The best of e e doc smi.., p.15
The Best of E.E. Doc Smith, page 15
"They come, master, to the number of eleven," his lookout boy came running with news at mid-afternoon of the seventh day. "One priest in copper, ten Tarkians in iron, a five each of bowmen and spearmen." Tedric did not have to tell the boy where to go or what to do or to hurry about it; as both ran for the ironmaster's armor the youngster was two steps in the lead. It was evident, too, that he had served as squire before, and frequently; for in seconds the erstwhile half-naked blacksmith was fully clothed in iron.
Thus it was an armored knight, leaning negligently upon a fifteen-pound forging hammer, who waited outside the shop's door and watched his eleven visitors approach.
The banner was that of a priest of the third rank. Good-they weren't worried enough about him yet, then" to send a big one. And only ten mercenaries-small, short, bandy-legged men of Tark-good enough fighters for their weight, but they didn't weigh much. This wouldn't be too bad.
The group came up to within a few paces and stopped. "Art in armor, smith?" the discomfited priest demanded.
"Why?" "Why not? 'Tis my habit to greet guests in apparel of their own choosing."
There was a brief silence, then: "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, priest?" he asked, only half sarcastically. "I paid, as I have always paid" the fraction due." "True. 'Tis not about a fraction I come. It is noised that a strange god appeared to you, spoke to you, instructed you in your art; that you are making an image of him." "I made no secret of any of these things. I hide nothing from the great god or his minions, nor ever have.
I have nothing to hide." "Perhaps. Such conduct is very unseemly-decidedly ungodlike. He should not have appeared to you, but to one of us, and in the temple." "It is un-Sarpedionlike, certainly-all that Sarpedion has ever done for me is let me alone, and I have paid heavily for that." "What bargain did you make with this Llosir? What was the price?" "No bargain was made. I thought it strange, but who am I an ordinary man, to try to understand the actions or the reasonings of a god? There will be a price, I suppose. Whatever it is, I will pay it gladly."
"You will pay, rest assured; not to this Llosir, but to great Sarpedion. I command you to destroy that image forthwith." "You do? Why? Since when has it been against the law to have a personal god? Most families of Lomarr have them." "Not like yours. Sarpedion does not permit your Llosir to exist." "Sarpedion has nothing to say about it. Llosir already exists. Is the great god so weak, so afraid, so unable to defend himself against a one-man stranger that he...." "Take care, smith-silence! That is rankest blasphemy!" "Perhaps; but I have blasphemed before and Sarpedion -hasn't killed me yet. Nor will he, methinks; at least until his priests have collected his fraction of the finest iron ever forged and which I only can make." "Oh, yes, the new iron. Tell me exactly how it is made." "You know better than to ask that question, priest. That secret will be known only to me and my god." "We have equipment and tools designed specifically for getting information out of such as you. Seize him, men" and smash that image!" "HOLD!" Tedric roared, in such a voice that not a man moved. "If anybody takes one forward step, priest, or makes one move toward spear or arrow, your brains will spatter the walls across the street. Can your copper helmet stop this hammer? Can your girl-muscled, fat-bellied priest's body move fast enough to dodge my blow? And most or all of those runty little slavelings behind you," waving his left arm contemptuously at the group, "will also die before they cut me down. And if I die now, of what worth is Sarpedion's fraction of a metal that will never be made? Think well, priest!" Sarpedion's agent studied the truculent" glaring iron, master for a long two minutes. Then, deciding that the proposed victim could not be taken alive, he led his crew back the way they had come, trailing fiery threats. And Tedric, going back into his shop, was thoroughly aware that those threats were not idle. So far, he hadn't taken too much risk, but the next visit would be different-very different. He was exceedingly glad that none of his men knew that the pots they were firing so fiercely were in fact filled only with coke and willow charcoal; that armor and sword and shield and axe and hammer were at that moment getting their final heat treatment in a bath of oil" but little hotter than boiling water, in the sanctum to which he retired, always alone, to perform the incantations which his men-and hence the priests of Sarpedion-believed as necessary as any other part of the metallurgical process.
That evening he selected a smooth" fine-grained stone and whetted the already almost perfect cutting edge of his new sword; an edge which in cross-section was rather more like an extremely sharp cold-chisel than a hollow-ground razor. He fitted the two-hand grip meticulously with worked and tempered rawhide, thrilling again and again as each touch of an educated and talented finger-tip told him over and over that here was some thing brand new in metal a real god-metal.
A piece of flat wrought iron" about three-sixteenths by five inches and about a foot long" already lay on a smooth and heavy hardwood block. He tapped it sharply with the sword's edge. The blade rang like a bell; the iron showed a bright new scar; that was all. Then a moderately heavy two-handed blow, about as hard as he had ever dared swing an iron sword. Still no damage. Then" heart in mouth" he gave the god-metal its final test; struck with everything he had" from heels and toes to fingertips. He had never struck such a blow before, except possibly with a war-axe or a sledge. There was a ringing clang" two sundered slabs of iron flew to opposite ends of the room, the atrocious blade went on, half an inch deep into solid oak. He wrenched the weapon free and stared at the unmarred edge.
UNMARRED! For an instant Tedric felt as though he were about to collapse; but sheerest joy does not disable.
There was nothing left to do except make the links" hinge-pins, and so on for his armor, which did not take long.
Hence, when the minions of Sarpedion next appeared" armored this time in the heaviest and best iron they had and all set to overwhelm him by sheer weight of numbers" he was completely ready. Nor was there palaver or parley.
The attackers opened the door" saw the smith" and rushed.
But Tedric, although in plain sight, had chosen the battleground with care. He was in a corner. At his back a solid.
walled stairway ran up to the second floor. On his right the wall was solid for twenty feet. On his left, beyond the stairwell, the wall was equally solid for twice as far. They would have to come after him, and as he retreated, they would be fighting their way up, and not more than two at a time.
This first swing" horizontal and neck-high, was fully as fierce-driven as the one that had cloven the test piece and almost ruined his testing-block. The god-metal blade scarcely slowed as it went through armor and flesh and bone.
In fact, the helmet and the head within it remained in place upon the shoulders for what seemed like seconds before the body toppled and the arteries spurted crimson jets.
He didn't have to hit so bard, then. Good. Nobody could last very long, the way he had started out.
Wherefore the next blow, a vertical chop, merely split a man to the chin instead of to the navel; and the third, a back-hand return" didn't quite cut the victim's head clear off.
And the blows his steel was taking" aimed at head or neck or shoulder, were doing no harm at all. In fact, except for the noise, they scarcely bothered him. He had been designing and building armor for five years, and this was his masterpiece. The helmet was heavily padded; the shoulders twice as much so. He bad sacrificed some mobility he could not turn his head very far in either direction-but the jointing was such that the force of any blow on the helmet, from whatever direction coming, was taken by his tremendously capable shoulders.
The weapons of the mercenaries could not dent" could not even nick, that case-hardened high-alloy steel. Swords bent, broke, twisted; hammers and axes bounced harmlessly off. Nevertheless the attackers pressed forward; and, even though each blow of his devastating sword took a life, Tedric was forced backward up the stairs, step by step.
Then there came about that for which he had been waiting. A copper-clad priest appeared behind the last rank of mercenaries, staring upward at something behind the ironmaster, beckoning frantically. The priest had split his forces; had sent part of them by another way to the second floor to trap him between two groups; had come in close to see the trap sprung. This was it.
Taking a couple of quick, upward, backward steps" he launched himself into the air with all the power of his legs.
And when two hundred and thirty pounds of man, dressed in eighty or ninety or a hundred pounds of steel, leaps from a height of eight or ten feet upon a group of other men, those other men go down.
Righting himself quickly. Tedric sprang toward the priest and swung; swung with all the momentum of his mass and speed and all the power of his giant frame; swung as though he were concentrating into the blow all his hatred of Sarpedion and everything for which Sarpedion stood-which in fact he was.
And what such a saber-scimitar, so driven" did to thin" showy copper armor and to the human flesh beneath it, is simply nothing to dwell upon here.
"HOLD!" he roared at the mercenaries, who hadn't quite decided whether or not to resume the attack" and they held.
"Bu... bub... but you're dead!" the non-com stuttered. "You must be-the great Sarpedion would...." "A right lively corpse II" Tedric snarled. "Your Sarpedion, false god and coward" drinker of blood and slayer of the helpless, is weak, puny, and futile beside my Llosir. Hence" under Llosir's shield and at Llosir's direction, I shall this day kill your foul and depraved god; shall send him back to the grisly hell from whence he came.
"Nor do I ask you to fight for me. Nor would I so allow; for I trust you not, though you swore by all your gods. Do you fight for pleasure or for pay?" A growl was the only answer" but that was answer enough.
"He of Sarpedion who paid your wages lies there dead. All others of his ilk will die ere this day's sunset.
Be advised, therefore; fight no more until you know who pays. Wouldst any more of you be split like whitefish ere I go? Time runneth short" but I would stay and oblige if pressed." He was not pressed.
Tedric whirled and strode away. Should he get his horse" or not? No. He had never ridden mighty Dreegor into danger wearing armor less capable than his own" and he wouldn't begin now.
The Temple of Sarpedion was a tall" narrow building" with a far-flung outside staircase leading up to the penthouse-
like excrescence in which the green altar of sacrifice was.
Tedric reached the foot of that staircase and grimly" doggedly" cut his way up it. It was hard work" and he did not want to wear himself out too soon. He might need a lot" and suddenly, later on" and it would be a good idea to have something in reserve.
As he mounted higher and higher, however, the opposition became less and less instead of greater and greater, as he had expected. Priests were no longer there-he hadn't seen one for five minutes. And in the penthouse itself" instead of the solid phalanx of opposition he had known would bar his way, there were only half a dozen mercenaries, who promptly turned tail and ran.
"The way is clear! Hasten!" Tedric shouted, and his youthful squire rushed up the ramp with his axe and hammer.
And with those ultra-bard, ultra-tough implements Tedric mauled and chopped the image of the god.
Devann, Sarpedion's high priest, was desperate. He believed thoroughly in his god. Equally thoroughly, however" he believed in the actuality and in the power of Tedric's new god. He had to" for the miracle be had performed spoke for itself.
While Sarpedion had not appeared personally in Devann's lifetime, he had so appeared many times in the past; and by a sufficiently attractive sacrifice be could be persuaded to appear again, particularly since this appearance would be in self-defense.
No slave, or any number of slaves, would do. Nor criminals. No ordinary virgin of the common people.
This sacrifice must be of supreme quality. The king himself? Too old and tough and sinful. Ah... the king's daughter....
At the .thought the pit of his stomach turned cold. However, desperate situations require desperate remedies. He called in his henchmen and issued orders.
Thus it came about that a towering figure clad in flashing golden armor-the king himself, with a few courtiers scrambling far in his wake--dashed up the last few steps just as Tedric was wrenching out Sarpedion's liver.
"Tedric, attend!" the monarch panted. "The priests have taken Rhoann and are about to give her to Sarpedion!" "They can't, sire. I've just killed Sarpedion, right here." "But they can! They've taken the Holiest One from the Innermost Shrine; have enshrined him on the Temple of Scheene. Slay me those traitor priests before they slay Rhoann and you may...." Tedric did not hear the rest of it, nor was his mind chiefly concerned with the plight of the royal maid. It was Sarpedion he was after. With a blistering oath he dropped the god's liver, whirled around and leaped down the stairway. It would do no good to kill only one Sarpedion. He would have to kill them both. especially since the Holiest One was the major image. The Holiest One... the Sarpedion never before seen except by first-rank priests... of course that would be the one they'd use in sacrificing a king's daughter. He should have thought of that himself, sooner, damn him for a fool! It probably wasn't too late yet, but the sooner he got there, the better would be his chance of winning.
Hence he ran, and" farther and farther behind him" came the king and the courtiers.
Reaching the Temple of Scheene, be found to his immense relief that he would not have to storm that heavily manned rampart alone. A full company of the Royal Guard was already there. Battle was in progress" but very little headway was being made against the close-packed defenders of the god, and Tedric knew why. A man fighting against a god was licked before he started" and knew it. He'd have to build up their morale.
But did he have time? Probably. They couldn't hurry things too much without insulting Sarpedion, for the absolutely necessary ceremonies took a lot of time. Anyway" he'd have to take the time, or he'd never reach the god.
"Art Lord Tedric?" A burly captain disentangled himself from the front rank and saluted.
"I'm Tedric, yes. Knewst I was coming?" "Yes, Lord. Orders came by helio but now. You are in command; you speak with the voice of King Phagon himself." "Good. Call your men back thirty paces. Pick me out the twelve or fifteen strongest, to lead.
"Men of the Royal Guard!" He raised his voice to a volume audible not only to his own men, but also to all the enemy. "Who is the most powerful swordsman among you?... Stand forward... This armor I wear is not of iron, but of god-metal, the metal of Llosir, my personal and all-powerful god. That all here may see and know, I command you to strike at me your shrewdest, most effective, most powerful blow." The soldier, after a couple of false starts" did manage a stroke of sorts.
"I said strike!" Tedric roared. "Think you ordinary iron can harm the personal metal of a god? Strike where you please, at head or neck or shoulder or guts, but strike as though you meant it! Strike to kill! Shatter your sword! STRIKE!" Convulsively, the fellow struck, swinging for the neck, and at impact his blade snapped into three pieces.
A wave of visible relief swept over the Guardsmen; one of dismay and shock over the ranks of the foe.
"I implore pardon, Lord," the soldier begged, dropping to one knee.
"Up man! 'Tis nothing" and by my direct order. Now" men, I can tell you a thing you would not have fully believed before. I have just killed half of Sarpedion and he could not touch me. I am about to kill his other half you will see me do it. Come what may of god or devil you need not fear it" for I and all with me fight under Llosir's shield. We men will have to deal only with the flesh and blood of those runty mercenaries of Tark."
He studied the enemy formation briefly. A solid phalanx of spearmen, with shields latticed and braced; close-set spears out-thrust and anchored. Strictly defensive; they hadn't made a move to follow nor thrown a single javelin when the king's forces withdrew. This wasn't going to be easy, but it was possible.
"We will make the formation of the wedge, with me as point," he went on. "Sergeant, you will bear my sword and hammer. The rest of you will ram me into the center of that phalanx with everything of driving force that in you lies. I will make and maintain enough of opening. We'll go up that ramp like a fast ship ploughing through waves; Make wedge! Drive!" Except for his armor of god-metal Tedric would have been crushed flat by the impact of the flying wedge against the soldiery packed so solidly on the stair. Several of the foe were so crushed, but the new armor held.
Tedric could scarcely move his legs enough to take each step, his body was held as though in a vice, but his giant arms were free; and by dint of short, savage, punching jabs and prods and strokes of his atrocious war-axe he made and maintained the narrow opening upon which the success of the whole operation depended. And into that constantly-renewed opening the smith was driven-irresistibly driven by the concerted and synchronized strength of the strongest men of Lomarr's Royal Guard.
The result was not exactly like that of a diesel-powered snowplough, but it was good enough. The mercenaries did not flow over the sides of the ramp in two smooth waves. However, unable with either weapons or bodies to break through the slanting walls of iron formed by the smoothly-overlapping shields of the Guardsmen, over the edges they went, the living and the dead.
