G w thomas and david bai.., p.1
G. W. Thomas & David Bain, page 1
Amazing Heroes
GW Thomas and David Bain
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CONTENTS
CITY IN THE WILDERNESS By Junior Joe Elsass
THE CHILDREN OF PERUN By Joshua Reynolds
THE SEEKER By Carole Carmen
SNAKE-CHARMER By Mark Orr & Donna Royston
NO SHARP THING By Barry Hollander
THE ZOMBIE MASTER By Michael Arruda
WITH VORPAL SWORD IN HAND By G. W. Thomas
SECRET OF THE COLTAO By J. Alan Erwine
THE CRY OF A CHILD By Dana L. Solomon
PROFESSOR THOMPSON TANG GAO AND THE CREATURES FROM PLANET X By Robert Burke Richardson
THE GROTTO By Jack Mackenzie
UNNATURAL SELECTION By Laird Long
JAAJERN By Fredrick Obermeyer
ON THE ROOF By Paul Finch
THE MAPMAKER By Mark Sherony
A TAVERN ABOVE A WOOD By C. J. Burch
THE COWBOYS OF CTHULHU By David Bain
INTRODUCTION
THE PULPS, the cheap magazines of the 1920s-50s, were entertainment literature. And the heart of the Pulps were heroes. And heroines. (Though, these days “hero” can be applied to either sex.) Their names are legends: Conan the Cimmerian, Jirel of Joiry, Captain Future, Hawk Carse, Jules de Grandin, Fafhrd & Grey Mouser … The list goes on. The countless magazines of science fiction, horror, adventure, mystery and fantasy were filled to the brim with muscle-bulging, mind-blowing supermen and women. The closest thing we have to it today are comic books. And the occasional John Woo film.
Genres fiction has become more sophisticated under the guidance of editors like John W. Campbell, Anthony Boucher and many others. The tale of SF, fantasy or horror now has many literary aspects. More worthy as literature, but just a little less fun. This book, in its own small way, will attempt to rectify that change.
Amazing Heroes promises some of that excitement of yesteryear. These new stories are filled with heroes too, and adventure and—well, you get the idea. There are some familiar faces to those who collect RAGE m a c h i n e books: Jack Mackenzie’s Da Vinci is back, C. J. Burch’s fantastic Dumond and Hamerskjold as well as my own Mythos hero, The Book Collector. There are plenty of new faces too. Some are brave and honest and determined. Others are evil, wicked and powerful in their own way. Whether you cheer for them or not, they are all amazing characters. They may not dazzle you with their literary-ness or their deep philosophy (and some may at that.). But they won’t bore you. These are edge-of-the-seat folks. And what more can you ask for than that?
So sit back and imagine you are one of those readers who existed before the advent of television and you are settling down to a copy of Weird Tales or The Strand…
G. W. Thomas
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CITY IN THE WILDERNESS By Junior Joe Elsass
October 23, the Year of our Lord, 1620-the morning
DAWN rose, icicles dangling from the hawsers. Dame Goodkin, carrying her newborn Praise God Barebones Goodkin, came to me a shiver with fever, pleading for something warmer to wear. I cast about for a solution, but could find nothing but a wool sweater that had belonged to my dearly departed dame to give to her; but that seemed to suffice, and the Goodkin woman is resting comfortably mid-ship now.
However, the crew of this ship gives me many an uneasy moment. One has the impression that they have wearied of our purposes and would sooner slit our throats, steal our provisions, and return to England now before the onset of winter, rather than continue our voyage of 69 days.
But, lo, God spoke favorably to us this very afternoon. Jonathan Aisles crawling aloft into the crow’s nest gave out a mighty cry, “Land ho!”
No greater music could have come to our ears. Within the hour we were drawing along a wooded coast that we judged to have been North America. As we remained a half-mile out to sea, restlessly, our eyes surveyed the shore, searching for signs of life. Then to our amazement, we were approached by a crew of dark men in what appeared to be a strange, paper shallop.
We halloed to them as they approached our vessel, but they gave no sign of comprehending our language. Then as we made anchor in eleven fathoms of water, we watched in amazement as they drew closer to the boat.
Dark-skinned and dark-bearded, they were clad in strange tunics that made us think of Aethiops, and we saw that they carried curved scimitars in the belts at their waist. There was much discussion aboard ship as to whether they were pirates, and Captain Miles Standish made as if to fire at them with his blunderbuss.
However, I stayed his hand, “Surely a crew of six men in an insubstantial raft would ne’er be so foolhardy as to attack an armed vessel,” I said. “Let them come aboard, and let us find out who and what they might be.”
A few minutes later the Aethiops clambered aboard our vessel. They were smaller men than us, but shiny, black as pitch and well built with glittering white teeth and dark beards; but, to our discouragement, they appeared to speak not a word of English. However, through their wild gesticulations it became clear that they wished us to follow them; and so after much palaver with the captain of the Mayflower, I induced him to follow the strangers in their small boat.
We did so, and after an hour of slow going at shallow draft, making to the west, we perceived a new shoreline, and then we saw a thing of amazement. Upon the shore, where a small river opened into the sea, a city stood. However, it was like no city we had ever seen before, neither London nor Amsterdam. For this city in the wilderness was marked by numerous delicate pink towers and many a lowlying domed building. However, the most imposing feature of the strange landscape was a huge pyramidal structure perched high on a hill above their village.
As the men in the paper shallop waved to us mightily to follow them ashore, I assembled a party of eight brave men, whom I instructed to wear armor and helmets and carry their blunderbusses, and we should go ashore.
October 23, 1620-the afternoon
AND so offering a prayer to our maker and instructing those remaining aboard the Mayflower to come to our rescue, should we not return within the hour, my companions and I rowed for shore. A chill wind greeted us as we came in clear sight of the strange city whose streets appeared to be crowded with dark men of various hues.
As we clambered up the beach through wet sand, we were amazed to be greeted by what appeared to be an oriental satrap or seneschal, clad in gilded robes and a huge, bejeweled, green turban. Accompanied by a party of perhaps forty warriors, he was a strange and impressive sight, for he was as black as the darkest midnight, and his shoulders were as huge as a wrestler.
“Fire if fired upon,” I instructed my men as cold sweat ran down my armpits, and I strode from our shallop towards their leader who extended his hand my direction.
“Welcome to our shores,” he said in halting, but perfect English, taking my hand gently in his. “You are not unexpected.”
I took the vizier’s hand. “My name is John Winthrop,” I said, “and aboard yon ship are 47 pilgrims come to this new land in search of a new home where they may worship the true faith and instruct others in God’s holy word.”
The emperor regarded me gravely. “My name is Amenhotep the 63rd,” he said, “ruler of the 63rd dynasty. My people have ventured here from the lower Nile, from which they were expelled many centuries ago. Because you come as uninvited intruders, you shall be subject to our will. However, trust, that we are a peaceable people, and you are welcome to live among us and share the treasures of our kingdom if certain conditions are met.”
“My good man,” I said, a little warmly. “You apparently don’t understand the situation. We are freeborn Englishmen, and have a contract from our king to establish a colony in this new world upon the site where your city now stands.”
“I am sure your king is a well-meaning man,” said Amenhotep gravely, “but a contract is merely a piece of paper without force of arms to back it up. Though we are peaceful people who mean you no harm, you have no doubt observed the pyramid at the top of yon hill.”
He pointed upwards to the imposing brick fortress looming above his city. “If you will observe closely,” he said, “you will see a battery of huge cannons directed towards your ship. Unfortunately, because you have blundered upon on and are now knowledgeable regarding our civilization and are apt to set thieves and pirates upon us, we can not allow you to depart. Therefore, I direct you to bring your remaining people ashore and to instruct them to accommodate themselves to my rule. Yet rest assured we mean you or your people no harm.”
A restless stirring among the brave men under my command made me aware that my men were all too willing to fight, but a cursory look at the gleaming weaponry of the Aethiops and the polished barrels of their cannons above us made it clear to me at once that to resist the order of Amenhotep was suicidal in the extreme. Therefore, with sinking heart I gave the order to my men to return to the ship and bring the remainder of our party to shore to begin our enslavement under the rule of Amenhotep.
“Surely you can’t mean this cowardly capitulation, sirrah?” cried Miles Standish in his usual irascible tone. “We are freeborn Englishmen of stout heart.”
“Only a fool fights in the face of obvious military superiority, Captain,” I answered. “I have no stomach for a slaughter of our good people. Bring the others to shore!”
“Your order will be obeyed but not willingly, sirrah,” groused Miles Standish as he clicked his heels and turned with an insulting thrust of his shoulder.
October
THAT evening my people were housed among the Aethiops while I was taken as a guest of Amenhotep. I awakened with a stiff neck after sleeping upon a strange neck-elevating device my host called a “weres.”
Thanks be to God, this race of black giants has so far treated my people with the utmost kindness, but one strange thing strikes me as odd. Where are the women of our captors? To this point, I had seen nothing but men, including a subject race of red-complexioned slaves whom they call “Atlanteans” (what we would call an “Indian”) and whom they hold in total subjugation.
That was explained several hours later when Amenhotep bid me stop reading the gospel and accompany him to meet his “family.”
As we Puritans venerate our women and children, I was only to happy to do as he suggested.
To my surprise he led me through an enclosed, dimly lit passageway, and a short time later we emerged into a large, mud brick structure with many fine paintings upon the wall. However, the amazing part was there were upwards of forty women, clad in black robes seated about the room, engaged in knitting.
“Are these the women of your colony?” I asked. “I had wondered where they might be.”
Amenhotep shook his head. “No, good Winthrop, these are my wives. Some are my chief wives, some are my secondary wives, and some are my pleasure wives. Between the forty of them I have over 100 children.
Suddenly there was a cry from inside a nearby large wooden box that resembled a sea-chest standing on end.
“What is that?” I said.
“Ah, that is a birthing box,” answered Amenhotep. “One of my secondary wives, Aleenola, is giving birth therein.”
“The poor woman is giving birth by herself?”
Amenhotep laughed. “Certainly not, she is assisted by a mid-wife.”
“I see,” I said in amazement, my head reeling at the viciously perverse nature of the vizier’s marital arrangements.
“And now since you are my guest, I would desire that you service one of my pleasure wives as a token of my hospitality.” He pointed to a nubile black girl whose breasts were wantonly exposed. “Looweenia will be happy to meet your needs.”
I spun around in a fury. “I have no intention of doing any such thing!” I barked. “We, English, regard such behavior as monstrous, an offense against God.”
Amenhotep roared with laughter. “What strange Gods you English have chosen to serve.”
I ground my teeth in rage and suggested we return along the passageway at once. The vizier acceded to my wishes, but insisted that I join him in a tour of the rest of his kingdom.
Though I was ill-inclined to deal more with this den of perversity, I had little choice but to accept his command. And so we walked the confines of his walled kingdom.
Soon, I was able to see the dimensions of their city. Generally speaking, its citizens lived in walled, three story houses constructed of dried brick. The upper stories of the houses were reached by stairs built to the outside of the dwelling.
On the other hand, their red slaves, who do all the physical work, live in huts to one squalid side of the city, adjacent to what are obviously rich agricultural tracts.
However, if I had been unnerved by a visit to the vizier’s harem, the thing I found most extraordinary about our captor was the strange underground chamber to which Amenhotep escorted me near the end of our tour.
“I see you have a wine cellar,” I said, as we worked our way down an elaborate labyrinth of twisting tunnels, stopping at last before a huge metal door.
“Not at all,” said my guide. “If you will allow me.” Drawing a key from his waist band, he opened the door to a darkened chamber in which a single candle guttered.
“I’m not familiar with a room such as this,” I said, troubled by a grave sense of foreboding.
“Of course not,” Amenhotep said, guiding me inward until I saw the carefully wrapped figure of what appeared to be a human corpse. It was a haunting sight I shall never forget. Bound all in white linen, the features of the body were quite evident. While all about the figure lay bowls of what was obviously food.
“And what might this be?” I said, suppressing a shiver.
“These are the embalmed remains of my predecessor; and his predecessor lies in the chamber beyond and so on for the three hundred centuries since my people, driven as outcasts from the lower reaches of the Nile, ventured across the ocean in small boats to settle this accursed wilderness.”
“Embalmed you say?” A chill shuddered up my spine.
“Yes, the brain and internal organs have been removed to keep the body intact for its long voyage through the devilish realm of Duat.”
“Duat?”
“Yes, one must answer many questions correctly to traverse Duat. The answers to these questions are found in the Book of the Dead.” I had never heard such pagan nonsense before. Stilling my outrage, I inquired further regarding these vain superstitions.
“Once one crosses the seven gates of Duat, one enters the realm of Ausar and the hall of Ma’at. It is here one’s heart is weighed. If the heart is pure and innocent of sin it shall balance against the feather of justice of Ma’at and will venture on to Ausar in Amenti, but if the heart is found wanting.”
“Yes?”
“It will be eaten by Amment, the devourer of souls.”
I trembled in revulsion at the heathen superstitions that drove these people to mutilate their own dead. Those believing such nonsense were little better than animals. And yet I was confused, for this Amenhotep, himself, seemed to be a fine fellow.
“And now if you will kneel with me in prayer, together we will the seven injunctions that Anpu, the mortuary priest, will touch the tongue and eyelids of the departed, thus speeding him onward to immortality in the sky with the gods.”
“My good man,” I cried. “I realize your intentions are good, but I kneel to none but the one God who created the universe and his divine son Jesus the Christ.”
Amenhotep stared at me in revulsion. “In that case, good John Winthrop, I regret that I have allowed you to view these secret orifices. We will go upwards at once.”
And so I was escorted to a back room in the cool, shadowy home of Amenhotep where I am held under what amounts to house arrest. Arriving there, allowed much time to think; and because I was much exhausted from the rigors of our voyage, I soon lay down for a nap.
But first I prayed heartily to the one true God that these heathen Aethiops of strangely advanced science will continue to treat our people as well as they did on our first day of contact.
An hour later I had barely awakened from a restless sleep plagued with strange dreams when Amenhotep, in a state of utter nakedness, entered the room where I had spent the night.
“I trust that you slept well,” he said.
“By the grace of God, I have.”
He smiled, then assuming a cross-legged position opposite me on a stool woven of animal skins and reeds, he crossed his arms magisterially and said, “There is an important matter which I must discuss with you at once.”
“I, too, have concerns on my mind, sire,” I said.
“Then first to mine if you please. Upon our initial encounter you alluded to religion. It is imperative that you understand that all those within the purview of my rule shall share the same religion.”
