Lankar of Callisto

The temptation to explore was irresistible. And, now that my loyal Bozo had disposed of the watcher by the Gate, there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger. So, following the little Tharkolian, we went further into the tunnel. It turned at a second sharp angle, still sloping downward, and then continued on in one direction for a considerable distance.

I gathered that the citadel of the Mind Wizards was built underground, either in a natural cavern or in a sequence of chambers artificially hollowed out of the solid stone. This suggested that the Mind Wizards were nowhere near as numerous as we had originally thought, which also implied they were more vulnerable than we had even hoped.

The tunnel was illuminated by a dim radiance which glowed from square glassy bricks or ingots set into the roof. They seemed to be packed with a self-luminous powder, or what looked like powder, which reminded me of the eternally brilliant radium lamps in Burroughs’ Mars books. We saw no signs of life whatsoever.

“Really, I must insist we return to the ornithopter,” said Dr. Abziz tremulously. “What will we do if we are attacked? We should leave, ah, all this sort of thing to the warriors aboard the vessel … .”

“Keep your courage up, neighbor,” Glypto grinned wickedly. “If attacked, why, we’ll fight like forty fiends! His lordship here has a great sword by him, to say nothing of the beast, who’s worth a regiment of swordsmen all by himself; and, as for old Glypto, well ... he’s learnt a few tricks with this,” he said, showing us the vicious little hooked knife he was carrying in his hand under the rusty black cloak. Abziz subsided, grumbling.

The passage ended in a large open room, more rectangular than it was square, with doors leading off to side-tunnels, and stairways that coiled down into the depths. Here stood a great stone table and bench, a stoppered jug which perhaps contained water for the dead guard at the surface entrance, and a long, ragged-edged parchment scrawled in hooked scribbles unintelligible to me―perhaps a guard roster or a duty schedule.

We had little opportunity to examine these articles, and no chance of exploring further. For suddenly Bozo whined urgently and swung in front of me, blocking my path, staring up into my face with urgency in his bulging eyes.

“What ails the brute?” Abziz asked nervously.

Before we could speak or move or think a loud hissing came to our ears. From vents cut in the walls near the floor a colorless vapor flooded into the chamber, visible only as it eddied in the air, rippling like steam. I inhaled a lungful of sharp chemical odor, suddenly found myself dizzy and giddy, and leaned against the stone table for support. Abziz gagged and went down as if struck with a hammer. Snarling and showing his straggly teeth, eyes bright and desperate as a cornered rat, Glypto flashed his knife about, then stumbled and fell. I stayed erect longer than my companions. but all strength and vigor ebbed from my legs. Now I wished I had picked up that odd-looking ray gun, or whatever it was … .

Bozo whirled about, retreating back up the passageway by which we had come. He cast me one long, lingering, worried look, and whined deep in his throat.

“… go on, boy, get out … save yourself,” I croaked, and then my legs gave way and I sagged bonelessly to the floor, landing painfully on one shoulder, then rolling over onto my back so that I could no longer see the othode. He did not reenter the room; I hoped that he had gotten away before the vapors overcame him.

I was still completely conscious, but could scarcely feel my body. The gas we had breathed seemed to work like a local anaesthetic, paralyzing the motor nerves, but not causing loss of consciousness. I lay there, mentally cursing our rashness; we should have gone directly back to the gig and returned to the Xaxar with word of our discovery!

The hissing sound of gas escaping cut off sharply, and was replaced by the sound of a whirring fan. Above me the parchment stirred and rattled atop the stone table. I got the impression that powerful fans, creating a suction, were sucking the drugged vapor back through the vents.

Several interminable minutes later stone grated hollowly on stone. Within the angle of my vision an immense slab opened in the wall that had seemed solid a moment before, revealing a black doorway wherein stood three men virtually identical with the guard Bozo had slain in the outer passage. All the three were dwarf-like, standing no higher than children, the tallest of them no more than an inch or two above four feet.

They were dressed in identical fashion, loose gray robes with full sleeves, leathern girdles lined with snap-fastened pouches about their waists like cartridge belts. They had skins of sour lemon yellow, bald pates, and cold, slitted black eyes. Chattering among themselves in a language of their own they entered the room, prodding us curiously with their feet, jabbering comments back and forth to each other.