Renegade of Callisto
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Callisto #8
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Renegade of Callisto». Краткое содержание книги:
Far from his adopted home, the Golden City of Shondakor, Koja, self-exiled insectoid of the Yathoon Horde, has blundered into the savage land he had renounced, accompanied only by little Taran, ward of Prince Jandar. Lost in the treacherous scarlet plains, the two are hurled to separate, unnamable fates —Taran forsaken in shackles, along with the lovely Princess Xara, while the renegade Koja is locked on a perilous course of vengeance for the evils done to his clan. All destinies collide at the Great Yathoon Games in the hidden valley of Sargol — the impenetrable citadel girdled by a seething mote of flames.
In the spine-tingling tradition of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Lin Carter again transports us to a strange and sublime landscape pulsating with the flash of swords, secret splendors, and ever-lurking danger.
“I once had such a trove,” said Koja steadily. “But it was taken by yourself, Gamchan, and I think unlawfully―”
“How so, `unlawfully’?” demanded the high chief, glowering.
“According to the Law of the Clan,” said Koja, “my trove is my own until I am bested in the duello by another, whereupon it becomes lawfully his. Or unless I die, whereupon another may lay claim to it, unless challenged. But I am not dead, Gamchan, and neither have you bested me in battle. Therefore, return to me my treasure―for, as you yourself have said, whoever heard of a chieftain without a chieftain’s trove?”
At those words, stung to a fury and losing all control, the high chief roared out a choked challenge and sprang upon Koja, swinging high his whip-sword.
And Koja was, of course, unarmed.
Ducking under the blow, Koja lunged forward and unexpectedly seized Gamchan in his embrace, wrapping both long, segmented arms about the upper thorax of his foe. Gamchan was astonished at this, for it is not in the natural order of things for a Yathoon to do battle barehandedly, so to speak. He tried to give voice to this argument, but Koja cut him off in a novel and unexpected―and really quite efficient―manner. That is, with a right to the jaw that laid Gamchan on his back, stunned and blinking.
The sword had fallen from Gamchan’s claw when he fell. Now Koja sprang upon his foe, and there ensued a free-for-all without parallel in the annals of Yathoon warfare.
And perhaps I should explain here that upon the jungle Moon of Callisto the fine art of fisticuffs is completely unknown, for some reason. It was I, Jandar, who introduced to the Callistans the earthly sport of pugilism; I learned rough-and-tumble in a number of hard schools back on my native world, and retain the craft for use as a secret weapon, so to speak. On a planet of master swordsmen, not one among them who knows how to use his fists, it often came in handy to be able to use your fists in a pinch. I know of no better ace to have up your sleeve when the chips are down than to possess the skill to deal your opponent a good right to the jaw.
And Koja had seen me in action in this fashion many times. Obviously, he had picked up a few of my tricks. And the clawlike hands of the Yathoon, armored in tough chitin until they resembled gloves of chain mail, made them powerful weapons.
It did not take Koja very long to teach Gamchan that it pays to know how to use your fists, especially when jumped by someone who has a sword when you do not.
Before long, it was over. Beaten into unconsciousness, Gamchan sprawled there at Koja’s feet. And then Koja broke his neck.
This may seem unsporting, but the Yathoon are fighters born and bred, not sportsmen. They learned in a hard school that the only safe enemy is a dead one.
And Gamchan was now a very dead one.
The next morning the lords and chieftains of the Kandars, in council assembled, debated the right of Koja to assume the mantle of the high chieftaincy which he had won from Gamchan in fair and honest battle.
This was, for the most part, a mere formality. Seldom was the conqueror’s right to inherit the rank of the conquered seriously questioned. True, Fanga had questioned it when Gamchan bested the former high chief, Pandol, but then there had been certain irregularities suspected in the circumstances of that duel.
That is, Gamchan was thought to have waited until Pandol was dead drunk before challenging him.
In the present case, the only irregularities which had any bearing on the legitimacy of Koja’s claim were the doings of Gamchan, who had attacked an unarmed man without warning. As no one would reasonably have expected chivalry and honor from such as Gamchan―who was known as a braggart, a coward, and a bully―no, one saw fit to contest Koja’s claim.
That evening he was elevated to the rank of akka-komor before the assembled warriors of the clan, who hailed him. Gamchan’s passing displeased few, if any. He had not been very popular, and as akka-komor he had been a distinct failure. The Clan had suffered from his poor leadership, his hasty and rash decisions, and everyone felt safer and happier with Koja in his place.
Especially Koja.
That day and the next he investigated the warriors who had been in Gamchan’s retinue, weeding out the ones known to be cowards or bullies or loafers, whom he replaced with those of his former followers who now flocked to join his new retinue. Among these were Izon and Sujat and Thomor and wise, canny old Zook.
And, of course, Borak.
Under the glory of the moons they conversed, Koja and Borak, while digesting the remnants of the victory feast.
“What do you intend doing now, O Koja?” inquired Borak. “Now you can return to Shondakor the Golden, for there are none with the authority to say you nay.”
Koja was inwardly troubled. He yearned to see his friends again―that was only natural. But the trouble was, he was now responsible for the well-being of the Kandars. And Koja was one who took seriously his responsibilities.
“This was to be the last roundup of the vanth before the Clan departed for the Secret Valley of Sargol,” he observed in his flat, emotionless tones.
“That, I believe, is so,” replied Borak. “But what have you decided to do?”
Koja thought for a moment, then said:
“I will lead the Kandars into the Secret Valley now that Taran and the Princess of Ganatol are dead.”
And his tones were bleak and empty as he said those words =almost as bleak and empty as his heart.
14 Wings of Rescue
However inescapable it may have seemed to Koja the Yathoon to suppose the boy Taran and the beautiful Princess of Ganatol had fallen beneath the thundering hooves of the maddened vanth, such, happily, was not the case.
From aloft in their small aerial scout, Prince Valkar and his lieutenant, Kadar, to say nothing of Fido the othode, had narrowly watched the progress of the caravan as it wound its meandering way across the limitless plain. And thus it was that from their lofty vantage they had been first to perceive the dreadful danger which impended; not even the scouts and outriders of the Horde, on their fleet, far-ranging thaptors, had espied the stampede before they.
Kadar, white to the lips, clutched Valkar by the upper arm and pointed off across the plain.
“Look!” he said huskily. Valkar followed his pointing finger and saw that long line of panic-maddened beasts―saw, too, that their inexorable advance was destined to swallow and to trample down the Yathoon caravan―and his heart sank within his breast.
But in the next instant he had kicked the scoutcraft into a hurtling dive. For, from his long association With me, Valkar of Shondakor had learned one of life’s most important lessons: never give up hope until the last instant of time, and strive to the very last, even against impossible odds.
Thus it was that, when the thundering wall of stampeding vanth shattered in titanic collision with the Yathoon caravan, the small scoutcraft was winging low over the vehicles of the arthropods; and even as the wain in which our friends were riding broke up against the boulder, and Xara of Ganatol sprang free, clutching young Taran to her breast, she had no sooner touched the ground than the strong arms of Valkar swooped her up, and the lad, too, and bore them aloft to relative safety.
Valkar had flung down the rope ladder and clambered swiftly to the bottom rung, while Kadar clung to the controls. Now, as Valkar caught the two in his arms, Kadar kicked the rudder pedals and the game little craft arrowed upward again through the drifting clouds of dust raised by ten thousand pounding hooves. Below them, in whirling and halfglimpsed chaos, warriors and beasts screamed once and then were still, trampled into the dusty earth of the plain.
Xara gasped, cried out, and coughed dry dust from her lungs, staring incredulously as the prairie swung, then dipped and sank beneath her. She stared dazedly up into the tense, dust-covered features of the young prince, then aloft, and wonderingly, at the winged shape―of his flying craft. Such as it she had seen many times in the past, for the Sky Pirates of Zanadar had long been a peril to her people. But her handsome and stalwart young rescuer was an absolute stranger to her, for never had she laid eyes upon him before.