Part 2

"If I had the resources of a science staff, I'd damn soon find out," Kortha grunted, wiping moist eyes. "No wonder Guantra can come to power--when Mars has idiots for a population."

* * * * *

He was bitter and savage, thinking of Ilse and--himself.

"Men say you are a genius," Xax clicked. "It's not fair, comparing others to yourself."

"Bah!" snorted Kortha. "A man makes himself what he is. But let's not bandy words. I have work to do."

He walked down the aisles of this treasure house of metal machines. His quick green eyes studied condensors and generators, pausing to search the intricacy of bearings, or the purpose of bizarre couplings. Inventions of forgotten ages lay before him, dim light shrouding dusty cables, and plasticine casings. Here were bulbous globes and straight, thin shanks of steel; there in shadowed niches rested wired engines and bulbed machines, silent and mysterious.

"Guantra and his staff took the more obvious machines, perhaps the ones that bore explanatory cards," said Kortha, walking softly in the dust. "These are more complex."

He came to a halt before a queer tangle of rings and wires and generator. Three metal bands floated in air between two looped magnetizers. Kortha rubbed at his jaw, thoughtfully, scowling. The pattern of the machine was utterly new, completely strange to him; yet there was about it a faint air of familiarity. The thing had no obvious purpose. It fired no missile. It had no in-take or out-let valves. It--

"Zut!" he whispered. "It only does one thing. It gives off vibrations!"

Xax merely looked at him. Kortha was saying excitedly, running hands over metal sides and rounded knobs, over cables and rings, "But don't you see? If a thing can be made to give off the proper vibrations, it can affect matter. It can cause a change in the electronic structure of a substance, by speeding up or slowing down the rate of electronic revolution around the atom.

"Remember the old legend about the beggar who had a queer machine strapped to his back? Everywhere he wandered he met harshness and ill treatment, until one night a woodchopper took him into his hut and fed and clothed him. The woodchopper kept him with him until the beggar was healthy again. As a reward, the beggar turned everything in the hut _into gold_!"

"Pfah," muttered Xax. "A myth."

"Myths are simply memories carried down from generation to generation. No, no, Xax. Where mankind has a myth, there is usually _some_ truth behind it, no matter how distorted by time and innumerable retellings. It is the smoke that hints of the fire. I just wonder if this machine is the one that began that particular myth."

Kortha squatted and ran exploring fingers over wires and coils, making positive attachments and strengthening connections. He squinted up at the rings, motionless, rigid in the air, between the magnetizers. He grunted.

"Must get its power from the air. Maybe it feeds on oxygen or hydrogen. Or argon. Hell, I'm just guessing at this point. See if it works first. Then analyze it."

He looked around for an object; found a loose panel of carven wood on a perilously old table. Ripping off a section of the wood, he placed it before the machine. His fingers turned a knob.

A beam of shivering green light pulsed from the coils and hung motionless to a yard outward. Kortha kicked the block of wood into the beam.

"Zut!" he breathed softly.

The wood changed: grew red and warm, shimmering a brilliant crimson, pulsating as though from inner fires. It became opalescent, almost fluid in scarlet brilliance. Slowly the red became green, and then yellow. The bar hardened, the liquidity of its structure tensing into solidity.

Kortha stared with wide eyes at the bar, whispering, "Gold!"

"Gold," echoed Xax, awed.

* * * * *

Kortha grinned broadly, hefting the thing in his palm. "Pure gold. Heavy, but somewhat soft, Xax. I was right. Blessed be the mythmaker, for he shall help us find truth!"

"It can't be true," protested Xax, his faceted eyes glued to the amber bar in the giant's hand. "You don't turn one thing into another, not by just a--a color!"

"Of course not by a color. That green light was something that got down to rock bottom, affecting the very nature of the wood. What's so odd about it? All matter is composed of electrons. Those electrons move in certain orbits within the atom. If it is possible to alter the vibratory rate of those electrons--why, then your substance itself is changed. It is something else. In this case, it's gold."

The voice interrupted him. It came from the outer chamber: harshly gloating, unrelievedly triumphant.

It called: "Kortha. Come where I can see you, Kortha. I want to talk to you."

"Guantra," whispered Kortha, and ran.

He found the quartz-crystal televisi-screen finally, perched in a niche in the hall, where it could command a view of the closed doors. Kortha went and stood before it. He drew back his lips, and spat.

* * * * *

The image of the man in the screen recoiled slightly, then thrust forward again, pushing the lean hawk's face with jutting, black-bearded chin and hooked nose and slightly bald forehead almost to the limits of the screen. The thin lips twisted in a savage smile. The dark eyes glittered under thin brows.

"I have you, Kortha. At last, I have you where I want you. I have searched for a long time without success. Where did you hide yourself? Ah, well--it makes no difference. You are to die, Kortha, and I--Guantra!--am to be your executioner.

"Did you suspect that I learned the secret of Yassa, Kortha? If you did, and I think as much, you are right. It cost ten men's lives, but I learned it. It was a lethal ray that blasted whoever passed those black doors. We smashed it out of existence, reluctantly. It was a hellish thing. I would have given much to have saved it, but," sighing, "it could not be done. But I found other articles to take its place."

"Two of them," assented Kortha dryly.

Guantra seemed startled, then nodded. "Two, yes. A lightning-blaster and a--no, I'll not tell you the other. That is _my_ secret.... I see the lightning-blaster surprises you."

"Another myth," whispered Xax, looking up at Kortha.

"Myth?" puzzled Guantra, brows meeting over its hooked nose. "Oh. You mean the one concerning the weapons of the Great War. The rhyme that goes--

"They culled the lightnings from the sky, "And summoned all who were to die--"

"A neat bit of doggerel, but let's talk of living men. Kortha, I know you for my enemy. If you were my friend, now--"

Guantra jerked suddenly, drawing back. His lean face looked tense, thoughtful. His thin lips drew down at the corners, and slowly curved into a smile. It was not a nice smile to see.

He whispered, "If you were my friend."

Kortha lifted his big hammer and showed it to Guantra.

"Talk no more of friendship between us, _yavit_," he said clearly.

But Guantra leaned forward and smiled again. His dark eyes were steady on the big man in the white fur harness, whose sun-browned skin seemed like smooth bronze against the bearskin.

"Zut love me, but you _will_ be my friend, Kortha. Wait! I am sending men for you. You cannot fight me, for all Mars is at my beck. My men will bring you to me, and I will _make_ you my friend!"

He flung back his head and laughed, and his mirth rang loud and harsh in wild, eerie peals. Listening to it, Kortha bared his teeth in a soundless snarl and shook his hammer, and said, "I would sooner be friends with a canalhound. Send your men, but they'll not find me. I'll be away, looking for the shortest route to your throat!"

Guantra grinned, "I'll forgive you that when you're my friend, Kortha. Don't think you can get free of the tower. The controls for those doors are under my fingers. A trusted guard watches the screen here, night and day. He summons me when any enter the tower. He was quite excited upon seeing you. Mars has not forgotten Kortha who reunited the clans.

"How Mars will worship a Kortha come to life! Mars will also worship Guantra who found you and gave you back to her. The crowds will go for you. Kortha the genius. Kortha the man-gorilla. Kortha the great.

"And Kortha will be--my friend!"

It was then that the giant swung the massive hammer against the quartz-crystal screen. It shattered into fragments that sounded like musical glass as they fell to the floor.

Kortha looked at Xax, and rested the hammer by a sandalled foot. His green eyes glittered, and his long yellow hair shook as he moved abruptly, turning on his heel.

"Guantra has his weapon now. He needed that weapon before he dared declare himself. So! A lightning-blaster. Now when Earth and Venus learn that Mars is a power to be reckoned with, they will seek Guantra's favor. Each will hasten to make peace and bid for his friendship. And Guantra will sell Mars for the highest offer. In a polite way, of course.

"If I can't stop him, he will. And Guantra has an army. And an air fleet."

Kortha laughed harshly, "I have two hands and a brain, and a hate for Guantra. Maybe that will even up the odds. Come, Xax. Stop talking to me."

Xax shrilled a chuckle and rolled along with the fur-clad giant, back into the science hall. Kortha worked with his deft fingers, examining coils and rings, delving into the secrets of ages-ancient generators and condensors. He grunted and swore, and his brow was furrowed in thought. One engine he completely dismantled, but could make nothing of its function. Others he merely glanced at, passing them by.

"I'd need a laboratory to test them all," he said at last. "I just don't have the equipment. You can't determine uses or strengths or purposes with your naked fingertips."

He went and patted the ringed machine with his palms.

"We have no weapon but this, Xax. It will have to do."

"That?" choked the tumblie. "That's no weapon. It's just a--a luxury!"

Kortha knelt and began fastening wheels to the base of the machine. He said, "In our hands it will be a weapon. It will have to be, for Guantra is sending men and ships to capture us. When those doors roll open, his men are coming in for me."

The wheels screeched as they bore the weight of the big engine across the marble floor. Kortha's leg-muscles bunched and writhed under the pressure he exerted. His naked arms bulged, tightening under the smooth skin. Up the ramp went the machine to grate to a halt opposite the entrance doors.

Kortha lengthened the distance level of the beam, and wiped a forearm across his wet brow. He smiled mirthlessly, "Let them come, now. We're ready for them."

Xax shrilled, "You said we could escape by throwing a beam of light on the mechanism of the doors. Then why do we stay here?"

"Guantra has sent men to overcome me. If we escape, we'll be out in the open where they can overcome us at will. Here we have a chance. They have to come in that door. I'll have them all in front of me. I have to kill them all, Xax. Otherwise Guantra may learn where I've gone."

"He may still find out," the tumblie grumbled.

"I know. It's a chance I have to take."

* * * * *

The drone of the fliers sounded sooner than Kortha had anticipated. He could imagine them circling above the ancient city, swooping in to a landing in the square. A moment later he heard the drumming of feet on stone.

The doors rolled open effortlessly. Guantra's guards came in yelling, with guns in their hands, leaping for him; shouting loudly at sight of him.

Kortha put a hand on a lever, threw it down.

A beam lanced out at the doorway. It splashed its pale green color over the scarlet tunics and naked legs of the guards.

The guards changed color.

They glittered yellow, metallic. One or two of them were off balance. They fell with a ringing clangour on the marble floor.

Xax gasped, "Gold. They're all solid gold statues!"

"I told you it was a weapon," rasped Kortha, shoving the machine in front of him, wheeling it toward the square.

There were a few guards left, in front of the fliers. When they saw Kortha, they came running. One by one he picked them off; watched them fall harshly, bouncing a little on the cobblestones. They did not fire. Kortha realized Guantra must have been very explicit about wanting him taken alive.

When he stood alone in the square, Kortha lifted his hammer and brought it down on the glistening orifact. Metal danced and shattered under his blows. Casings split. Magnetizers fell apart. Bolts and shards of metallic rings jangled on the paving, clattering and rolling among the lichen-lifted flaggings.

"Guantra will never use that," said Kortha grimly.

He walked toward the fliers. One after the other, he smashed their radios; and the controls of every ship but one. Holding open the door of the last plane, he said to Xax, "Get in."

"Where are we going?"

"To find Ilse," answered Kortha, settling his big frame in the plasticine seat. His hands went forth to punch buttons and twist dials. The tubes behind him roared their power, shaking the entire ship. He taxied the flier across the square and yanked back hard on the repellever. The nose went up sharply, and riding the air currents on blunt wings, the flier rose above the ruins of white Yassa and aimed its prow at the desert.

Kortha slipped in the automatic controller, and ran fingers through his fur jacket.

"Ilse will know the politics I've missed in living on the desert for three years. She will know if we can raise a force strong enough to fight Guantra. We'll need men and money and ships. Guantra has cornered the market on those, right now."

"You wouldn't go to Ilse before. Why will you now?"

"Three years ago I crippled a man, Xax. Hurlgut, who was my best friend. It was in a fit of rage. I couldn't control my temper. And--I was afraid that some day I'd do something like that to Ilse. I couldn't afford to let that happen. I love her too much. There was only one thing to do, since I couldn't master my own emotions.

"I ran away. I came here across Syrtis Major to the Yassan desert because it is so far from life. Nothing exists away out here. If Hurlgut or Ilse were to send searching parties, it would be like looking for a sword out in the asteroid belt.

"I picked a good spot, all right. It took them three years to find me. They wouldn't have found me yet if I hadn't helped an occasional unfortunate who'd come to try his luck at mining in the Yassan sands."

"Mining?" puzzled Xax. "In the desert?"

"There's a lot of copper mixed into that sand. Some day I hope to learn why. Cliffs of metal abound on Mars. The cliffs around Ruuzol, for instance. But enough of that. Let me explain about myself. I came to the desert and lived alone. High hopes were mine that the silence and loneliness and my work would teach me control. I don't know how well I succeeded in that, but in another thing I did have success.

"On the long winter nights, I saw lights in Yassa, Xax. Man-made lights. Electritorches and solar-beams. Now everyone on Mars knows that Yassa is a deserted city, and deadly. Lights didn't belong there. I wanted to go to Yassa to see who walked its dead streets. But as a test, I curbed myself, fought my yearning. I mastered it. I wondered and puzzled, but I stayed on the desert. Some day I would go, but not yet. Finally the lights went away, and did not return.

"I know now that those lights were carried by Guantra's science staff, who discovered the secret of the tower of Zut, and used it. They took away the weapons they could use and left the others, thinking no one could fathom their use. They thought me dead. Bah, the fools!

"Then when Ilse came for me, I realized the truth. Guantra had sent men to Yassa. But if I went to Yassa, I might prevent their taking anything of value from the city. I was too late!"

Xax shuddered at the glitter in the green eyes of this big giant.

"I did not think Guantra had taken anything. I know better now. Without a weapon, Guantra would not dare strike for power. By smashing every weapon in that Tower, I could have stopped him cold at one stroke. Then I could have returned to my smithy, in the desert, and lived out my life."

* * * * *

Kortha sighed, and surveyed the craggy ground below. They were flying low over a barren plain where rocks lay yellow in the sun as far as they could see, like golden pebbles. Jagged red cliffs rose off to the right, shining dully like copper; to the left, a mesa of red-green stone lifted a flat top toward the sky. Between the mesa and the cliffs, the golden floor of the plain went on and on, endlessly.

Kortha increased the speed of the little flier, and sighed, "But now all that is changed. Guantra has his weapon, and I must find Ilse. We must raise a fleet to oppose him. I'm still afraid of myself, Xax. I may yet hurt Ilse, but I'll have to chance it. Mars is bigger than both of us!"

A dot in the sky to sunward of them grew bigger, loomed into a small flier. Kortha swore happily, seeing the emblazoned dragon on its prow.

"Ilse. She's come back to talk to me again."

He swung the ship toward her, anathematizing himself for having smashed its radio. He had meant it as a protective measure, to prevent Guantra from triangulating his position. It boomeranged, now. Ilse would see Guantra's rippled black star pennon on his own prow.

She fled from him like a startled fawn, but Guantra built good ships. Kortha overhauled her slowly, ducking her gun-blasts, swallow-darting. When she dove for a cliffside, Kortha followed; and only expert piloting prevented them both from slamming the hulls of their ships against those coppery walls.

A shell from her rear electrogun ripped away a section of his fuselage before she saw him, big and white-furred, in the glass cabin. He saw her face go white, looking back at him. Ilse fought her controls, dropping toward the plain. Grinning wryly, fighting his ship that bucked with a hole in her side, Kortha followed her down.

She came running to him across the stones, her loose white bolero jacket blowing back, her straight long legs flashing brown in the sunlight, making shadowy grotesques ahead of her on the jagged rocks. Her red mouth shouted laughter at him, mixed with sobs.

He caught her up against him; bent to memorize her blue eyes, the soft cheeks that were moist with tears, the full scarlet mouth. Her platinum hair blew wild in the breeze.

Kortha drank a kiss from her wet mouth, and kept her crushed to him for moment after moment. Three years on the desert is a long time.

"Whew!" whispered Ilse, laughing up at him with lips and eyes, her nose crinkling a little.

She sobered suddenly; put soft hands to his cheeks, stroking them.

"You fly Guantra's ship. What happened?"

He told her, looking down into her eyes, moving his gaze from hair to lips, to cheeks and throat. She shuddered, listening, and he held her tighter.

"It's no use, Kortha," she said at last. "We can't fight the fleet that Guantra can muster. The fact that he has those weapons makes a lot of difference. I knew when I came for you that we were nearly beaten. You were our only hope. If Kortha could come back from the grave--there would be a psychological value to the thing. We might aim at strikes, at seducing men from Guantra's navy. Build ships on the sly, from Mare Cimmerium to Sinus Gomer. But now--"

Her shoulders drooped. Kortha scowled across at the red cliff crimson in the sunlight. It was true. The fleet that Guantra owned was the fleet that Kortha had built. Battleship and air-cruiser, he had blue-printed their models, seen them swung into their launching-cradles. He had manned it with picked men. Nothing on Mars could match it, certainly; possibly nothing on Earth or Venus, either, with the exception of their vast space fleets. He sighed.

Xax shrilled a warning, clicking his needles.

From the south a huge grey battleflier rose grim and massive above the flat mesa. Sunlight disclosed its rippled black star pennon, and the gleaming guns, and the swarms of fighters covering its decks. Towering masts brooded down across the plains, giving the ship an aetherial look that its dark bulk belied.

Kortha laughed bitterly, "What use to talk of fleets now? That's Guantra's own flagship. He's come in person for me now. By some black magic, he's learned of what took place at Yassa. Probably took alarm when his radio calls went unanswered."

They ran across the stones for the small cruiser, kicking pebbles into life, making them roll and bounce. With big hands, Kortha tossed Ilse into the open door of the flier; swept in after her with a hard, swift leap. The door clanged behind them.

* * * * *

The ship shuddered under a direct hit on her rear rockets. Kortha went flying, clutching at Ilse, dragging her down on him. His back met the far wall, and he cushioned her against his chest.

Kortha was on his feet, eyes blazing. His hand went to his hammer, hefting it, lifting it up and down, very slowly. He snarled a little, deep in his throat.

"He knows we're here. He's playing with us. He wants us alive."

"There's my plane. If we hurry--"

Across the stone-bottom, they saw the silvered hull of the little flier cave inward. Metal sides slivered, and splinters flew through the air.

"Guantra has good gunners," said Kortha drily. "Let's learn if his combat units are as good."

He drove the massy head of his hammer against the door, breaking it open. With Ilse in one arm he dropped to the rocks and walked away from the flier. Side by side, they stood and looked up at the gigantic ship that hovered yards above the plains. Men came swarming over its sides, dropping like ants from ropes, leaping toward them.

Kortha saw they were unarmed. He tossed his hammer aside and grinned mercilessly, lips writhing back from strong white teeth.

Ilse looked up at him and shuddered. She had seen Kortha fight before.

He sprang to meet them, hamlike fists balled into twin maces. He broke a man's jaw with his first blow. With his second he snapped three ribs of an officer in a short green cloak. He hit again, and again, and everytime that his fists struck, bones cracked or splintered. Men shrieked there on the stones, trying to stand up to him.

Occasionally he unclasped his hands to grasp; and when his grip fell, clutching, the victim dropped with shredded limbs.

They were all around him now, grunting under his blows, screaming when he wrenched. Kortha danced like a temple harlot, twisting on his toes, slamming his long arms out, dropping his fists where they hurt the most: on jaw, on belly, on ribs. He laughed harshly as he fought; his eyes flared, and his nostrils quivered. The soft thudding of fists on flesh, and the sobs of air-hungry lungs orchestrated the battle.

It looked as though he would beat them all, for a moment. His great form was untouched, and men lay sprawled on the rocks all around him.

Then someone flung sand from a pouch. Kortha knew its bitter burn as it bit into his eyes. They welled with tears, but Kortha held them open, fighting the smart with all the surging energy of his will. To close them would make him helpless; yet the tears blinded him, too, and those he could not help.

The guards raged into him, goaded to desperation, hitting hard. Buffeted, blinded, swept off his feet, Kortha was hurled backward onto the stones. For long minutes he was the core of a shifting, sobbing, maddened group. A hand dug at his face, shoving it into sharp rocks.

Kortha arched his loins, thrusting hard, upwards, heaving men off. He came to his feet, blind, striking out, shouting as he felt flesh pulp beneath his fists.

Something slammed across his temple, bouncing off.

Kortha pitched face downward, hearing Ilse screaming.

III