Thongor and the Wizard of Lemuria (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

Dream Lotus

Aye, it was an age of magic, when the might of wizards strove against the tides of darkness that hovered over the lands of men like threatening wings. And the world shall not again see such wizardry as reigned of old when proud Lemuria was young…

—
The Lemurian Chronicles
,
Book Four, Chapter One

The great Valkarthan broadsword sang from its leathern scabbard into the mighty hand of Thongor. His jaw tightened grimly, and beneath his black and scowling brows, his eyes glared with gold fires like the eyes of lions.

The earth shook about him beneath the massive tread of the lumbering saurian. He could hear the rustle and crack of breaking boughs as the giant reptile shouldered a path through the thick jungle. There was no question that it was a jungle dragon, but whether the same one that had threatened him before when he had dangled limp and senseless from the airboat—this the Valkarthan could not know.

Nor did it greatly matter. The dwark was hungry—and it had caught his scent.

Now the young barbarian was no soft, city-bred weakling. The cruel and frozen wilderness of the Northlands had been his boyhood home, and among those weird glaciers and snowy hills no weakling long survives. He had faced and fought a thousand foes ere now. His mighty broadsword had cut a crimson path through a hundred perils. Men, beasts, and demons howling from the scarlet mouth of hell had he been set against, and never had he winced or fled from danger.

But a mere man alone, however brave, however mighty in battle, had little hope against the titanic reptiles of Earth’s Dawn Age. Against those moving mountains of muscle, the swords of a score of warriors would prove futile. Thus Thongor chose the way of discretion, although it wrung his heart to turn and flee in the face of danger. Yet the warriors of his magnificent race knew there was no taint of cowardice in seeking to avoid combat with the lumbering saurians of their prehistoric age.

Thus he turned to seek a haven. The nearness of peril drove new strength surging through his weary thews and limbs. He hurled himself through the jungle at the utmost speed possible, seeking the thickest-grown places wherethrough the jungle dragon might be slowed in seeking to crush passage.

Thom vines slashed his shoulders with needle-sharp barbs as he plunged through their dangling loops. Wiry branches whipped his naked legs. He struggled on, for the thundering tread of the saurian was nearer now. It was gaining on him. Earth shook beneath its massive pads as it crashed through the age-old trees, shouldering a path through the brush and toppling those patriarchs of the Chushan wild that had stood unshaken for centuries ere this hour.

Panting for breath, he halted by one such tree, and a soft weight fell over his arms. A sweet odor drifted to him and his senses swam. With horror he saw he was in the grip of a slith. The swaying blossom spread soft petals to bare rows of hollow fangs that could drain the blood of a full-grown bouphar in a single hour.

The vampire-flower emitted a narcotic cloud of perfume that rendered its victims insensible. Senses blurring, Thongor strove to peel the thick, soft petals from his flesh. He felt a numbness spread up his arm as the slith sucked his hot blood. His knees gave way and he sagged to the springy moss, his arm held aloft in the fleshy jaws of the loathsome flower.

As Thongor watched groggily, a faint crimson blush filled the waxen petals. It was his blood, soaking up into the spongy blossom.

At that moment the great saurian came upon him.

Thongor summoned his uttermost reserves of energy. The broadsword flashed through the ropy stem of the slith, severing the blossom from its stem. It continued to cling to his flesh until he tore it off, trampling it underfoot with revulsion.

Still dazed from the vampire-flower’s narcotic fumes, Thongor turned to meet the dwark. Seizing the initiative, he sprang forward, swinging the sword. Keen steel bit into the monster’s slavering jaws.

He tugged the blade loose and swung again. The red sword slashed into the thick folds of flesh at the hinge of the jungle dragon’s jaws. Blood spurted in hot jets, washing Thongor’s arm with crimson.

With a thunderous snort, the monster swung its head from side to side to free it of the stinging pain. The scaled snout struck Thongor with the impact of a battering ram, hurling him a dozen feet away. He sprawled on his back, the broadsword spinning from his hand.

Before he could rise to regain it, the dripping jaws opened before him. He could see the curved white sabers of the saurian’s mighty fangs as the crimson maw gaped to gulp him down…

“
Hold your breath, swordsman
.”

A tall, robed figure stepped in front of him. In one hand he held a small metal chest. Who—or what—he was, Thongor did not know, but he obeyed.

As the jaws came down, the old man opened the chest and hurled its contents into them. A thick cloud of blue powder whirled about the jungle dragon. It swung its head away as the swirling veil of blue mist entered its nostrils. The fires of ravening hunger died in the scarlet eyes, and as Thongor staggered to his feet, the enormous length of the saurian came thundering to the ground, shaking the earth as it fell. The beast was either dead or unconscious.

Thongor retrieved his blade and eyed the older man expressionlessly.

“My thanks for your aid, grandsire,” he said.

The stranger combed his long gray beard with slim fingers, smiling faintly.

“The dust of the dream lotus,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. “One grain will transport a man to the dreamworlds of fantastic pleasure within his own mind for many hours. The dragon has inhaled enough to render a fair-sized city unconscious. It is unwise and dangerous to wander these jungles armed with the sword alone. But let me introduce myself. I am an enchanter, dwelling nearby. I am Sharajsha of Zaar.”

Thongor touched the back of his hand to his brows in courteous salute to the old man.

“I am Thongor, the son of Thumithar of the House of Valkh,” he growled, “come hither from Valkarth in the Northlands, and till but recently a mercenary sword in the legions of Thurdis, the Dragon City.”

Unobtrusively, he kept the broadsword free of its scabbard, dangling from his hand. He was no friend to wizards, and until this hour he had found few of the sorcerous breed worthy of trust. The name of Zaar, that weird City of the Magicians far and far to the east, aroused his suspicions as well, for the Black Druids of Zaar were reputed to be devil-worshippers and devotees of the Dark Forces.

“Belarba, warrior!” the old magician smiled. “You are far from home, and far even from Thurdis…but come, we shall have time to converse later. You are wounded and fatigued, and my home is near. Let me offer you what small hospitality I can before you continue on your journey. My zamph is near, and you need food and drink and rest.”

Thongor eyed the old man expressionlessly. While every drop of his clean, healthy Northlander blood distrusted those who dealt with the devilish arts of warlockry and magic, he would be a fool to refuse this offer of a haven. After all, one lost and alone in the jungled wilds of this savage land many leagues from the nearest outpost of man did not hesitate before accepting the offer of assistance, even if that offer came from a sorcerer. So with a philosophical shrug, Thongor bowed slightly, and gruffly thanked the wizard for his aid.

And besides, it occurred to him that he had heard the name of this Sharajsha before. Aye, the fame of this particular magician had penetrated even into his remote homeland beyond the Mountains of Mommur. Sharajsha the Great, they called him, and by repute he was one of the most powerful of all the enchanters of this age of magic. Some called him the Wizard of Lemuria, and Thongor did not ever recall having heard anything dubious or evil concerning him.

At any rate, Thongor had no fear of magic. The man was old, and Thongor resolved to keep one hand near his swordhilt and a wary eye cocked for treachery, and to leave the rest to the Nineteen Gods.

“I will go with you, Wizard,” he growled.

“This way, then.”

They went down a jungle aisle, and as they walked, Thongor took a good long look at the stranger who had come to his aid so unexpectedly. The wizard was old—how old, he did not venture to guess. But the stamp of centuries lay in the deep lines of his face. He was tall and lean, and there was an air of majesty and power about him as he strode through the brush. He wore a long and widesleeved robe of neutral gray, bound in about his waist by a broad girdle of serpent skin. From this hung a short rod or baton of peculiar design, and a pouch of scarlet photh-hide.

His eyes were what held Thongor’s attention. They were black as night, and wise and cool and thoughtful. Magnetic fires burned therein, and depth on depth of darkness. A great mane of iron-gray hair crowned his high and noble brow and fell to his shoulders. A patriarchal beard of the same hue clothed his firm jaw and poured like a cataract of shadows to his lean waist. This was no frail, bent, mumbling oldster, for all his years. He strode like one of the kings of the earth, clothed in majesty and power, and wisdom blazed in his great deep-sunken eyes.

Sharajsha lifted one arm to brush aside the bushes, and the young barbarian saw that his long fingers bore many sigils and talismanic rings of power. One was a hoop of iron, embossed with a curious glyph. Another was carved of red jade, engraved with wedge-shapen runes in some unknown tongue. Other rings flashed upon his long, sensitive hands—the hands of an artist or a thinker. Each ring was fashioned from a different substance: crystal, metal, stone, or wood. With the power locked in these talismanic rings, Thongor grimly surmised, the wizard could invoke and command spirits and elemental forces.

* * * *

Tethered in a clearing nearby, a mighty zamph stood placidly munching the long, succulent grasses that sprang up in the shadows of a towering lotifer.

The peoples of the cities of the South used the slim, swift-pacing kroter for steeds. The slower, more massive zamph served as beast of burden to draw their wains or to drag their plows.

The zamph was a great, slow-footed reptile, heavy with armor-plate, stumpy-legged, enormous of girth. Its hide was thick and leathery, tough with plates of horn, dull blue in color and fading to a muddy yellow on the belly plates. Its bowed legs were hoofed with thick pads of horn. Untiring strength slumbered in those short legs, strength which could carry zamph and rider for days without rest, if need be.

The zamph had a beaklike snout, and between its mild little pig-like eyes a thick, straight horn grew, which tapered to a needlepoint. Its neck was covered with a curved, saddle-shaped natural shield of bone. A zamph’s rider sat in this bony saddle and guided his mount with reins attached to rings that pierced the zamph’s small and tender ears—virtually the only exposed portion of its anatomy which was sensitive to pain. Sharajsha’s zamph was a great bull, a giant of the breed weighing perhaps several tons. Its bony saddle was wide enough to seat two men.

As they came into view, the zamph lifted its beaklike snout and sniffed the air. Catching the familiar scent of the wizard, it hooted and pawed the turf with one mighty foot. As Sharajsha came up to it, the zamph blinked mild little eyes and butted the wizard’s shoulder affectionately. He slapped one burly shoulder and scratched behind the sensitive little ear, holding the beast’s attention as the young Valkarthan climbed astride. Then Sharajsha untethered the zamph, mounted, and they set off. The zamph waddled heavily through the thick brush, reached a long aisle between rows of trees, and set off with a steady, lumbering stride.

“I have found the jungles of Chush inhospitable,” the barbarian commented. “I am surprised that even a wizard cares to make his home in a land so wild and dangerous.”

“I dwell not in the jungles, but in the Mountains of Mommur,” the old man explained as they rode. “You are closer to the foothills of Mommur than you think. Wizards, as you can imagine, prefer to dwell in remote and inaccessible places so that they are free to pursue their studies and experiments unmolested and undisturbed. When I came hither out of Zaar many, many years ago, I chose the mountain country beyond the jungles of Chush for my home because that region is as far from the cities of men as one of my retiring habits could ask.”

Thongor grunted. “I too have no fondness for cities. There is something about them which seems to bring out the worst elements in men: greed, jealousy, the thirst for power. But do you not find it difficult and demanding of your time, living without servants?”

Sharajsha laughed. “I have my servants, but they are not mortal men! Nay, I am served by the invisible hands of spirits sworn to obedience, thus I require little of cities. Many years ago when first I came hither into this realm, I commanded my spirits to construct for me a subterranean palace beneath the mountains. Thus am I doubly hidden from the eyes of men: first, that I dwell far from the nearest of the cities; and second, that my home is concealed beneath the surface of the earth’s crust itself. Therein have I dwelled through all the long years from that dim day to this. And but rarely do I leave my subterranean abode to venture forth in the open air of the upper world. Far more seldom still do I ride forth into the trackless jungles of tropic Chush.”

Thongor grunted. “’Twas most fortunate for me that you chanced to do so at this particular time; else, I had most likely served as part of a dragon’s dinner!”

The wizard looked at him with wise, dark eyes.

“It was not a matter of chance, Thongor of Valkarth. In my magic glass, which gives me vision of all that which takes place across the breadth of Lemuria, I spied your strange flying boat as it floated above the jungles of Chush. By the power of that magic mirror I watched your battle against the dragons of the earth and of the sky. I saw your boat attacked and destroyed by the flying dragons. I saw you wandering lost and alone and on foot. I knew that no warrior, even so mighty a swordsman as yourself, could long survive against the perils of the jungle. So I came riding forth to lend you whatever aid lay within my powers.”

The wizard paused.

Then: “I have need of a warrior,” he said slowly.