical condition, but otherwise I left the service just as I had gone in.

After finding a new apartment in my old home town, I happened to run into a fellow whom I knew from college. He was running a small grocery store, and doing quite well, since no large grocery chain was interested in such a small market area. He offered me a job, I took it, and we became pretty close friends.

My friend, the grocery store owner, was engaged to a nice girl, and they decided in time to get married. I was chosen to be the best man. The wedding was nice, and the reception was even better. I have never been much of a drinking man, but that night I made a name for myself in that capacity. I don't know why I drank so much. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself and my lot in life, I don't know. I do know that in short order, I had worked myself into a staggering, slobbering, half-conscious stupor. How, when, and where I became unconscious, I cannot say, but at some point I did. And this is where my story truly begins.

I awoke with a chill in my bones. I was lying down in a small stream bed with icy water running over my feet. I tried to rise, but couldn't. My body was stiff and weak and its only response was to shiver uncontrollably. Around me was a thick forest, and I could see dark shapes moving around in the trees. I sensed then, on some deeper level, that I was in a place I had never been before. Then I heard a deep growling as I passed once again into unconsciousness.

When next I awoke I looked around to find myself in a small shack. I was lying on a cot made of animal furs, and I was bathed in a cold sweat. The walls of the small shelter were made from cut logs and a roughly fashioned wooden chair was the room's only furnishing. When the door of the shack opened, I truly believed for the first time in my life that there were life forms other than those I was familiar with on Earth.

The creature that stepped inside the door, and closed it after him, was most ugly. That he was intelligent was demonstrated not only by the fact that he had opened and then closed the door, but also by the fact that he wore clothing--ugly clothing yes, but clothing nonetheless. He was about five feet tall and stood in a kind of perpetual crouch. His body was covered with coarse brown hair, two to three inches long, from his head to his feet, which reminded me of the feet of a dog or a wolf, although larger. He was somewhat wolf-like in every aspect, such as his protruding snout, but he also seemed somewhat baboon-like in his expressive eyes. I am comparing him to earthly animals, but this is really inadequate, as the similarities were actually quite superficial, and he was totally unearthly in appearance. I remember most looking at his hands. He had four fingers not too different from my own, but his abbreviated thumb possessed a great, long, curving claw.

The creature, stepping slowly over to me, reached out a hand and gave me a piece of dried fruit. I was quite hungry and the fruit was quite good. As I began to eat, the creature began to bark and growl at me. At first I thought he was angry, but then I realized that he was trying to communicate in his language. I was too tired to respond and fruit still in hand, passed back into sleep. The next time I woke the creature was sitting in the chair looking at me with his head cocked to one side. I pushed myself up on one elbow and he spoke to me again, this time in a more human sort of language. It seemed almost like French, but having learned a few phrases of that language in the army, I knew it was not. This language was so much less nasal. He pointed to his chest and said "Malagor" then he pointed to me. I said "Alexander". He smiled wide exposing a magnificent row of long, sharp teeth. My language lessons had begun.

It took a long time for me to recover from my illness. It seemed to me that I was nursed by the creature for at least a month. I slept many times, but each time I awoke I found light streaming in the window. Not once did I wake to find darkness, or even the pale light of the moon, outside the window. During this long period of time, my host provided me with food and water, took care of my sanitary needs and of course, taught me to speak his language. One of the first things that I learned was that "Malagor" was not the name of my companion, but was instead his race or species. He told me his real name, which seemed to be a growl with a cough thrown in for good measure. I decided that I would call him

"Malagor", and he didn't seem to mind.

As soon as I was physically able, Malagor helped me to the door. I was understandably anxious to see the world outside because the presence of Malagor, and an indescribable gut feeling, both told me that the world beyond that wooden threshold was not the world into which I had been born. I stepped outside with my shoulder supported by the alien. For a moment I was blinded by the brightness of the sun, but after my eyes adjusted to the increase in light, I looked around. At first glance the scene before me was no different than a thousand other views found in many scenic valleys on Earth. The small crude log cabin sat at the edge of a large beautiful golden plain near a lovely green forest. The horizon was formed in the distance by a line of low rolling hills. But as I let my eye roam toward the sky above those hazy hills, I found that there was something different and unsettling about the sky. It was as if the edge of the world blurred up into the sky. It was as if I was standing in a great bowl, with the edges rising up all around me. In reality I could discern little more than a greenish brown band above the horizon, but I felt as if I could, concentrating hard enough, make out more hills, more meadows, and plains and forests and the shore of a mighty sea, pasted on the edge of the firmament. The world, instead of disappearing over the horizon, rose up into the sky, actually becoming a part of the sky. And above it all, high above, stood the noon day sun. I felt weak. Malagor steadied me and helped me back inside the cabin. He sat me down in the chair and gave me a drink of water from a wooden cup that he had apparently carved especially for me. Then he sat down on the floor.

"Tell me about this world,” I said when I had finished my water.

"You are not from this world," he stated, matter-of-factly. "I thought this when I found you in the forest."

"No I am not. I am from a very different world," I replied, "but tell me of this one."

"The world is Ecos. That is the name. It is a great sphere. We are in the inside surface. What is outside, no one knows. The sun is in the middle of the world. It shines on all."

"If the sun is always above you," I asked, "how do you know when it is night time?"

"I do not know night time. What is night?"

"How do you know when to sleep?"

"One sleeps when one is sleepy." He gave me such a strange look that I had to laugh out loud.

"Your people live in Ecos?"

For a moment he turned away. Then he looked back at me. "Many different species live in Ecos. Many of these species are intelligent beings. I myself have seen many of these."

"But we are speaking the language of your people?"

Malagor opened his mouth wide and his tongue fell out the side. I had learned that this was his way of smiling. He replied.

"When I first found you I spoke to you in the language of the Malagor, but nature was unkind to you and gave you too small a mouth. So instead I taught you the language of Amathar which we now speak. I knew that you could speak it because you look somewhat like an Amatharian."

"How do they look like me?"

He smiled again. "They have funny little ears, no fur, flat faces, puny noses, and long feet." I laughed. "How are they different from me then?"

"They are better groomed," he said.

I felt my face with its scraggly beard, and my dirty, sweaty, almost matted hair. I was indeed most poorly groomed. My clothing, the remains of a rented tuxedo, was in equally bad shape.

"If you take me back to the stream where you found me so that I can take a bath, and loan me a sharp knife, and help me with some decent clothing,” I said, "I shall see if I cannot become more presentable." Malagor agreed to help me, but it was several days before I was well enough for even the short walk to the nearby stream. I had taken a long time to recover from what I now believe to be the effects of my transportation from Earth to Ecos. I never found out what bizarre method that transportation was, and I suppose that I never will. When I had finally recovered, I went to the stream with my new companion, I made an interesting discovery. The gravity of Ecos felt different from that of Earth. I found that I was stronger here. I wasn't a superman, but it was a noticeable difference. I could now jump almost twice as far and twice as high as I could before. Then I tried lifting some fallen trees in the woods, and found that I could lift almost twice as much as the equivalent on my planet of origin. I impressed Malagor, who said he had never seen one as strong as me, and I must admit that I impressed myself as well. After bathing in the stream, I used Malagor's knife, which was nearly razor sharp, to shave off my whiskers. I tried to trim my hair with it as well, but had less success in this endeavor. I did manage to get my hair reasonably clean. I washed my tuxedo too, but it was so poorly made that it practically fell apart in my hands. It was then that Malagor presented me with a set of clothing that he had made for me. The suit consisted of a hard leather shirt and a pair of pants made from the softer hide of several small animals, held up by a broad leather belt. There was also an excellently fashioned pair of boots with hard leather souls. He had dyed the entire suit by hand with berries and roots. The poor creature had terrible taste in colors, and the outfit could have blasted the eyes out of an onlooker with its contrasts of bright greens and purples and oranges, if only there had been an onlooker there to see it. It was a gift though, and one sorely needed, and I appreciated it. I felt as though Malagor were truly a friend--a friend such as I had never had before.

Later, Malagor and I sat on the grass in front of his cabin, beneath the perpetual noon day sun, and ate our dinner of dried fruit and a small roasted animal that he had provided.

"You must know that this world is not natural. Planets do not form like this. Who created Ecos?" I wondered.

"I know no such thing,” replied the beast. "If you had not appeared claiming to be from another world, I would never have given it a second thought."

I knew that he was baiting me, because I had described the Earth in great detail to him before, and he had accepted it, and I knew that he believed that I was not a native of Ecos.

"I do know how Ecos came to be though," he continued. "Many years ago the universe was empty. The only thing that existed was the great Goddess Bitch. She lived in the void for a long, long time. Then she became tired of the darkness and ate up all of the black and let the day come. She shed her fur and it became a ring around her and hardened into Ecos. She gave birth to pups and they became Malagor. She left her feces and it became the other races of Ecos. Then she curled up and went to sleep and became the sun."

"Do you believe this?" I asked.

He cocked his head to one side and looked at me for a moment. Then he smiled. "This is what my mother told me when I was a pup."

I smiled too. We sat in silence for a moment. Then I spoke again.

"Have you always lived here, in this cabin?"

"This has been my base camp while I have explored the nearby land,” he explained. "I was making ready to leave this place and move on when I found you. Again I am thinking that I should move on now."

"If you don’t mind,” I said. "I would like to accompany you."

"I would like that," he replied, and then he said for the first time, "Alexander." Chapter Two: The Hidden Artifacts

After getting a good long sleep, Malagor and I began to pack our meager belongings for an extended journey. Our belongings truly were meager. My dog-like friend had only a few furs and some weapons and tools to his name, and I had almost nothing to mine. I was interested to observe Malagor's weapons. With the exception of his knife, which was obviously well-manufactured, they all seemed to be hand-made, and consisted of a spear, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. As soon as we had grouped the possessions into two bundles, we each took one and started on our way. There seemed to be no north, south, east, or west in Ecos, so we went in the direction that Malagor said he had previously been traveling. After we had walked across the plain quite a long ways, I looked back at the cabin. It was inching its way up toward the sky. It seemed a lonely place now. As we got farther and farther away, it would move up the endless horizon, though of course it would disappear from view before it got very high. I wondered though if, when we reached where ever it was we were going, it would be looking down at us from some point high up in the heavens.

While we walked along, I asked Malagor many questions about the world of Ecos, the fauna and flora, and the intelligent inhabitants.

"How big is Ecos?" I asked. I had thought that had Ecos been just a hollow planet, I would have been able to see far more of the horizon as it stretched up into the sky and that much more clearly than I could. It seemed to me that it was far larger.

"Two hundred twenty six thousand hokents,” he replied.

This of course, led to my lesson in the measurement of distances in Ecos, which was common to the Malagor and the Amatharians, and a few other intelligent races. The kentan was the basic unit of measurement, and had apparently been derived from the size of an insect lair, as strange as this may have seemed at the time. Then again, I recalled that honey bees made cells in their hive that were completely uniform in size, no matter where you happened to find the hive, or what the bees were using as a source of pollen. I marveled that the kentan had come from a zoological observation such as this. As nearly as I could calculate, the kentan was about five and one-quarter inches. A kentar was ten kentans, or about fifty two and a half inches. A kent was ten kentars, one hundred kentans, or about forty three feet nine inches. A kentad was one hundred kents, or some eight tenths of a mile. And a hokent was one thousand kentads, one hundred thousand kents, or eight hundred twenty eight miles. So when Malagor said that Ecos was two hundred twenty six thousand hokents in diameter, he was telling me that it was about one hundred eighty seven million miles in diameter. With a little mental calculation on my part, I realized that with a sun just under one million miles in diameter, this would put the surface of Ecos about ninety three million miles from the surface of the sun--about the same distance that Earth is from the surface of its sun. If my calculations held correct, then Ecos would have a surface area of over three billion planet Earths. It was quite an astounding concept. For a while I thought about the fact that the great plain we walked across, might well be larger than the surface area of my home planet, and yet be only a tiny fraction of Ecos. But after a while these types of musings can only give one a headache, so I turned my head to other thoughts. Looking around across the plain, I observed a marvelous collection of plains animals. I could identify the ecological niches of most of the beasts, by observing their similarities to Earth animals, and yet some of these denizens of the great prairie were completely unearthly. There was a herd of beautiful antelope-like creatures, with long spiral horns and stripes across their backs and six legs. There were beautiful flying things that looked like butterflies two yards wide. Whether they were birds or insects or something entirely different than either, I could not say. There was a large caterpillar creature thirty feet long, with a huge maw in front, that ate everything it came across, plant or animal, and there was a beast that preyed upon it that stood twenty feet tall and looked like a cross between an ostrich and a praying mantis. Some of these animals we hunted for food, some of them we gave a wide berth, and some of them we stopped and stared at in amazement, because not even Malagor had seen the likes of them.

We walked, and we hunted as we walked, and at last I was sure we must have been traveling for a week. It is very eerie to do anything for a long period of time, and then to look up and see the sun in the exact position that it was in when you started whatever it was that you were doing. That's how it was for me. At last however, Malagor decided it was time to stop and sleep, so we cleared the grass from an area and made a fire. Malagor and I then took turns watching for beasts and sleeping. We each slept once, ate, then slept again, and then we started on our way once more. We followed this procedure many, many times over. We continued to hunt for food animals along our way, and at every small stream, we stopped to fill our water skins. I must confess that I never did know how long a journey our trip was, but it seems to me that it must have been close to a year. At one time I asked my friend how long he though that we had been walking. His only reply was, "What does it matter." At long last we reached the edge of the great plain. Before us stood a line of small hills which looked to be easily passable. On the lower slope of the hills grew many small bushes, profusely covered with tiny blue berries. Malagor picked one, smelled it, tasted it, and pronounced it good.

"We will stay a while here,” he announced. "Berries do not grow enough places to warrant passing them by."

I examined the bushes closest to us.

"Some of these berries are new growth, and some of them are rotting on the plant,” I said. "How long will the season last?"

"I do not know season," he said. "What is season?" I then realized that in Ecos, beneath the perpetual noon day sun, with no variation in sunlight or length of day, there would be no seasons, at least not in the sense of the word I knew. I was walking around in an endless springtime. I wondered of the mechanics of such a weather system. It had to be completely different than that of a regular planet. I knew that there was weather, for I had experienced it myself, at least in its mildest forms. There had been some partially cloudy skies as we walked along, and even an occasional shower to help keep us cool. But I had not experienced a great storm, fog, or snow. I asked Malagor about this and he explained.

"There are many high places in Ecos, mountains and hills. In these places it is cooler. Low places, deserts and plains are warmer. There is much rocky land. The air above this is warmer. The air above the swamps, bogs, and other soft lands is cooler and wetter. The hot air moves up. The cool air moves down. Then they both blend together to make many kinds of weather." As if on cue, we were suddenly darkened by the shade of a large cloud above us. Moments later it began to hail. We held our furs above our heads to shield us, and quickly scrambled around looking for a cave or an overhang in which to hide ourselves. I found a large overhanging cliff and called Malagor over. We sat down under it and built a fire from some scrub brush.

"I will cook the meat of our last kill," said Malagor. "You can unpack our furs and tools. This little overhang will make a good place for our base camp. When the hail stops, I will hunt for more meat, and you may pick some berries."

"You won't need any help hunting?" I asked.

"I have watched you, and have decided that you are not a very good hunter,” he said. "Perhaps it is because your nose is too small."

"What does my nose have to do with hunting?"

"You cannot smell when an animal is ready to become dinner." I laughed. "I must admit that before I met you I'd never hunted at all, and certainly not with a spear or a bow. I don't have the benefit of having hunted all my life as you have."

"I have not hunted all my life,” he said. "When I had a home, I traded for my food."

"Tell me about your home,” I said, but he only mumbled that he had to go hunting, and picking up his weapons, he left, even though he had not yet cooked our meal, and the hail had not completely stopped. I watched him head across the plain toward the roaming, grazing herds that wandered there. He was a strange and lonely figure. I sat down to unpack the rolls of furs that were our bedding, and tossed a few damp twigs on the fire. Then I began to look around the small overhang that was to be our home for who knew how long.

The area beneath the cliff was about forty feet wide and fifteen feet deep. The ground was bare of the tall golden grass that reached from the plain, right up to the edge of the sheltered overhang. The area was completely clear of fallen debris, with the exception of a pile of small boulders at one end. I walked over, knelt down, and examined the stones. There seemed to be no place above from which they could have fallen. It looked as if someone had piled them there. I looked between them and saw only darkness. Using my newfound strength, I began moving the stones away from their resting place, setting them to the front of the overhang to serve as a wind break. In no time I had moved them all, building a suitable wind break as well as exposing a small tunnel leading back into the hillside. I knelt down to look into the tunnel. Then I heard a noise behind me and turned to see that Malagor had returned, with the carcass of a small antelope-type animal slung over his ever-crouching shoulders.

"What have you found here, my friend?" he asked, setting down his burden.

"It is some kind of tunnel. It looks like it was dug by intelligent beings. At least it was hidden by intelligent beings with those boulders. They seem to have been placed here deliberately." He laughed, and for a moment I did not understand why. Then he said. "You moved those boulders all by yourself?"

"With powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men.” I smiled. "Shall we go inside?"

"It is your hole,” he said.

I retrieved a burning twig from the fire, and kneeling down, began to crawl into the tiny tunnel. It was a tight fit. When I had made my way completely inside, Malagor followed. The tunnel remained the same for the first fifteen or twenty feet. Then it opened into a chamber large enough for me to stand up in. Raising the small torch above my head, I looked around. Even with the light, it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It had been a long time since I had been in darkness of any kind. At last though, I began to be able to see around me.

The chamber was roughly round and carved out of the solid rock. I realized now that not only was the tunnel man-made, or shall I say life-form made, but the cave was artificial as well, for there was no evidence of water or any other natural mechanism for creating subterranean caverns. Placed around the room, apparently with great care, were a number of interesting artifacts. There were two rifles the likes of which I have never seen before. They seemed like some kind of laser gun from a science fiction movie. The metal parts were bright silver or chrome, and the stocks were made of some unknown wood and carved into beautiful but unearthly designs. There were several small square devices next to them which might have been batteries or rechargers. Sitting in a small stack, were a half a dozen cans with no labels. They were the only things made of metal in the chamber which showed any sign of rust whatsoever, even though the thick covering of dust made it plain that we were the first to enter here in a long, long time.

Also in the chamber were a number of interesting tools. There was a beautiful hunting knife. It looked similar to one that might be sold in a sporting goods store on earth, but the blade was carved in bizarre, alien designs of unequaled craftsmanship. There was a hammer, saw, screwdriver, and a shovel, all obviously designed to fit into a backpack or utility belt now long returned to the dust of the ages. Sitting in the back of the room were two swords.

The swords were the most incredibly beautiful blades that I had ever seen in my life. For you to appreciate this completely, I must explain that I take a great interest in swords. While I was in the military, I was given cursory training in fighting with a saber. I have always thought it unfortunate that in the twentieth century, such a civilized weapon should be discarded in favor of the assault rifle. I enjoyed sabers and joined a club of military officers and enlisted men who practiced their use and studied them. It was great fun. We went to many museums to see beautiful old swords, and I must say that in our matches staged purely for our own enjoyment, I became quite a good swordsman. So when I say that these were swords more beautiful than any that I have ever seen, you may see that I do not speak without some experience in the subject. There was a long sword and a short sword. They were somewhat similar to the Japanese samurai swords known as the katana and the wahizashi, with gentle sloping blade and two-handed hilt, but unlike the Japanese weapons, these blades had sharp pointed tips. They too, were beautifully carved with unearthly designs, and the hilts were set with large gems, which sparkled in the light of the now fading ember. The sheaths, if ever there existed any, were long rotted away.

"Amatharian swords,” said Malagor, looking over my shoulder. "An Amatharian warrior placed these here, and the other items, planning to return later. An Amatharian warrior would never leave his sword without good reason."

"These have been here a long, long time,” I said, dropping the now short ember.

"Apparently,” he replied, as the light went completely out. "The warrior died before he was able to return."

Chapter Three: The Stummada

I crawled out of the tunnel into the bright light of the eternal Ecosian day. Malagor followed me. Between the two of us we carried the artifacts found in the inner chamber, with the exception of the rusty cans. I had a feeling they contained foodstuffs that were far from fresh. Besides, we didn't have a can opener. We set everything down, and Malagor skinned his small game animal, spitted it, and put it over our camp fire. I tossed a few more twigs on the fire and then sat down to examine the fascinating swords which I had found.

I hefted the long sword in my hand, and was surprised to find that though it had obviously been crafted as a two-handed sword, it was too light for that method of swordsmanship. I then recalled that here on Ecos my strength was increased, roughly doubling what it had been on Earth. If I had not had this additional strength, the sword would have been quite heavy and well balanced as a two-handed weapon. The blade was bright silver in color but strangely, neither the blade, nor the many small runes and designs carved along its length, reflected the sun. The hilt was carved of a material that looked like wood, but was much harder and did not show the great age that it must have been. It too, was carved with fantastic designs, and set all along it were fourteen beautiful gems. I guessed that they were quite valuable, though I suppose that the value of gems, like so many other things, really depends upon one’s culture. I was never much for mineralogy, so I don't know if they were emeralds or sapphires or what, but they certainly were lovely. The short sword was almost identical to the long sword, with the exception of its length, and the fact that it was designed to be used single-handedly.

I looked up from my examination of the sword to see my dog-faced friend. He had finished getting dinner cooking, and now was devoting himself to an examination of the rifles. He drew one to his shoulder and looked down the barrel. I was somewhat surprised, because I had assumed that Malagor was from a low technology society. It had never occurred to me that he might be acquainted with fire arms, or in this case an even more advanced weapon.

"Do you know this particular weapon?" I asked.

"It is an Amatharian gun. They call it a light rifle,” he said. "I have used weapons similar to this, but never one this fine or this powerful."

"Tell me something of these Amatharians,” I said.

"The Amatharians are a most interesting race. They look much like you, and yet they are different. They are a race of honor. If you insult an Amatharian you must be ready to kill him or to die. They travel over a wide area, but live only in their great city of Amathar. It is said to be the greatest city anywhere. They are trained in war, but do not love war the way some other races do.” He stopped for a moment as if trying to remember.

"An Amatharian warrior's soul is in his sword. If the sword sees the warrior turn from an enemy, the soul will be disgusted and will never be with the warrior again. If the warrior dies bravely, the soul leaves the sword to live in the sun, shining brightly forever. If a warrior gives his sword away, he gives away his soul."

He stopped and looked at me.

"These Amatharians are funny people,” he said.

"Have you actually known any Amatharians?"

"When I was a little pup, a group of Amatharians came to our village. There were only six of them. The leader of the group was an old trader. He wanted the pottery and leather crafts that our bitches made. He traded us tools and interesting foods. The others were his assistants, all that is except the Remiant."

"Remiant?"

Malagor went to some length to explain to me what I suppose would be sort of a combined military rank and social status of the Amatharians. Most young Amatharians, he explained, were militarily trained. Even those that pursued other occupations within their society were also soldiers. After leaving military duty, the former soldiers became explorers, scientists, or merchants. A beginning soldier was a warrior or remiantad. After glorifying himself in battle he became a swordsman or remiantar. When a swordsman became somehow complete, a true living weapon, he became a Remiant, something like a knight. To be a Remiant, was the ultimate goal of all Amatharians. Though there were ranks beyond Remiant, a Remiantad or captain and a Horemiant or general, these were only ranks for use in large scale warfare. In the context of social status, all remiants were equal. Yes, a Remiant was a knight. Malagor went on.

"The knight was tall, even for an Amatharian. He stood, back straight and head held high. On his tabard was the crest of his house. His swords were strapped to his sides. They were not as magnificent as the ones you have found, but it seemed to me that the long one shined with the light of the soul within.

"The merchant and his apprentices went into the house of our alpha male to discuss the terms of trade. The knight took his position outside the doorway. There were several of us, all small pups. We stood there watching him. He smiled at us. That is all that I remember."

"Was that a long time ago?" I asked.

"A very, very long time ago.” He looked at me with his head cocked to one side. "It is a boring story."

"No, it is not boring," I countered, "but I wonder why the Amatharian left these swords here, and what happened to his soul?"

“It is possible that these swords have not seen use. They certainly appear to be in fine condition,” said Malagor.

“You know a great deal about Amatharians and their swords considering you met one only when you were a small child. You must have studied them.”

He just shrugged.

We sat quietly for a moment. Then the smell of the roasted meat brought our stomachs to life. We enjoyed our dinner and the last of the water in our water skins. After building up the fire we lay down upon our furs and had a long sleep. When we had both awakened, we left our new home to take a trek around our hill. Malagor brought with him the light rifles from the cave as well as the power sources. I slipped the swords into my leather belt.

As we circumnavigated the hill, Malagor explained the rifle to me. For all its unearthly beauty, it was quite terrestrial in method of operation. The stock and the barrel were designed much like those of an AK-47, with a trigger and trigger guard in the usual location, but instead of a clip of ammunition projecting just in front of them, there was a slot where the power source plugged in. The sights were placed along the barrel, just as with any rifle of earth. Malagor handed one of the weapons to me and together we practiced plugging in the power source replacements. Then we slung the rifles over our shoulders and continued on our way.

When we had reached the other side of the hill I had to stop and laugh. As far as berry picking was concerned, we had certainly chosen the poorer side. From where I now stood, the hills beyond were completely covered with the berry bushes. We were both in the mood for breakfast after having slept a long time, so we began wading through the thicket, picking the ripe berries and transferring them to our mouths. The little fruits were juicy and tart, and I am sure would not have been all that good if tasted at home with dinner, but here in the wilderness, picking them straight off the vine, they were delicious. Malagor and I had moved apart as we picked. He was about thirty feet or so away, but there was nothing to be concerned about. We were two grown men, or in any case, two grown beings, in sight of one another. I must admit that I was not being all that watchful, and I suppose that Malagor wasn't either. Suddenly I heard a noise from him that I had never heard before. It was a lot like the startled yelp that a big dog makes when his tail is accidentally stepped on. Then a tremendous roar reverberated through the hills. I turned to a scene that made my pulse quicken.

There, standing above the berry bushes, a full fifteen feet tall, was the most frightening apparition that I have ever beheld. It was a huge beast. It might have seemed like a bear or a large ape at first, because it stood on its hind legs and had a shaggy but almost humanoid form, but it was neither bear nor ape nor any combination of the two. It was covered with long black fur, and it had a large head. Its eyes were large, round, multifaceted, insectoid orbs. It was obviously an omnivorous beast, having like humans a variety of tooth types, but at the moment I was concerned with only one type--the great long fangs with which it was attempting to impale Malagor. The creature held him in a tight grip and was attempting to reach his throat with those great ivory tusks. For his part, Malagor was struggling to hold back the giant head and at the same time find a spot in which to employ his own considerable canines. If I had thought about it, I am sure that I would not have bothered trying to use the light rifle; because I was fairly sure that there was no way that the power source could still be viable. But the fact is that I didn’t think. I just did. I put the weapon to my shoulder, took quick aim, and fired. The gun spit a thin stream of energy from its barrel. It was not like a laser or a beam. It was like molten sunshine that bubbled and churned as it flew through the air. It went past Malagor's shoulder and into the eye of the giant beast. Then with a big explosion, it blew a large hole out of the back of the thing's skull. The beast's head collapsed in a most disgusting way, and then it fell to the ground. I ran over to where the monster had fallen. Malagor jumped up to his feet, as if to prove to me and to himself that he was all right. He looked at me with a blank expression.

"Finally, an animal I know," he said. "This is a stummada. It is not good to eat."

"I don't think he had the same opinion of you,” I replied.

"No it did not. But it is not a he. It is a female. The mate of this one may come along at any moment. Let us return to our side of the hill."

We started on our way home. I would like to if I might, interject a small commentary at this point. As I tell this story it must seem that I was well versed in the language of the Amatharians. I must confess that at the time I was not, although I count myself now, to be quite fluent in that beautiful language. For example, in the previous conversation between myself and Malagor, we had a great deal of trouble at first with the Amatharian terminology for the animal's mate, but after examining the context of the word, and a little impromptu tutelage by Malagor, I was able to piece together the meaning. So it was with a great deal of the language that I learned during my time with my alien friend. If I do not fully detail every element of my conversational education, please believe me when I say that it is not an intentional effort to make myself seem more intelligent. Rather it is just that in looking back I remember the content of our conversations rather than the exact wording.

Malagor and I made our way back around the mountain to our cliff camp. There we slept and then went out once again to fill our water skins from a small mountain brook, and to hunt for our dinner. This time Malagor let me stalk and hunt the game. He guided me, carefully giving me helpful instruction. I eventually managed to bring down a small rodent-like grazer which proved to be quite tasty. During what seemed to me to be a few weeks, Malagor and I went hunting frequently and he seemed to take great pleasure in teaching me how to track and kill animals of all types. After a while I became relatively adept. I began to notice that when we hunted, we did not follow a random pattern. Each time, Malagor would choose a direction just to the left of the direction which we had taken upon the last hunt. While we hunted, he was surveying the land around us in a very systematic way, dividing it up like a giant pie, with us in the very center of the search pattern. On one occasion I asked him what we were searching for, but he seemed to clam up, and become positively morose for the rest of the trip, so I didn't ask him again. He had been very good to me, and indeed we had become close friends, so if there was something that bothered him too much to talk about, I wasn't going to pester him about it. After all, I had nothing else to do in the world of Ecos. So if Malagor wanted to conduct a search while we hunted for our game, what difference did it make to me?

One time when we out were hunting, we began tracking a particularly large bird-like animal about the size of a cow. Neither Malagor nor I had any idea whether it was edible, but we were beginning to tire of our usual catches, so we decided to experiment upon the unfortunate creature. We were still outside bow range of the beast, crouched in the tall grass, when the hair on the nape of my neck began to stand on end. I glanced at my arm and found that the small hairs there were acting in a similar fashion. Then I looked at my friend and almost laughed. He looked like he had just been blow-dried, every hair sticking straight out.

Malagor was looking at neither me nor our prey however. Then I noticed a distant hum and followed Malagor's gaze to discover its origin. Sailing along above the countryside at an altitude of about a thousand feet was the most remarkable vehicle that I have ever seen. It was many times the size of the largest modern aircraft carrier or battleship of earth, fully a mile long and nearly half that wide. It was only a few hundred feet tall over most of its span, but there was a tower rising a hundred or more stories from the top middle of the thing. The entire vehicle was painted black, and was bristling with weapons or instruments of some kind, and the closer it got, the more obvious it was that this was the source of the strange magnetism in the air. This was some kind of great cruiser riding through the air on a field of electrical energy.

"What is that thing?" I asked.

"It is a Zoasian Battleship,” replied Malagor.

"You never mentioned the Zoasians," I pointed out.

His voice became low.

"The Zoasians destroyed my people,” he said.

Chapter Four: The Battle

Malagor and I crouched in the high grass watching the mile long Zoasian battleship hum along in the sky. The great dreadnought cruised to a point about four miles away from us, and came slowly to a halt. I asked my friend if the Zoasians might have spotted us, as there seemed to be no other reason for the ship to have stopped, but he did not seem to think it likely. I asked him if the ship was equipped with radar or sonar, but he had no knowledge of those devices. I tried to explain them to him, but since I am neither a scientist nor engineer, I didn't do a very good job. Malagor seemed to get the gist of it, though he said that such technology was unknown in Ecos, or at least the part of it known to him. He assured me that the only detection apparatus aboard the great vessel were powerful telescopes manned by Zoasian observers.

We continued to watch the ship from our location for a very long time. It might have been an hour, or it might have been a week--there was just no way for me to judge. As we waited, I strained my eyes to make out every detail possible on the fantastic vessel. The weapons were massive and futuristic in design, though possessing none of the simple beauty of the light rifles we carried. There were numerous structures and housings along the top and sides of the ship, but it was impossible to determine what the purpose of any individual compartment might be. In the foreword of the vessel was what I assumed to be an airstrip, lined with bizarre looking aircraft. This was somewhat of an assumption on my part, since they did not look at all like earthly planes, but I was later to be proven to be correct. I could see tiny figures moving around on deck but the distance was too great for me to make out any detail. I was drawn away from my careful observation when Malagor tapped me on the shoulder. He directed my attention by pointing off into the distance. At first I could see little except the green band where the Ecosian landscape reached up to become the Ecosian sky. After a moment though, I saw a dot in the distance which steadily grew in size. It didn't take long for me to determine what the object was. It was a ship similar in size and method of locomotion to the great Zoasian battleship, and it was zooming toward the black ship at over one hundred miles per hour. Of course the eternal sun of Ecos makes the measure of miles per hour almost meaningless in terms of long distances covered, but it seems the best way for me to describe the velocities involved.

I glanced at the first ship and saw that it was turning its weaponry toward the interloper. The airstrip on the upper deck began spitting aircraft into the sky. It turned slowly like some great black beast crouching for a spring. It presented all its teeth to the enemy.

The second ship was close enough to observe clearly now. It was roughly the same shape as the Zoasian vessel, and seemed to have a similar array of armament. Instead of being the hollow black of the battleship though, it was painted navy blue with bright silver trim and highlights. From all over the craft were hung colorful banners and bright waving flags. Along the bow was a great golden insignia--two crossed swords above a flaming sun. This ship too began disgorging squadrons of aircraft.

"Amatharians," said Malagor. "The banners on the ship are the colors of her knights. The insignia means that there is someone important on board."

"Why would they fly into battle if they were carrying someone important?" I asked.

"If an Amatharian sees a Zoasian, he will attack. If a Zoasian sees an Amatharian, he will attack. These two things are as sure as the sun in the sky."

The two ships began to fire their weaponry almost simultaneously, as the squadrons of fighter aircraft began to engage in a huge and deadly dogfight. The Zoasian armament consisted of a broad range of weapon types, from missiles to powerful cannon to a particularly ugly black ray. The Amatharian weaponry appeared to be all of one type, based on the same principles as the light rifles, with their churning bubbling liquid sunlight, although the shipboard guns fired light streams anywhere from one inch to one foot in diameter.

The battle went on and on. It seemed incredible that ships of even that size could withstand the punishment that those two did. Each took hit after hit from the enemy ship and its aircraft. Fighters were shot out of the sky right and left, and they dropped to the ground bursting into fireballs. Several of them crashed into the enemy ship, or into their own. Explosions rocked the battle-cruisers, and we could see tiny figures on the deck fighting fires and in many cases, losing those fights. After a while it seemed that most of the fighters were gone, victims of the ongoing conflict, but the two great dreadnoughts refused to give up. They kept pouring volley after volley into each other. As they did so, the battle began to slowly drift our way.

"I think that we had better find another vantage point." I said, as I started to gather our things together.

"Wait, look," said Malagor, pointing at the conflict.

It seemed that both ships had been damaged to the point where they were no longer under complete control. The Zoasian ship began to slowly twist away out of control. It was the Amatharian vessel though, it was now obvious, which had taken the greater damage. First it listed slowly to one side, then tilted over more and more, until it appeared as though it was a toy hung from a string attached to its bow. Then, slowly at first, but with rapidly increasing speed, the ship dropped from the sky. As it plowed into the ground below, it erupted into flame as great explosions rocked the countryside. It reminded me of the old film clips of the Hindenburg disaster, though on a much greater scale, and I could feel the heat of the explosion upon my face.

As the victims of the great disaster ran from the explosive fire and destruction, their enemy took after them. Apparently the Zoasian commander was unable to lower his ship, or even turn it so that its weapons could engage his surviving enemies. Instead, dozens of long ropes dropped from the bottom of the great battleship, and hundreds of Zoasian soldiers slid down to attack their remaining foes. The Amatharians though greatly outnumbered did not flee. They turned to face the conquerors. My heart went out to them. Then as if to hurl insult upon injury, the few remaining Zoasian fighter aircraft swept down from the sky and began to strafe them with the deadly black rays. This seemed to me a most cowardly act, and it was something that I could not stand. Pulling out my sword like some quixotic fool, I ran down the gentle slope of the countryside toward the raging battle, with little regard to my own hide. I do not say that I am brave, and I don't like to think that I am a fool, but I must admit now that this particular action at the time was somewhat foolish, and perhaps somewhat brave, but it set into effect such a remarkable chain of events with consequences so important to my life, that I have never regretted it. In retrospect, I know that I heard Malagor calling after me to stop and to come back, but at the time my brain didn't consciously register him. I ran straight into the fray, and as I did so, I was able for the first time, to take in a great deal of information about the appearances of the Amatharians and the Zoasians, and though I did not ponder that information at the time, I will relay it to you now in the hope that it will enhance your appreciation for my subsequent actions.

The Zoasians were the further away of the two forces, but they were close enough for some important distinctions. For one thing they were large--very large. They were about the same height as me. I am just over six feet, though they were more massive. They seemed to be about five feet wide at the shoulder, though I later learned that their clothing enhanced their width by about a foot. Even that day, at that moment, I had a sense that they were very, very heavy, a sense which was later to be confirmed. They weigh almost one thousand earthly pounds, too much for even my gravity-enhanced earthly muscles to lift. They were big and they were black. They were so black in fact, that at first they seemed to be nothing so much as great looming shadows, but then their features began to fill themselves in. They were reptiles, or something like a reptile. They were scaly, and slightly slower moving than humans. Although they had an upright form with two arms with two humanoid hands, and two massive legs with somewhat humanoid feet, they trailed behind them a thick powerful tale. At first I felt something vaguely familiar about their facial features, but I knew that they did not quite resemble the heads of a lizards. Then it struck me. Their faces were the faces of snakes, with the perpetual smile of the cold blooded killer. The Amatharians were, as Malagor had said, much like me, or for that matter much like any humans. They were human, and but for a few racial characteristics, they could have seemed at home anywhere on earth. Those racial characteristics however, were a bit unearthly. They were tall, ranging in the six foot to seven foot range. Their hair was universally straight and black. The men wore it cut straight across the forehead and straight at the back of the neck. The women wore theirs in a variety of lengths, though in each case it was straight and evenly cut, whether at the shoulders or across the middle of the back. Facial hair was not in evidence, and I was later to learn is completely unknown among them. Their skin was blue in color, with a wide variation of shades. Some were as dark as the inside of a Teflon frying pan, while others were almost a baby blue. The clothing they wore was an interesting contradiction of utilitarianism and style. They wore a black body suit from their necks to their ankles, which was tighter, and of thinner material than the spandex biking pants that had been popular shortly before I left my home planet. Through the material, every muscle was visible as it strained to heft the swords which almost every Amatharian used in his defense. Over their body suit the knights of Amathar wore a tabard-nothing more than a long strip of cloth eighteen inches wide, with a hole so that it fit over the head. It reached down to below the knees in front and in back, but was completely open on the sides. On both the front and back panels was emblazoned a great symbol, that was the coat of arms for that knight, and which was different from one to the other.

I waded into the closest skirmish where four Amatharians, two men and two women, were holding off a score of the Zoasians. One humanoid had drawn his sword and was cutting up the nearest foe. The others used their light rifles. The snake-men were using rifle and pistol versions of their ugly death ray. They didn't carry swords, apparently being too slow to use them effectively. With a great leap of my earthly power, I closed the gap to the nearest Zoasian. I swung my sword but it was deflected by the being’s body-armor, a feature I heretofore hadn't noticed. It covered his body from neck to tail, and appeared to be made of some type of synthetic plasticized leather material. It was studded with horns and crests of bright metal, but was otherwise as black as the snake-man himself. The Zoasian was evidently not hurt by my blow, the armor having absorbed the shock, but he was surprised. He opened his mouth wide and hissed at me with a great forked tongue. Then he brought forth his powerful hand with the ray-weapon in its grasp. I was too quick for him though, and with a mighty sweep of my sword arm, I removed his hand between the wrist and the elbow. He didn't cry out, but reeled backwards in pain. I should have finished him off quickly, but I didn't. Something instead caught my eye.

Just over the shoulder of my opponent, I spied one of the Amatharians fighting against great odds. It was one of the females. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was long and black and straight. Her skin was flawless and of a deep metallic blue color, like the steel beams of a building under construction. She was about six foot two and powerfully built, though not by any means unfeminine. Her black body-suit covered her from the top of her neck to the top of her shining black boots. Her white tabard was surrounded by gold braid and was emblazoned with the most beautiful crest--two crossed swords over a flaming sun--and the back of it trailed behind her in the wind like the cape of some fantastic comic book heroine. She had abandoned her light weapon and was using her sword, carving up several Zoasians at once like a butcher with a row of fresh steaks. With each stroke the sword blade seemed to glow with the pride and the glory of battle. I had decided to rush to the aid of this beautiful vision, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a looming form. It was the Zoasian with whom I had been previously engaged. Before I could turn toward him he slammed his remaining fist into the side of my head. I was tossed twenty feet by the force of the blow. I fell to the ground and everything went black. I opened my eyes to look into the face of my friend Malagor. He opened his mouth and snarled at me.

"You are not smart," he growled. "I teach you all that I know, and still you know nothing." I pulled myself to my feet and looked around. Nearby was the Zoasian who had hit me, easily recognizable by his missing hand. Malagor had shot him with his light rifle before the reptile had the chance to finish me off. That I had been out for a while was evidenced by the fact that there no longer remained any living warriors of either race within a good hundred yards or so. Bodies, both human and reptilian though, were strewn everywhere. In the distance I could see the Zoasian armies being hauled by cable up onto the deck of their disabled battle-cruiser. Suddenly remembering the woman that I had seen just before being knocked senseless, I began examining all of the Amatharian bodies nearby. I could find none that matched the vision that I had previously beheld. I turned to ask Malagor if he had seen what had become of her, but something beyond him caught my eye. Malagor turned to see what I was looking at, and we both became witnesses to a fantastic scene.

Standing in the blood of friend and enemy alike, was a single Amatharian knight. He was exceptionally tall and muscular--the perfect specimen of the timeless warrior. He held high above his head that weapon that so epitomizes the Amatharian--his sword. It was almost as highly crafted and ornate as the ancient swords that I had found, but it had something that mine did not. The blade of the weapon glowed. It more than glowed. It was actually lit up like a fluorescent light bulb. This was all the more fascinating for the fact that the metal of the blade seemed to be the same type as the unknown, but mundane metal, of which I found my own new blades to be composed.

He held his sword as if waiting for an enemy, and indeed he was. Bearing down upon him from the sky, at a speed equaling any terrestrial fighter jet, was one of the Zoasian fighter aircraft. It swooped down lower and lower, until it became apparent that the pilot was planning to fly right into the man on the ground, and splatter him on the front of the plane like a bug on the front of a Buick. It covered a mile in less than a second as it headed toward its intended target, yet the warrior on the ground did not turn or run away. It was the most heroically stupid and futile thing that I had ever witnessed, and it my heart filled with admiration for brave man. Then when the jet was no more than fifty feet from him, the knight dropped to one knee, still holding the sword high above him. The fighter continued on into the sword, but the sword was not ripped away from the man's hand, and it was not destroyed by the force of impact. Instead the sword sliced through the aircraft, through metal, plastic, fuel tanks, and pilot. The craft blew apart and a huge fireball replaced it on the battlefield. Both Malagor and I dropped to the ground to avoid flying debris. Moments later I was back on my feet, looking for the remains of the brave Amatharian. To my surprise I saw him rise to his feet, burned but not gravely injured. He looked at the remains of his dead foe, and raising his face to the eternal Ecosian sun, he cried out in victory and challenge.

Chapter Five: Knight of Amathar

Slowly the victorious warrior scanned the battlefield around him, and as he did so, his eyes alighted upon Malagor and myself. He started slowly toward us. I did nothing but stand and stare at the alien knight. He moved slowly at first, but as he got nearer, he seemed more and more menacing, and when he was only several yards away, he began to raise his wondrous sword.

"Stop!" called Malagor, backing up his command by brandishing his light rifle. The blue-skinned man stopped and stared at us and particularly at me for a moment.

"You carry a dead sword," he said to me.

"I carry this sword that I found. It is not as marvelous as your own...."

"Just where did you find this sword?"

"It was in a cave, along with these light rifles," I replied.

"You took these weapons from the dead!"

"There was no body," I said, "only the weapons and some food items."

"You lie!" He took another step forward.

"He tells the truth,” said Malagor. "Do not take another step, or I shall have to kill you." The Amatharian looked carefully at my friend as if for the first time. "You are a Malagor?"

"Yes."

"My clan, long ago, dealt with the Malagor. They were a people of honor." Malagor nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment, but didn't lower his weapon.

"You affirm that this pale one did not desecrate the bodies of my people?"

"I swear it."

The Amatharian looked back at me, the fury of battle now fading from his eyes. He straightened his back, and then carefully sheathed his sword, which now appeared to be nothing more than a metal blade of the non-glowing variety. This fellow was a magnificent specimen. He was almost a head taller than I, at least six foot seven. He was muscular and handsome, and wore the typical Amatharian fighting clothing, the black body suit and white tabard. His own tabard was surrounded by gold braid and bore his insignia, a flaming sun with outstretched wings.

"May I see your weapon?" he asked.

I handed him the sword, hilt first. He carefully examined the blade and its edge. Then with something akin to reverence, he carefully removed the jeweled hilt and opened a here-to-fore hidden compartment in the base. He sighed. Then he carefully replaced the hilt, and handed the weapon back to me.

"I offer you my apology,” he said. "A sword this fine was designed for a remiant, and yet this sword has never lived."

"I accept your apology," I replied.

I could feel Malagor breathe a sigh of relief. It was obvious that he didn't want to have to kill a brave man, especially over a misunderstanding. I certainly didn't want to force him to. The knight bowed his head.

"I am Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Norar Remontar of the Sun Clan,” he said. I later learned that he had given me his name as Norar Remontar, his rank as Remiant or knight, and his social status or nobility as Homianne Kurar Ka which literally means child of the overlord, and implies that one is a prince or princess. In Amatharian society the head of each clan is called Kurar Ka or Overlord and his direct heirs are his Homianne. Just below them in rank are the Kurar or lords, and below them the Kur or lesser nobles.

Malagor replied with his own name, which as I have previously explained, defies all attempts at transcription. It is a kind of a growl and a cough and he seemed to throw in something else, perhaps a title, though I didn't press as to what it might have been. I must confess that at that moment I felt somewhat inadequate in the name department, as I had neither a particularly long or eloquent name nor an impressive title.

"Alexander Ashton” I said.

The Zoasian ship was no longer even a dot in the sky. Malagor invited Norar Remontar to our camp to rest and recover, but he demurred saying that his first duty was to his fallen comrades. I didn't see what he could possibly do for them, as it was only too obvious that he was the only survivor, the Zoasians were quite thorough in their murderous methods, shooting even those enemies that were already down, and it would have been insane for an individual to contemplate burying all of the dead soldiers. The Amatharian explained to me that he was required by custom, to pay his respects to the dead and that he had an additional obligation to confirm the status of those members of his own family among the warriors. It seems that the military units as well as commercial concerns were organized around the concept of the family clan.

I began my own search through the bodies of the slain. I saw that Norar Remontar watched me side-long as I looked through the remains of his countrymen. Perhaps he thought that I had in mind robbing the corpses of their possessions. I of course had another, more pressing concern. I was continuing to look for the remains of the warrior goddess that I had seen during the pitched battle. She consumed me to the point that I almost thought, that if I found her dead I might take my own life, so that my body might lay beside hers. I knew in my heart that I had fallen hopelessly in love at the first sight of the beautiful Amatharian woman, and I was devastated by the thought that she was most likely dead. After what must have been a long time, the Amatharian knight concluded his business with the dead. He looked very sad, but he also looked somewhat puzzled. I too had concluded my search, but had turned up no sign of the woman of my dreams. It did seem almost as if she were made up of the stuff of dreams, so suddenly did she appear in my life, and then vanish into nowhere. I was about to explain my private loss to Malagor when Norar Remontar returned to our side.

"I cannot find the remains of my sister," he said, and I suddenly felt a knot forming in my stomach.

"What does she look like?" I asked.

He described her; her height, her flawless skin, her great strength, her flowing black hair, her beauty. I knew that he was describing the woman that I had seen, even before he mentioned the family crest emblazoned upon her tabard--two crossed swords above a blazing sun.

"I saw her,” I said.

I carefully recounted my brief experiences in the battle, and my inability to locate her body. I did not disclose my emotions toward a woman whom I did not even know, but I know that Malagor guessed my thoughts and I suspect that Norar Remontar did as well, for when I had finished my short tale, he looked at me oddly for a long moment.

"The Zoasians have captured her,” Malagor said. "I saw her being taken, but was busy with other concerns."

I felt my insides fall away as I realized that I was that other concern.

"If that is so,” said Norar Remontar, "it is my sworn duty to rescue her, or in the event that this is not possible, to avenge her. I would of course do this even if it were not demanded by honor. She is my sister."

"We will help you!" I declared.

"Yes, we will help you,” agreed Malagor.

"Let's get our gear and go after them,” I said.

"The closest Zoasian city is over twelve hundred hokents (about one million miles) away,” explained the knight. "We must return first to Amathar. It is but fifty or sixty thousand kentads (forty or fifty thousand miles) from here. There I will gather together a fleet and we will attack the Zoasians and rescue my sister.

"We must start right away," I said.

"Let us return to camp, gather our gear, and rest," suggested Malagor. "Then we can start on our way toward Amathar.”

We turned and started toward the camp which my dog-faced friend and I had made our home for perhaps the last few weeks. I pushed the pace and we made it in what seemed to me at least to be no time at all. We ate cold what last bit of provisions that we had on hand, sharing them with our new companion, and then we lay down to sleep. I could not sleep of course, my mind being filled with the face of that magnificent woman. I tossed a bit and rolled over, only to find Norar Remontar watching me.

"My sister's name is Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Noriandara Remontar of the Sun Clan,” he said. "I thought that you would like to know."

"Thank you," I replied, and I promptly fell asleep, exhausted. The three of us rose about the same time and began gathering our belongings together, and packing them. This did not take long, as none of us was possessed of noticeable material wealth. Malagor and I had managed to collect a substantial supply of animal skins and furs during our stay, and this allowed us to pick the very best from among them, and to offer Norar Remontar some as well. We gathered these items together and started on our long trek. Malagor seemed almost bouncy.

"I have always wanted to see Amathar," he said.

Chapter Six: Prisoners of the Pell

Norar Remontar, Malagor, and I made our way across the vast interior surface of the planet Ecos. We had been walking for quite a long time. I cannot stress enough, the meaninglessness of time when one does not have the convenience of a day and night cycle with which to gauge it. Norar Remontar had occasion to discuss the concept of time at great length with me. Realizing that the Amatharian was from a highly technological society, I asked him if his people carried time pieces. I could see no watch carried openly upon his person. He didn't seem to know what a clock was and I of course tried to explain.

“Yes, we have a device which we use in Amathar to note the time, but we do not measure it,” he replied.

“I find this idea of yours that time is a constant that can be accurately and evenly measured to be most improbable. My people are taught that time varies. As I talk with you, time moves quickly, and when I, at the end of our conversation, look back, I will see that we have traveled a great distance. When I am not talking to you, but am instead quietly thinking of home, time moves very slowly indeed, and when I look back after what seems to be an eternity, I find that I have not traveled that far at all." I thought a great deal about Norar Remontar's statement, and I decided that in a world of eternal noon, it seemed to make perfect sense. There was certainly nothing that I could think of to discredit the idea. Time was of course not the only thing that we spoke of on that trek. So long was the journey in fact, that even if we had spoken but a small fraction of the time, our conversations could fill several volumes. Norar Remontar took great pride and delight in telling me all about the people and the culture of Amathar. Here is a brief synopsis of that history as he first recounted it to me.

"Long, long ago, my ancestors were savages. They lived in small tribal kingdoms, and they warred against themselves, as well as with other nearby races. The people knew nothing of technology, nothing of art, and most importantly, they knew nothing of honor.

"Into the land, came the man known as Amath. He was not one of the people. He was from a place far away. I don't know where. He united the people of the tribal kingdoms against their common enemies, yet he taught them to recognize their friends as well. He found the Garden of Souls and he organized the City of Amathar around it. He taught the people art, literature, love, and honor. He was the first leader of Amathar, and so the city is named for him. He chose the best of the warriors to be his successors, for he had no offspring of his own, and he founded the Holy Order to guard against the evils in the hearts of men.

"All of this was long ago. Amath has been gone two or three hundred generations, but all that we Amatharians are, all that we hold as truths, are due to his teaching and his guidance. Each of us carries his tome of teachings."

The knight produced a small book from an unseen pocket, and handed it to me. It was bound like an ordinary book one would find on earth, but the pages were some type of plastic. The characters on the page were tiny little animals and other recognizable shapes— the sun, a tree, a human hand. I handed Norar Remontar back his book and determined that some day I would learn to read the strange writing, and find out just what the teachings of Amath were.

Many times on our journey I pressed the knight to tell me about his city. On these occasions he would simply smile, and say that I would have to see it for myself. Of course my personal interests were constantly being drawn to the subject of his sister. I didn't want to arouse Norar Remontar's ire by accidentally disgracing her somehow, and truth be told, I was somewhat embarrassed by my single-minded desire to see this woman again. Of course being no fool, he saw through my efforts to artificially generalize the subject, but played along with me anyway. It seemed that in Amatharian society, both the men and the women were able to become knights and pursue careers in any field. The culture was a matrilineal one. The Amatharians passed on their family name from mother to daughter, but even more important than the family name, were the family crests, and these were passed from elder family members, to those children, grandchildren, and even nephews and nieces, who managed to achieve knighthood. Norar Remontar and a cousin had received their crests from an uncle who was a war hero. His sister inherited her crest from her grandfather.

We crossed planes and hills and valleys and an occasional mountain range, and must have been some thousands of miles from the sight of the airship battle when we reached the edge of an immense forest. It stretched to the left and right as far as the eye could see. Of course as with all things of this scale, when we came up close to the edge of the woodland, we found that it was not one great forest, but a vast area of connected forests with small glens and meadows scattered here and there. We plunged into this new terrain and continued on our way.

The first several hundred miles of the forest land was lightly wooded. There were a great many open areas and we found many fruits and vegetables along the way to supplement our hunting. As the miles went on by though, we left the lightly wooded areas behind us, and entered an increasingly dark and forbidding landscape. It was the kind of forest that one might find in an old black and white horror movie, or one of those fantasy novels with pointed-eared goblins peaking out from behind large oak trees. In this densely wooded country, hunting became more difficult, but because of the urgency of our quest, we could not take any more time than was absolutely necessary in any one location. So it was that when once more we had to make camp, for the first time, we sat looking at one another over an empty spot on the ground where our food might normally be found roasting on a spit above a small camp fire.

"This is most discouraging to me," said Malagor. "It is not right for a Malagor to go without food."

"At least we have water," said Norar Remontar. "I am surprised that we have been able to stay as well fed as we have. Before this trip I had been hunting only three or four times with my uncle, and I mean no disrespect when I say that Alexander seems to be as unskilled as I am in this arena."

"He has led a soft life,” explained Malagor. "I am guessing that even though you have done little hunting, your life has not been soft. You are a warrior."

"You are mistaken my friend," the Amatharian replied. "My life has not been a hard one. We in Amathar live well, and I as the son of a Kurar Ka have lived too well. I have never wanted. All my life I was provided for, was given everything that I desired, and was tutored by masters in every subject.

"When I reached manhood I set out to explore the distant lands of Ecos by signing on to my uncle's trading group. As a warrior and then a swordsman, I was required to fight pirates and monsters, and I did so without fear. I proved myself in battle; at least my soul thought that I had. I went to the Garden of Souls and I found my soul. Then on my first mission as a knight, in my first confrontation with the enemy of my people, I lose my ship and my sister."

"That wasn't your fault," I interjected quickly. "It was a tremendous battle and you fought bravely."

"It was my duty to protect my sister," said the knight. "She was conveying an important diplomatic mission for our grandfather. Beside, she is my sister." He lay down and then rolled over so that his back was facing Malagor and me.

Malagor looked at me, nodded, and lay down. There was a chill in the air, and the sky was becoming overcast, so much so that I almost imagined that the sun was going down. Of course it remained directly above, as always, but it did grow rather dark. I began to wish that we had built a fire, despite the fact that we had nothing to cook over it. I leaned back and prepared for my turn at watch. I was very tired though, and after a moment’s reflection, as I have just recounted, that the thick green canopy above, in combination with the storm clouds rolling in provided almost enough darkness to remind one of night time, I fell into a state of half sleep.

The first thing that aroused me from my slumber was a low growl coming from Malagor. I rolled over and looked at him. He was trussed up tightly in some kind of white netting, and he obviously didn't like it. Suddenly I was knocked back onto my back by something large and black and hairy. I stared horror-struck at a big black spider, fully fifty pounds, and with a body more than three feet across, sitting astride my chest. With the strength of my earth-born muscles combined with a great rush of adrenaline, I thrust the creature away from me. It was quite an impressive push, for it flew about twenty feet and crashed with a splat into the bole of a large tree. I stood up, but before I could draw my sword or do anything else, I found myself being wrapped by strands of sticky white netting, and I looked to find a dozen more of the spiders encircling me and coating me with webbing silk. Scant seconds later, I fell down onto my side, completely incased in a silk cocoon. Only my head remained exposed. My position on the ground put me face to face with Norar Remontar, and he looked at me and shook his head.

"You fell asleep."

"Yes,” I replied.

"You were supposed to be on guard."

"Yes."

"Now you have killed us. These are Pell."

"We're not dead yet,” I offered.

"You will be soon," a grotesque, high-pitched, squeaking voice said. Chapter Seven: Doomed to Die

I couldn't believe it. It was one of the spiders which had spoken--a particularly large, ugly, and bloated individual.

"Soon I will bite you on your neck, and suck the delicious juices from your body."

"I hope you get indigestion,” I replied.

"I won't. I have eaten many Amatharians. You are delicious. Of course that furry one is not fit to eat.”

The disgusting thing pointed one of its front legs at Malagor. "We will lay our eggs upon it."

"You have killed us," Norar Remontar repeated.

"I suppose I’ve disgraced myself by my negligence."

"No. It was merely an unfortunate mistake."

"I don't have to kill myself to atone for it?"

"My people do not believe in suicide. If an Amatharian must make reparation for a wrong, he does it by doing service for the one he has injured. Besides, I do not think that you would have the opportunity to kill yourself."

The large ugly spider creature spoke again.

"You must remain alive. You must be alive when I suck your insides out." Now it is not so much that I mind someone, or in this case I guess it was something, talking about sucking my insides out, but I had the impression that this thing was baiting me and trying to scare me. I was determined to put a brave face on the situation, if only to give Norar Remontar a good impression of me. So I spat right in the spider's face, or what I took to be its face. It screamed out in a high pitched whine that made my spine tingle, and actually made Malagor yelp out in pain. The spider jumped and danced around in a circle, whether in pain or in ecstasy I couldn't say, but after that it seemed to keep farther away from my face for which I was grateful. If you would like to get a real idea of my predicament, simply go out to the back yard and move some wood or a flower pot until you find a large plump Black Widow spider. Put the spider in a jar, and look at it through a magnifying glass. Now imagine that face right up next to yours talking to you, and you will see almost exactly what I saw there in the forests of Ecos, for the Pell, as the Amatharians call these creatures, resemble nothing so much as a fifty pound Black Widow, without the red hour glass marking.

For the first time since being trussed up, I looked around to take a real stock of our enemies. There were about twenty of the disgusting creatures around, and they all looked about the same, with slight variations of size. Then without so much as another word or shrill squeal, the spiders started off through the forest. Four spiders grabbed my cocoon in their vertical mouths and began to drag me across the forest floor. Malagor and Norar Remontar were subjects of similar treatment. It was neither a comfortable nor a dignified way to travel. We were dragged about a mile into a very dark and silent portion of the forest.

The Pell had taken us to their home. This settlement, if one can so dignify the place with that name, was nothing more than an immense spider web covering several hundred square yards, and rising high into the upper branches of a number of trees. We were taken to the center of the spider web, then long strands of silk were tied to our feet, and we were hauled up to hang upside down some thirty feet above the ground. I then noticed that the Pell numbered in the hundreds, ranging in size from about as big as a tarantula, to one individual, possibly the village elder, which was about the size of a large pony. All of these beasts climbed around the webbing, but their main residence seemed to be a large hole in the ground below us and a little to my left.

I have always hated spiders, and the experience of hanging by my ankles in a giant web, and being examined by arachnids close to my own size did nothing to strengthen my opinion of them. I tried to think of some way to free my hands, but they were wrapped tightly at my sides. I couldn't imagine things getting any worse than they were at that moment, but they really always can. Just then it started to rain. I like rain. I suppose that it is because I grew up in the southwestern United States, where rainfall is relatively rare. However rain, when in conjunction with gravity, has an unfortunate effect upon an individual who is hanging upside down. It runs up his nose.

"You have killed me,” said Malagor, and he stretched out his head and began a long low howl. This did nothing to improve my own state of mind. I looked around, blinded by the water running over my face, but desperate to find some means of escape. There seemed little hope.

"Can't you call on the power of your sword?" I asked Norar Remontar.

"What?"

"Can't you call upon the soul in your sword to rescue you?"

"I do not call upon the soul. It comes of its own accord. And it does not do so to cut bonds. It comes only for battle."

"That seems inconvenient,” I replied. "I see no way of escape."

"There is no way of escape," said a high-pitched voice. "You are doomed to die, as am I." I twisted my body around to look upon a Pell sitting nearby. It was about the size of a big dog, but otherwise seemed identical to all the other spider creatures.

"You are doomed to die?" Malagor asked. "Why?"

"I have angered the web-leader. I feasted upon food that was not mine."

"Could you get us out of this web and these cocoons?" I inquired.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Why not? You are going to die anyway."

"My death will not be as horrible as it would be should I release you."

"We are going to Amathar. If you were to come with us, you would escape death, and be welcome there." I was attempting to weave a web of my own as I talked. "He'd be welcome. Wouldn't he, Norar Remontar?"

"No,” he said.

"Work with me here!" I pleaded.

"The Amatharian speaks truly. I have no place else to go. Amathar would not welcome me," the arachnid whined.

"What if Norar Remontar promised to protect you. You know Amatharians always keep their word. He could promise to find you a new home." The Pell's forelegs began to twitch.

"You'll protect him and find him a new home. Won't you, Norar Remontar?"

"No,” he said.

"Do you want to live to see Amathar? Do you want to be able to rescue your sister?" I hissed. "Tell the damn spider you'll protect him if he'll let us go."

"No,” he said.

"I cannot go far away,” whined the Pell.

"Why are you up here anyway?" I asked him. "Why would you be sentenced to death for eating something that wasn't yours?"

"We eat any live flesh,” he explained, "but thinking, speaking creatures are reserved for the leader and the hive elder."

"That hardly seems fair. Why, a fellow like you... what was your name?"

"Vvvv."

"Why,” I continued, "I would much rather be eaten by a fine fellow like you than almost anyone else. What about you, Malagor?"

"Indeed,” said my companion. "It would be an honor to be eaten by Vvvv."

"You must surely be the finest of the Pell,” I said. "In fact, now that I think about it, why aren't you the leader?"

"I should be!" squealed the spider, puffing himself up larger. "I have always known that I should be leader! Even the lower forms can see it!"

"Just let us out of these cocoons. Free us from this web, and we will kill the leader for you."

"You must kill the hive elder too,” hissed Vvvv.

"Of course we will,” I assured him. "Won't we Norar Remontar?" The Amatharian looked blankly at me. I continued.

"Then the rightful ruler of the Pell will be able to take command."

"You must hurry,” said Malagor. "The rain is beginning to stop. Soon the other Pell will return."

"I will do it!" shouted Vvvv. "You promise to kill them both?"

"We will,” I asserted.

The spider quickly crawled over to Malagor and using his vertical mouth snipped through the webbing. Norar Remontar was freed next and finally me. I was free no more than a second before I lost my balance, not being particularly arboreal. Flailing my arms wildly, I fell from the webbing, thirty feet down toward the ground, and landed in a sitting position right upon the back of the largest spider creature in the settlement.

Chapter Eight: Pursued

I felt a crushing, squishing sound, as the life and the insides were crushed out of the giant spider upon which I had landed. Jumping to my feet, I found the hulking arachnid looking much like a very small one looks, after it has been stepped upon. The many other spider beings of the compound stood completely still for what must have been several minutes, enough time for Norar Remontar and Malagor to clamber down from the web. They were standing by my side, as was our liberator Vvvv, when the Pell began once again to move. They did not move toward us, or attempt to attack, but instead simply spun around in a bizarre dance as if they had lost their minds. Vvvv seemed immune to this behavior.

"Now would be a great time to leave,” I said.

"We have fulfilled only half of our commitment,” said Norar Remontar, and drawing his sword, leapt toward the Pell whom I had earlier enjoyed spitting upon. As he raised his sword above his head, it began to provide a lovely pale illumination, and as he sliced through the body of the monster, the body hairs and flesh sizzled as if the weapon had been a hot brand. The Amatharian moved quickly away from the arachnids and began a trot toward the forest. Malagor and I followed.

"It's all yours, Vvvv!" I called out, stopping to look back from the forest edge. The Pell who had freed us positioned himself upon a large rock and began speaking to his fellows in the whistling language of their kind. Presumably he was presenting his credentials to be leader, or urging them to some sort of action. The other spiders listened for a moment, then with a swift and determined viciousness, set upon him with their stingers and their fangs. In scant seconds, the hapless Vvvv had been torn to pieces. Then the entire horde turned toward me.

I quickly took off after my companions who were several hundred feet ahead of me by now. It didn't take me long, with my gravity enhanced muscles, to catch up with them. I quickly relayed the events going on behind us, and we all redoubled our efforts to get away from the area. I of course, had no trouble in trotting along at quite a good pace, and Norar Remontar seemed to be quite the long-distance runner, but my friend Malagor, though he was quite capable of attaining great speed for short distances, was clearly not built for the long haul. We were forced to stop every so often so that he could rest. As soon as we perceived our pursuers approaching, we would be off.

"Perhaps we should simply stop and fight,” suggested Norar Remontar, as we trotted along. "We are not asleep this time, and I feel quite certain that we could sell our lives dearly."

"I am not quite sure that I am ready to sell mine at all,” I replied. Just then however, the forest abruptly ended at the base of a tremendously high mountain. It was as if the ground had simply turned perpendicular to itself. There was no way to continue forward, so we cut to the left, and began to trace our way along the edifice. We jogged along at a renewed pace, but soon discovered that our detour had allowed our pursuers to reach us. Just to our left, several dozen of the Pell rushed out of the forest and toward us.

Norar Remontar and I drew our swords, Malagor pulled out his knife, and the three of us turned to face our foes. I could see from the corner of my right eye, the Amatharian's sword begin to glow with its unearthly light. Foremost in my mind however, was the spider that was directly in front of me, and the two others who were attempting to sneak around to my left.

Rather than wait to be completely encircled, I made the first move. Jumping up and to the side, I dropped down sword point first on one of the two Pell to the side of me. I quickly rolled over the top of the creature's body pulling the sword blade free as I did, and using the body as a shield from the other two who lunged forward. I swung the sword in a great arc and actually sliced through the bodies of both attackers. My appreciation of myself was short-lived however, for at that moment, I felt thick silky strands being sprayed upon me from behind.

I am sure that most can understand my feelings when I say that having once been encased in the cocoon of a giant spider-creature; I had lost any desire to be so encased again. I jumped straight up into the air, my intention being to land behind the attacker who was at the moment behind me. The silk threads now attached to my back made this impossible. Instead I flipped over backwards and landed on the back of the spider. He was a large one. I drove my sword down into its body so hard that it stuck into the ground beneath him.

Jumping to my feet, I prepared to meet any additional onslaught, but the only other Pell near me was already beating a hasty retreat back into the forest. A quick glance at my two companions confirmed that they were relatively unharmed. Malagor, while practically covered with web strands, had managed to keep from being trapped. Several dead enemies lay around him, in some cases connected to him by the strands of webbing running from him to the spinnerets in their lifeless bodies. Norar Remontar stood amid a ring of dead Pell, their bodies still smoking from the effects of his fantastic sword. I resolved to learn as much as I could about the Amatharian swords and the souls within them. It seemed to me that the Pell had gotten more from us than they expected, but Norar Remontar insisted we go some distance from the sight of the battle before we stopped to clean ourselves up. We followed along the edge of the seemingly impassable mountain for quite a while until we found a small pool of water collected from a spring in the rocks. It was twenty feet across, looked to be some eight to ten feet deep, and was crystal clear. We sat beside it and drank from it, washed, and then rested. We slept, taking turns at watch, and this time none of us fell asleep during our turn to stand guard. When I awoke from my turn at sleeping, I found the other two bathing in the water. I was surprised at this, since I knew that Malagor was not much for swimming.

"We are not bathing or swimming,” said Malagor when I questioned him on the subject. "Norar Remontar has discovered a passageway below the water. It leads four kentars back into the mountain, where it opens into a large chamber."

"I believe that we should explore the cavern," said Norar Remontar. "My people leave caches of weapons and food many places, much like the one you found before you met me. I believe that your swords were left along with the other supplies as an emergency cache some twenty or thirty generations ago. Perhaps we may find a similar cache here."

My friends had already gathered their gear. I had only my weapons. So after making sure they were secure; I plunged into the cool, clear water and dived down into the underwater passage. It was indeed a tunnel leading back into the mountain. I held my breath and swam into it. I am a fair swimmer, but not when fully clothed. Just as I was beginning to feel desperate for air, I reached the other end of the tunnel, and surfaced to find myself in a dark cavern. It was, just as Malagor had said, about four kentars, or seventeen feet from the outside pool.

I climbed out of the water, which on this side of the passage, was merely a round hole of about three feet in diameter. My Amatharian friend was looking around in the darkness with some type of small flashlight. It seemed strange that I had never seen the light before, until I realized that in all the time that I had known Norar Remontar, we had never been in darkness. The eternal noon day sun of Ecos had been our constant companion.

The cavern was roughly circular and quite large, some forty feet across. There seemed to be nothing in it, with the exception of the small pool from which we had made our entrance, and several large round boulders. However at the end of the room, farthest from the pool, Norar Remontar found something. I stepped over to where he was carefully examining a section of the cavern wall. Malagor followed. In the beam of the Amatharian's small light was a patch of stone, which had been artificially smoothed. Within this flat area was carved a series of symbols. There was nothing about them that seemed in the least familiar to me, but then I was from another planet after all.

"This isn’t written in Amatharian, is it?" I asked.

"No," replied Norar Remontar. "If I am not mistaken, this is an example of the petroglyphic writing of the ancient Orlons."

"I am not familiar with those people," said Malagor.

"The ancient Orlons occupied much of the area that we of Amathar now call our own. They were long dead in the time of Amath, but they left many ruins scattered around the area. We Amatharians study their remains in our schools. They existed for many thousands of generations, and in the last stages of their civilization, the Orlons were quite technologically advanced, using aircraft and high speed ground transport systems. Of course their early sights are quite primitive by comparison. This certainly looks to be a very early example of their writing."

"Can you read it?" I asked.

"I am no expert in archaeology," Norar Remontar replied, "though I do remember a few of the symbols from my school days."

He carefully examined the writing for several minutes. There were twenty two symbols in all on the smooth section of the wall. The first was a simple triangle, but others were squiggly lines, circles with little pictures in them, sun symbols, and a thing that looked a lot like a cow's head. Finally Norar Remontar pointed to a square with a stylized arrow running through it.

"This is the only one that I recognize," he said. "It is the symbol for a door."

"Perhaps this is an indicator that there is a door within this chamber somewhere," offered Malagor.

"A doorway to where?" I asked. "Into the mountain? Maybe it's indicating the water passage we just came through."

"Why would some one put a message that there is a door, in the one place that a person would be in, in which they already know there is a door?" demanded Malagor. "Why put a "door" sign on the inside of the room?"

"Maybe they are not pointing out the door," I replied. "Maybe they are saying something about it, like

'can you believe how hard it was to swim in through that door.' Maybe they are not talking about a real door at all. Maybe this is a burial sight and they are marking the 'great door to the afterlife'."

"I believe there is a hidden door here somewhere," interjected Norar Remontar. "As I recall, the Orlons were somewhat famous for leaving secret passages and hidden entryways in their constructions. Let's start looking around the cavern. Look for anything which does not look completely at home or entirely natural."

The three of us divided up and began to move around the chamber, examining the floors and walls. I focused on the walls to the left of the inscription and pushed every tiny outcropping and stuck my finger in every tiny hole. Suddenly the chamber resounded with a squealing sound that echoed around the room. It was my stomach. I was hungry.

"It has been a long time since we have eaten," said Malagor.

"Why don't the two of you go hunting,” suggested the Amatharian. "I will study this cavern until your return. If I haven't found the door, we will continue on our way."

"Fine," I replied. "We'll get something to eat and meet you outside by the pool." Malagor and I made our way out through the underwater passage, and into the noon day sunlight streaming into the small clearing formed by the high and forbidding mountain and the thick forest. Through all of our adventures, Malagor and I had both managed to keep our fur skin bundles with us. Each one contained a number of furs suitable for bedding. We also still had the Amatharian light rifles.

"Why didn't you use the rifle when we were fighting the Pell?" I asked him. After all, I had my swords, but he had only his knife and his claws.

"I did not think about it."

With little desire to expend our energy in stealth and forest craft, we drew our rifles and decided to blast the first thing we saw which looked edible. Off into the forest we went. It took us only a short while to discover a group of small forest-dwelling herbivores. These looked something like a small deer with white fur and a horn on the end of their noses. Unfortunately for us, the little creatures were very skittish and easily frightened. I missed my first shot, which sent them running off into the distant woods with Malagor and myself in hot pursuit.

When my alien friend and I had at last made a kill, skinned the animal, and cut off several select portions of meat, we found ourselves some distance from the cave where we had left Norar Remontar. We walked back, toting our food with us and stopped at the edge of the small pool.

"I will begin making a fire to cook the food," said Malagor. "You swim into the chamber and tell Norar Remontar that we have returned."

I did just as Malagor had suggested, but when I reached the chamber, I found it almost completely dark and very, very quiet. When I called out to Norar Remontar, there was no answer. Chapter Nine: The Mountains of the Ancient Orlons

I swam back outside and reported the mystery to Malagor. He did not seem pleased. We left the meat cooking, and wrapped up a burning ember, some kindling and a couple of large sticks in a piece of fur, and swam back into the hidden room. Once inside, we climbed out of the water and onto the dry ground. The room was lit only by a dim glow from the watery passage. Malagor and I used the ember and kindling to start a small fire in the hidden chamber. I had my doubts about doing so, since there was a limited amount of oxygen in the room, and I had no great desire to die of asphyxiation. However once we had the little fire burning, we noticed a small flicker of flame leaping in the direction of the wall. From there it was only a small step to the realization that there was a secret door right by where we had chosen to build the fire. Even with this knowledge at our command, it took some time for us to figure out how to open the portal. In the end, Malagor and I had to press on the wall in two different places to force a perfectly disguised panel to slide back, revealing a darkened passage. I wondered that Norar Remontar had been able to do it by himself.

Malagor and I each took a burning stick form the fire, and entered the secret passage. It bears mentioning that you can't make a really effective torch with nothing but a stick. Having watched several hundred adventure movies in my formative years, I have seen many matinee heroes create torches with nothing but a flaming stick. In reality, it just doesn't work. One needs some oily rags or something. The two burning sticks that my friend and I carried offered little more light than one might expect from a small candle, and after what must have been only several minutes, mine went out completely. Malagor was able to nurse his flaming stick in a way that it stayed alive at least enough for us to see the ground where we were walking.

The passage in which we found ourselves was a rough-cut cave-like hallway that could have been natural except for the relatively smooth and level floor. It took us straight back into the mountain. Our footsteps made loud clomping sounds that echoed all out of proportion to the way we were carefully treading. After we had gone several hundred feet, we noticed that the walls, ceiling, and floor became more and more smooth and uniform. After another four or five hundred feet, we stopped to examine the walls again, which by this point had become completely smooth, with nice square corners at the point where they met the floor or the ceiling. At that very moment Malagor's fire went out too.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"Let's just wait a moment and see if our eyes adjust to the darkness," I replied. I said this just to have something to say, because as anyone who has ever done any cave exploring can tell you, your eyes do not adjust to complete darkness. The complete absence of light precludes any vision what so ever. Nevertheless, when we had waited for a little while, Malagor and I were both able to discern the shape of the passage ahead. There was a faint and indistinct light coming from far away down the corridor. We continued on our way.

As the two of us walked along, Malagor had tended to follow the left side of the corridor and I the right. It wasn't long before we realized that we had moved farther and farther apart, and that the hallway was gradually widening. About the same time that we made this discovery, the surface of the wall changed abruptly from the smooth stone we had grown used to, to a bumpy soft material. It must have had a great acoustical quality, for I could no longer hear our footsteps. I was just thinking that the hallway had widened form its original five feet or so to well over twenty, when the hallway ended by opening into a huge room.

The size of this room was impossible to measure from our present vantage point. It seemed to be endless in any direction, and we could not judge the height of the ceiling either. I was standing there thinking about what to do next, when Malagor tugged at my sleeve. I asked him what the matter was, and in answer, he grabbed my head with his hands and turned it to my right. In the distance I could see a light. It was like a swinging lantern in the distance that blinked on and off occasional.

"I have an idea what that is," I said. "Let's go." Even though Malagor and I were both inclined to move quickly toward the source of the distant light, we didn't move as quickly as we might have. The pervasive darkness was somewhat disorienting, and we could never know when there might be some obstruction that we might run into in the darkness. We managed to make a slow trot across this room, which now appeared to at least a mile across and possibly much larger. It didn't seem long before we got close enough to the moving light to tell that it was indeed just what I suspected it was--the swinging sword of Norar Remontar battling some enemy. We managed to reach him just as he had finished striking down the only remaining foe. His sword began to fade into darkness.

"What’s all this?" I asked.

"This is a band of Kartags," said Norar Remontar, turning on his small flashlight and pointing it at several prone figures. "They burst out of a hidden door while I was in the chamber alone, and knocked me out with a well placed blow to the head. I was lucky to regain consciousness before they were able to do whatever it was that they were planning to do to me."

I looked at the beings lying dead in the circle of artificial illumination on the floor. They would have been about five feet tall when standing and they reminded me of a large rat, at least as far as their faces were concerned. They had legs designed for upright locomotion, and two sets of arms on their upper torso. Their dirty, wrinkled skin was a dull grey color, and hairless, reminding me quite a bit of the way rodents look just after they are born. Though they wore no type of clothing, they did wear simple leather harnesses upon which they carried crude hand-made stone tools.

"The Kartags are well-known to my people," said my Amatharian friend. "They live by scavenging from more civilized beings."

"I kind of got that impression from looking at them," I replied. "It is lucky that you were able to rescue yourself. If it hadn't been for the soul in your sword, Malagor and I would never have found you."

"It may have been lucky for us that they attacked me. This subterranean passage may be a considerable short cut home to Amathar."

"If we don't get lost," I replied. "Right now I don't think I could even tell which direction we should be heading."

"If I am not mistaken,” said the knight, "Malagors have a very highly developed sense of direction." We both turned to Malagor, who grunted and pointed in a direction, presumably the right one. The three of us started off in the way indicated. The room seemed to go on forever.

"What possible purpose could this room have had?" I asked.

"I am certain that I don't know," replied Norar Remontar, "but this is not uncommon in Orlon sites, at least as far as I can recall from my schooling as a child. The Orlons created vast underground cities and cavern networks, with many hidden doors and strange rooms, but never any furniture."

"Have you ever seen what they looked like?"

"I could be mistaken, but I do not believe that there have ever been any remains or representations of the Orlons found--no pictures, no statues, no tombs."

"Interesting,” I said, though by this time I was far less impressed by the fact that an ancient race had left no trace of themselves behind, than I was by their ability to create a seemingly endless subterranean room with no visible means of structural support. We seemed to have traveled at least another mile in the room since Malagor and I had found Norar Remontar, though in the all pervasive darkness the distance might have been one tenth or ten times that distance. In that time we had not seen a pillar or brace for the ceiling. Of course we could have been passing them in the darkness without noticing them, but somehow I didn't believe that to be the case.

"I don't know about you two," I said, stopping, "but I need to take a rest." Norar Remontar and Malagor both agreed to stop for a little while, though neither admitted to needing a rest themselves, so we sat down in the immense darkness.

"I am very hungry," said Norar Remontar.

"I am hungry too," said Malagor. "And what is worse, my dinner is roasting outside this mountain, and I will not be able to retrieve it before it is burnt to a crisp."

"If it is any consolation," I interjected, "I'm sure an animal has already made off with it by now."

"It is not any consolation at all," Malagor said.

Sitting in the endless darkness of the seemingly endless room, with only the Amatharian flashlight to brighten our surroundings, seemed to me like floating in the darkness of space, with nary a planet nor a single star to keep us company. But sit there we did, in relative silence for what seemed to be a long time. I recollected that this was the first time that I had seen real darkness since coming to this world. While the stormy weather and the overhanging trees had made the world seem dark when we had passed through the forest of the Pell, it was nothing compared to this. As soon as we all felt we had rested enough, we resumed our journey through the darkness. We had traveled only another hundred feet, when we came to a wall. The wall was constructed of the same black material that had lined the end of the corridor through which we had entered and had the same type of acoustical quality. Norar Remontar and I felt comfortable following Malagor and his apparent direction sense, so when he turned right and began to make his way along the wall, we were content to follow.

The wall was straight and gave the impression in my mind of a square or rectangular room, but when a room is of this tremendous size, who can say what the shape of the other sides might have been. I was reminded of the story of the blind men who encounter an elephant. The first blind man, who feels the elephant's trunk, thinks he has encountered a snake. The second blind man reaches out to touch the legs of the pachyderm and thinks that he has found a tree. The third blind man, who feels the elephant's side, believes he has found a wall. The three of us, alone in the dark, were like three blind men. I thought how strange, interesting, and frightening it would be, if this great expanse of wall were in fact, the side of some great beast.

Happily, before I had much chance to contemplate this line of reasoning, Malagor located a doorway, and we entered another long tunnel. It might have been the same tunnel through which we had entered for all that I knew. It had the same tapered entrance, the same walls, and the same floor.

"At least," I thought, "if this is the same way we came in, we are on our way back to the food." Any belief that we might have been retracing our steps was quickly laid to rest though, when after going only a few hundred yards, we began to notice a light in the distance. As we continued on our way, the light grew steadily brighter, until it was obvious that we were approaching a location with some sort of large-scale artificial lighting.

When we reached the doorway of the room, we entered with our weapons at ready. Norar Remontar and I had our swords drawn, and Malagor carried his light rifle. In fact, we had been carrying our weapons at ready all the way through the darkness, but as we had encountered nothing but black emptiness, we had not been called upon to use them. The chamber we now entered was like nothing I had ever seen before.

Chapter Ten: Chamber of the Elder Gods

The room was large, though obviously not as large as the huge chamber we had visited before. The far wall was about one hundred fifty feet away, and the room was equally as wide. We had entered through a doorway in the middle of the wall, and there were no other entryways or exits visible. The room was well lit, though I could not determine the source of the light. Indeed, it seemed that the light came from everywhere, as though light were a thing that could flow around solid objects like the air. The walls, floor, and ceiling were smooth and dull grey, as were the fixtures in the room’s center--four large geometric shapes.

As the three of us slowly walked into the room, we were drawn toward the four geometric shapes in the center of the floor. They were each about the same size, perhaps twelve feet across. Closest to us was a sphere. The others were a cube, a pyramid, and a dodecahedron.

"What are these for, do you suppose?" I wondered aloud.

"Perhaps they are not for anything," growled Malagor.

"Why are you so grumpy?" I asked. "Still hungry?" He growled again in confirmation.

"This is unlike anything I have ever seen relating to the Orlons," said Norar Remontar. "The lighting has an interesting quality."

He reached up and laid a hand upon the surface of the sphere, and a large portion of the wall to our left suddenly became a huge picture screen. A forty foot image of a great plain appeared, with tall grass billowing in the wind like waves on the surface of the ocean. Here and there, grazing herbivores roamed in search of a particularly interesting bit of flora. To the far right of the image, two stummada sat looking around lazily. At their feet were the remains of a large animal.

"Wow," I said.

"This is most definitely not an Orlon site," reiterated the Amatharian. "Their technology never reached anywhere near this level."

"I wonder what else these shapes do." I stepped around him to the cube. I placed my hand on the surface, which felt warm to the touch, and marveled as another giant image appeared opposite the first. This image was of a beautiful green field, obviously cultivated. In the distance, to the right was the edge of a great forest of extremely tall coniferous evergreen trees. At about the same distance but to the left, one could see the edge of a strange and marvelous city. It was made up of ivory colored buildings with reddish roofs--each roof topped by a craved animal figure. In the foreground, as well as around the city, were the inhabitants.

The people living in the strange city, playing around it, and working in the fields looked remarkably like a child's teddy-bear. They were covered with light brown fur, had very large round ears on the top of their heads, and large expressive eyes above their small snouts. They came in a variety of sizes, probably males, females, and children. Some of the small ones seemed to be playing tag just outside the city. Larger ones were working in the field, pulling up green vegetables of some kind. Still others, of several sizes, were busy within the confines of the city, though just what they were doing was impossible to tell at the present magnification on the image. They were probably doing the same things that humans on Earth did in their own cities.

"I do not know that race of people," said Malagor. "I wonder who they are, and where in Ecos that place is."

"Or when," I offered. "For all we know, that may be a stored image of the ancient Orlons, or even their ancestors."

Norar Remontar and I were both fascinated by the images, and we began moving around the shapes, placing our hands here and there and watching the scenes produced on the three blank walls of the room. Most were of wild places with nothing but plant life and an occasional animal, though the locale of each was noticeably different. There were scenes of deserts, of forests, and of jungles. Finally I placed a hand upon the sphere at a point as yet untouched and a picture of a hillside replaced an earlier scene on the wall opposite the door. Standing on the hillside were two Amatharian men.

"Bentar Hissendar!" shouted Norar Remontar.

"You know him?" I asked the obvious.

"He is a friend and kinsman of mine," the Amatharian replied. "He works within my uncle's trading group."

The two Amatharians did indeed look to be kinsmen of Norar Remontar. They were both handsome, with straight black hair and dark blue skin. They both wore black body suits and white tabards with crests upon them, marking them as knights. The first one, whom Norar Remontar had identified as Bentar Hissendar sported the crest of a flaming sun held by a stylized hand. The other’s crest was that of a flaming sun raining light rays downward. They were picking up rocks from the hillside and examining them. Since there was no sound in the images, it was difficult to figure out what was going on. The other man said something to Bentar Hissendar, who laughed and punched the man playfully on the shoulder. Then the two walked off the edge of the image, leaving nothing on the screen but the side of the hill.

"That image at least seems to be of the present," said Norar Remontar. "I cannot say where that place would be though. Bentar Hissendar looks just the same as when I last saw him, and if I am not mistaken, that other fellow is Tular Maximinos, though I have not seen him since he became a knight."

"It seems amazing to me that there is no one here keeping an eye on this place," I said.

"Indeed," replied the Amatharian. "This is an important find. I am sure that my people will wish to have this chamber under Amatharian control."

"I think that the Ancient Orlons must have found this place long ago. That is the message in the little room," observed Malagor.

"They may have found it, but they did not create it. This is definitely far beyond any technology that they possessed."

"Then who did create it," I wondered, all the while continuing to press points on the geometric shapes. I put my palm once again up to one of the shapes, this time the dodecahedron, but this time no image appeared on the wall. Instead a section of the wall disappeared, creating a doorway to a small anteroom. This room appeared to be a smaller version of the room we were in, with similar walls and similar lighting, but with two exceptions--there were no large geometric shapes on the floor, and on the wall there was a black panel with a frame around it, opposite the doorway. The framed panel looked very much like a window.

I stepped into the room followed by my two friends. Crossing the small chamber, I pressed my face up against the black panel, but could discern nothing beyond the glass, if it was glass. I was about to ask if Malagor or Norar Remontar had any idea as to the purpose of the room, when the opening behind us disappeared, sealing us in. A fraction of a second later, I felt my stomach shoot upwards, as though I were standing in an incredibly fast elevator going down. There was no vibration, nor any other sensation of movement, but I knew that this must be what this was--a highly advanced and very fast elevator.

"Ummph," said Malagor, as the air returned to his lungs.

"We are going down...fast," said Norar Remontar.

"Yes," said the furry fellow, "but where are we going down to?"

"That is a good question," replied the knight. "We are taught as children that Ecos is a great sphere, artificially constructed uncounted ages ago by a race known only as the Elder Gods. I don't think there has been conclusive proof on the subject, but it was always my impression that the shell of the world was relatively thin."

"It can't be too thin," I offered, “because this down-going room is still going down, and going down fast." The Amatharian term for elevator was ‘down going room’. Evidently the concept was not used enough by them to warrant a shorter appellation. The three of us stood quietly waiting and waiting. It then occurred to me that not only must the elevator still be in motion, but that for us to feel the sensation that we still felt in the pits of our stomachs, the elevator must still be accelerating. I enlightened my friends to this fact, and they looked glumly back at me. I suspect the event had more of an impact upon them, since for me it was really just a big elevator ride, while for the two of them it was more akin to a religious experience. The looks on their faces were the looks of men taking a speedy elevator to hell. We waited in the down-going room for what seemed to me to be a good hour before feeling the effects of slowing down. We felt ourselves being pulled gently toward the floor, some parts like our stomachs, more so than others. At last we felt like we had stopped, though I was uncertain enough not to voice my opinion on the subject. Suddenly the pane of the window, for such it proved to be, became transparent, and the view which the three of us were witness to made us all gasp for breath. We were outside the shell of the planet Ecos. The elevator had gone outward from the interior of the artificial planet and out to the tip of a tower on the outside surface. Looking out of the window, it was as if a great metal plain that stretched as far as the eye could see was lying upon our heads, and below us were the vast empty reaches of space. We stood looking breathlessly out the window for several minutes before it occurred to any of us to examine the outer surface of the planet. That it was an artificial creation, was more than evident. The outside looked like a construction project or a giant modern art sculpture. There were metal shapes and bars sticking in all directions. There were many different types of projections which looked like towers or buildings or bridges, but whose actual purposes were impossible to determine.

Suddenly all three of us began to talk, our words coming like water through a floodgate. We directed each other's attention from one feature to another, marveled at the apparent feats of construction, and waxed philosophical about the whole idea of constructing a world which completely surrounded a sun. Just as we slowed down our explosive dissertations to catch a collective breath and to absorb what the others had said, the window went opaque and we felt the elevator move upward, back into Ecos. We rode upwards silently, each almost mourning the loss of the magnificent vision to which we had been privileged. Once again the elevator seemed to accelerate to a certain point, where it began to decelerate and at last to stop. Then the doorway appeared and we stepped out. The room we stepped out into was not the same as the one from which we had entered though. The elevator had brought us to a different room entirely.

Chapter Eleven: Out of the Darkness

Malagor, Norar Remontar, and I stepped out of the elevator and into a room lit just like the one from which we had left. This room had no geometric video controller in it however, and it was triangular in shape, with the elevator opening in the middle of one of three equal sides, and an open doorway on the wall to our left.

"This is peculiar," said Norar Remontar.

I nodded my head at the understatement.

"I would be willing to bet that this elevator, these rooms, the lighting, and the controls for the video images, are all artifacts of the Elder Gods, or whomever it was that created Ecos.

"I am inclined to agree," said Norar Remontar.

We looked around this new room for several moments, but found nothing of interest. Finally Malagor voiced the opinion that we really had no other alternative but to head down the hallway and see where it led us. I was toying with the idea of suggesting that we try our luck one more time in the mysterious elevator, but I decided that Malagor was probably right. It was time to continue on our way. That is just what we did.

The dark hallway beckoned us like a gaping maw, but I tried not to think of it that way. It really doesn’t take too long to adjust to continual daylight. I think it would be much harder to adjust to continual darkness. Norar Remontar turned on his small flashlight; I unsheathed my sword, and the three of us with a quiet look between us, started down the long hallway. This time it continued straight for what must have been five miles before opening into any type of room what so ever. At last it did though, and as soon as we stepped into the room, I knew we were in for trouble.

A sudden wave of stench assaulted my nostrils. It was the smell of several dozen bodies which had not seen a bath in a long time, mixed with the smell of bodily waste accumulated over a period of several generations. I wasn't the only one to smell it. Malagor immediately began coughing and gagging, to the extent that I feared he would pass out. A look of disgust crossed Norar Remontar’s face, but otherwise he remained characteristically stoic.

Malagor had just regained his composure, when a horde of creatures burst screaming toward us from the dark. There were a score or more of the short, bipedal, four armed rat-like creatures, and they attacked using stone axes and razor sharp teeth. Screaming like banshees, the Kartags literally fell upon us. I skewered the first creature to reach me on the end of my sword, turned, and threw my shoulder into the next one, sending it flying backwards into its fellows. At that moment the entire room was lit up by the incredible brightness of the Amatharian sword unsheathed. It sizzled and sparked as Norar Remontar used it to cut through the bodies of three of the Kartags. At almost the same moment, Malagor let loose with a burst of light rifle fire which cut a nice round smoking hole in the chest of another rat. This display of destruction was all that was necessary to convince most of the beasts to retreat. I quickly lopped off the head of one who apparently was having difficulty making that decision. The screaming inhabitants of the tunnels ran away into the darkness and it became once again like a tomb. The light from Norar Remontar's sword dimmed until it gave no light at all. I sheathed my own weapon, and followed the pale circle of artificial light as the Amatharian continued on his, and our way. I felt Malagor take up a position behind me.

The stench was just as bad now that the Kartags had gone, as it had been when they had been present, and we soon found out why. Continuing on through the room, the size of which, like the previous giant room, was indeterminable, we stumbled upon the camp of the filthy creatures. It consisted of nothing but a pile of filthy furs, most with pieces of reeking meat hanging upon them. Scattered between the filthy animal skins were chips of stone, obviously flaked from hand made tools, and here and there, piles of feces. I had been willing to give the Kartags the benefit of the doubt up until that point, thinking perhaps they were only attacking us because we were invading their territory--that perhaps they were simply misunderstood. I could not imagine any intelligent creature though, fouling its own campsite, when there were uncounted stretches of tunnels from which to choose a suitable spot for a commode. The room turned out to be relatively small, at least in Orlonian terms. When we had gone about a hundred feet past the Kartags' home, and about two hundred feet beyond the scene of the short battle with them, we found another passageway continuing on into the darkness. Being more interested than ever to get out of the infernal underground, we trudged on.

The darkness was oppressive. But it occurred to me that I was luckiest of the three of us. I had spent nearly half my life living in darkness. After all, it happened every single day on my home world. Even though I was inclined to sleep through the night on most occasions, I was not unwilling to go out after dark to a movie or a restaurant. My friends on the other hand, had lived all their lives in a world where the sun never set, the moon never rose, and darkness never covered the land. I began to wonder if Amatharians or Malagor even made a habit of closing the window shutters or pulling the drapes so that the inside of their bedrooms were darkened for their sleep times, but I declined to satisfy my curiosity at the time.

The smooth hallway in relatively short order became a rough-cut stone corridor. Before I had time to contemplate the importance of this, the passageway ended with a stairway rising up beyond the reach of Norar Remontar’s hand beacon. I thought that this was a promising development and said so, but Malagor was determined to put a negative slant on just about everything, and replied that this was probably just another way for us to reach our imminent demise. Without any comment of his own, Norar Remontar began the ascension. We had little choice but to follow him, not that we had any desire to do otherwise. There were exactly five hundred and fifty steps on that stairway. I know because I counted them to keep my mind off my growling stomach. The last step ended where the passage was blocked by a great boulder.

"I don't believe this can be moved," said Norar Remontar.

"You forget," replied Malagor. "We have with us the strongest fellow in Ecos--Alexander the Strong." Quite frankly, I had forgotten my gravity enhanced strength, but when I put my shoulder to the great stone, with my friends beside me adding to the effort, the blockage was quickly moved, causing daylight to stream into the passage from above. We stepped out of the opening to once again find ourselves on the inner surface of the artificial planet Ecos. After waiting a moment or two for our eyes to readjust to the eternal brightness of the sun, we surveyed our surroundings. We stood on the side of a hill, with high mountains behind us, and a long slope down toward a great plain before us. At that moment, the three of us looked up into the sky to see a small aircraft. I immediately recognized its design as similar to those I had seen leaving the deck of the Amatharian battleship. I waved my arms above my head, but Malagor executed even quicker thinking, and fired his light rifle into the air. The craft circled us for a moment, and then descended. Once on the ground, I could see the vehicle was a transport--designed not for combat, but for moving men and supplies. It was shaped a lot like a 1952

Chevy, at least on the front, with a rounded snout. The back half of the craft was designed much more like a bus than anything else, squared off with several somewhat square windows. It had landing pads below rather than wheels, and it landed vertically, without the need of any runway. When it had come to a stop about fifty feet from us, a man-sized hatch opened in the side, and two Amatharians stepped out, each pointing a light pistol in our general direction. They walked cautiously toward us. They both wore the clothing of warriors, black bodysuits covered by white tabards. The first had the crest of a flaming sun held by a hand. The other had a crest of a flaming sun raining down rays of light.

"Bentar Hissendar!" shouted Norar Remontar, when the two had closed to a few yards. "What are you doing here?"

"Norar Remontar?" cried the Amatharian, with a startled look on his face that turned a moment later to a look of joy. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be dead!"

"I am alive." The knight stated the obvious. "And what is more, my sister is alive too." Bentar Hissendar's face lit up even brighter.

"The Princess is alive! There will be rejoicing in the streets of Amathar."

"No rejoicing." Norar Remontar looked glumly at his friend. "She was captured by the Zoasians. I will return to Amathar and take up a fleet to rescue her."

"The Zoasians do not usually take prisoners," Bentar Hissendar said. "Do you think they know who she is?"

"Who are these two?" interrupted the other Amatharian, who was still pointing his weapon at us. Norar Remontar introduced us with a flourish, gesturing first to me, and then to Malagor.

"These are my friends--Remiantar Alexander Ashton and the Malagor." I realized that my Amatharian friend, in introducing me as a Remiantar, was telling these Amatharians that I was more than a simple savage warrior, that I was a civilized and skilled swordsman, and I was quite flattered. Malagor and I bowed slightly to the two men. Bentar Hissendar then introduced his companion as Tular Maximinos, who then bowed to us and holstered his pistol. I had seen these two men before, in the images on the screen in the chamber of the Elder Gods. Bentar Hissendar was just shorter than Norar Remontar, with the same straight black hair and the same muscular frame. His countenance was slightly less serious than that of my friend. He looked like a fellow who spent much of his life laughing or smiling. Tular Maximinos was quite short for an Amatharian, though still an inch taller than my own six foot two. He looked younger than either of the other men, though there was wisdom in his eyes, or perhaps it was sadness.

"Do you have any food?" asked Malagor, interrupting my observations of the Amatharians.

"Yes, we are quite hungry," said Norar Remontar, to his countrymen. "I had almost forgotten in my pleasure at seeing you.”

The five of us made our way to the transport. Bentar Hissendar stepped inside, and pulled out a large chest. Inside it, were a variety of containers looking very much like they were made of wood, but feeling and bending like plastic. Upon removing the air-tight lids, we found in each one, something different and delicious to eat. Tular Maximinos handed each of us a metal utensil, a sort of square spoon, and we dug heartily into our repast. My container was filled with a mixture of six or seven different types of vegetables, cut into bite-sized pieces, and covered with a sweet sauce the consistency of honey. It tasted wonderful beyond belief. Bentar Hissendar handed me a metallic cup filled with ice water. It tasted as good as the food.

"How close are we to Amathar?" asked Norar Remontar, when we were nearly finished with our meal.

"It is thirty four thousand, seven hundred miles," replied Bentar Hissendar. Of course he really said,

"forty-two thousand kentads," but I have converted that number. When we were done with our food, we boarded the transport. The inside was furnished much like a comfortable recreational vehicle, with two seats behind the controls in front, overstuffed chairs, several small tables, and storage compartments in the middle, and some sleeping bunks in the back. Malagor sat down in one of the comfortable chairs and immediately fell asleep. I waited until our two hosts had assumed the control positions and guided the ship to a takeoff. Then I moved to the rear of the cab and climbed into one of the bunks. Even though I was quite excited at the prospect of at last reaching Amathar, I fell quickly into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, the transport was still in the air. I looked out the window and saw the ground speeding by. The hills had given way to grassy meadows dotted with small forests of deciduous trees. I walked forward and found Norar Remontar sitting just behind the control booth, talking with the two other Amatharians. He looked as though he hadn't rested at all. When I sat down in an empty seat next to him, he turned to me.

"I have been relaying our adventures to them," he said.

"I particularly enjoyed the part where you let the Pell capture you," grinned Tular Maximinos.

"Yes, it was an unusual strategy," remarked his friend.

"Alas, I have been defamed," I sighed.

"It is alright," laughed Bentar Hissendar. "In all the great stories, the hero makes some type of mistake. It reaffirms his humanity, after feats of daring and trials of danger. Besides, it was funny."

"Yes," continued Tular Maximinos, as he continued to pilot the craft. "At first, I wondered that Norar Remontar would take up with two such strange beings, but after hearing his tale, I find myself liking you. Now if I could only get used to your ugliness."

"Ugliness?"

"You are quite horrible looking. You are short too, but that is not a major problem. I myself have a handicap in that area. But your skin is so pale and brownish orange--most ugly."

"Do not let him tease you," put in Bentar Hissendar. "You are strange looking, it is true. However, I think that your very uniqueness will make you quite popular in the city, especially with the unmarried females. In fact, I would bet that Tular Maximinos's sister will ask you to a meal the moment she sees you."

The three Amatharians laughed.

"That does not mean you are not ugly," said Tular Maximinos. "My sister is desperate for a mate." They all laughed again. I instinctively liked both these men--Bentar Hissendar was a friendly and happy fellow, and Tular Maximinos had an engaging wit, and a way of delivering a funny line with a straight face. I wondered for a moment if he could do the reverse, and deliver a sad line while smiling.

"It was very lucky for you that you came out of that tunnel when you did," said Tular Maximinos. "We were just getting ready to leave the area."

"Yes," confirmed Bentar Hissendar. "We have been making surveys for the Hissendar Trading Group. They have been looking for new sources of edible plants and mineral resources, but the area where we found you turned out to have little promise."

"Is that your uncle's trading group?" I turned to Norar Remontar.

"Yes," he replied.

"Is he your mother's brother?"