Renegade of Callisto

Of all that brave and stalwart company, no more true and loyal friend have I than Koja, whose selfless dedication and love for me I am proud and privileged to return.

On the surface of things, it seemed highly unlikely that Koja and Taran, being worlds apart, would become the closest of friends. But friends they did indeed become, despite the gulf that yawned between them, the differences of age, race, and personality. The reason for their closeness may have sprung, in fact, from these very differences―for neither Taran nor Koja had been reared here in Shondakor, and were thus strangers from distant lands; in addition, both were unique―Koja, being the only Yathoon in captivity, so to speak, and Taran, much younger than any of the others at court. Perhaps their aloneness drew them together.

In the eyes of young Taran―still the eyes of a boy―the gaunt, solemn, humorless Yathoon was the most fascinating of playmates―it was as if a child of my race could have for a friend Winnie the Pooh or Reepicheep or the Tin Woodsman of Oz. And Koja, I knew, had developed a warmly protective feeling for the children of our race. His own kind mate but never marry, and do not rear their young personally, but in a far and secret place near the South Pole of the planet, a realm they regard with superstitious veneration as holy for some reason ‘ I have never known. Our custom of raising our children in family groups seems strange to such as Koja; having observed the love and affection we humans share between child and parent, I believe he envies us and yearns, in the depths of his unknowable heart, to share in that closest of all bonds.

I know that my own little son, Prince Kaldar, now a chubby and tireless little rascal of two and a half, crows with delight whenever Koja is near, laughs delightedly at his solemn voice and expressionless face, loves to be bounced on his gaunt and bony lap, and breathlessly confides his every childish escapade or mishap to his “Uncle Koja.” So the fondness which grew between Koja and Taran came as no particular surprise to me.

You never saw anything as amusing, or as touching, as the two of them together. Tall and long-legged as Taran is, the gigantic insectoid towers to twice his height; and when Koja exercises the boy in the art of the blade, two more unequal adversaries could not be imagined. Koja’s sword, a true Yathoon whip-sword, is longer than Taran is tall!

I have smiled at the sight of them strolling on the esplanade or in the palace gardens or on the terraces, talking together confidentially in low tones, the towering stilt-legged Yathoon gently holding the trusting boy’s hand in his powerful armored grasp, his expressionless head bent to observe the lad’s excited, mobile face and sparkling eyes, carefully replying to the boy’s torrent of eager questions or complaints in cold, tone. less, and metallic monosyllables.

How wonderful a miracle is love! For it can bring together the most different of creatures, though they truly be worlds apart.

Most recently, a third partner has entered into the close friendship that exists between Koja and Taran. I refer to that waddling and bowlegged purple-furred monstrosity with a huge and faithful heart of purest cold, Bozo the othode.

Again, as was the case with Taran himself, it was Prince Lankar who befriended the burly-chested beast in the Grand Kumala. On his home world and in his private life, my Earthling friend has a fondness for dogs. And when he was here among us on Callisto, however briefly, Lankar would not have been Lankar had he not made friends with the mighty othode―Thanator’s closest equivalent to something resembling a bull mastiff grown larger than a Great Dane, fitted out with a few extra legs, a grinning, froglike mouth that gawps from ear to ear, and goggling eyes like a gigantic Peke.

I suspect that, of all the friends he made here on Callisto, the one he most hated to part from was Bozo. While we were escorting Prince Lankar to the Callistan terminus of the Gateway Between Two Worlds, and while the Prince was fretting over how to say good-bye to his immense friend, Bozo―or was it Nature?―solved the problem for him. For it would seem the mating season for othodes had come, and the huge beast responded with as much alacrity to the Call of the Wild as ever did Buck the wolf-dog in the pages of Jack London’s excellent novel.

I later sent a message to my friend back on Earth, informing him that we had seen Bozo and his mate, together with a litter of eight of the fattest, most adorable othode pups imaginable. Well, it would seem that othodes do not mate for life, because in the interim Mrs. Bozo has gone back to the wild, with most of her litter, and Bozo, together with one of his male pups, feeling the need for human companionship again, now that the urge for domesticity had waned, took to haunting the gates of Shondakor, and finally deigned to join us in the palace as a pet of the entire court.

On the whole, the Ku Thad generally do not adopt pets. Othodes, however, long ago formed a sort of truce with the Golden People which is similar to that which was long ago arranged back on Earth during the early Ice Age, when the first man made friends with the first dog. That is to say, my people train othodes for hunting. Generally, the beasts are used in hunting packs, but it is not entirely unknown for a single human hunter to work game in comradeship with a lone othode. At any rate, my courtiers were already fond of Bozo―for it was none other than the faithful Bozo who had found the hidden door to Kuur, and because of his keen nose and hunting instinct, we found and crushed the dread and dangerous Mind Wizards. Hence Bozo was more than tolerated. Indeed, he was loved. And so was his son, an awkward and ungainly half-grown pup I had christened Fido, because “Fido, son of Bozo” has a nice ring to it.