Essential Science Fiction Novels - Volume 5. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон

and on they had sailed. And ever as they slipped through the azure seas, memory of that other life of his had dwindled and sunk beneath the horizon of consciousness, as the land sinks behind the watcher on an outward bound ship. He thought of it, when at all, with a numbing fear that he might be thrust back into it again—that old life of his.

      Away from the ship! Away from Sharane—never to return!

      On and on they had sailed. The black cabin, swept clean of evil, housed now the Viking, Gigi and the Persian. Sigurd or Gigi handled the two great oars that, fastened to each side of the stern, steered the ship. Sometimes, in fair weather, maids of Sharane took their place at the rudder bars. The Viking had found an anvil in the hold under the black cabin; had made a forge and on it hammered out swords. One he had made for Gigi, full nine feet long, that the dwarf legged giant handled like a wand. Better, though, Gigi liked the mace that Sigurd had also made for him—long as the sword, with huge bronze ball studded with nails at its end. Zubran clung to his scimitar. But the Viking labored at his forge, beating out lighter brands for Sharane's warrior maids. He made them shields and taught them to use both sword and shield as they had been used on his dragons in the old Viking days.

      Part fruit of that instruction, sword play with Sigurd, wrestling with Gigi, fencing with his own blade against the scimitar of Zubran, was Kenton now.

      All this Gigi had encouraged.

      "No safety while Klaneth lives!" he would croak. "Make the ship strong."

      "We have done with Klaneth!" Kenton had said, a little boastfully.

      "Not so," Gigi had answered. "He will come with many men. Sooner or later the black priest will come."

      There had been recent confirmation of this. Soon after his battle Kenton had taken one of the blacks, a Nubian, and set him in Zachel's seat. But this had made them short one slave at the oars. They had met a ship, hailed it, and demanded an oarsman. Its captain had given them one—fearfully, quickly, and had sped away.

      "He did not know that Klaneth was no longer here," chuckled Gigi.

      But not long after this they had met another ship. Its captain would not halt when hailed and they had been forced to pursue and to fight. It was a small vessel, easily overhauled and easily captured. And that same captain had told them, sullenly, that Klaneth was at Emakhtila, High Priest of a temple of Nergal there, and one of the council of the House of Nergal in the temple of the Seven Zones. And more, the black priest was high in favor with one he called the Lord of the Two Deaths—the ruler, so they gathered, of Emakhtila.

      Klaneth, said the captain, had sent forth word that the Ship of Ishtar was no longer to be feared, that it now held neither Nergal nor Ishtar but only men and women, It was to be sunk when met, but its men and women were to be saved. For them he offered a reward.

      "And had my boat been but a little bigger and my men more, I would have claimed that reward," he had ended, bluntly.

      They took what they wanted from him and let him go. But as the ship drew away, he shouted to them to take what joy of life they could at once, since Klaneth on a great ship and with many men was searching for them and their shift was apt to be short!

      "Ho-ho!" grunted Gigi, and—"Oh-ho! Klaneth searches for us, does he? Well, I warned you he would, Wolf. What now?"

      "Make for one of the isles, pick our vantage ground and let him come," answered Kenton. "We can build a fort, raise defenses. Better chance we would have against him than on the ship—if it be true that he pursues us in a great vessel with many soldiers."

      They had found Kenton's word good, and they were sailing toward such an isle, Sigurd at the helm, Gigi and the Persian and the women of Sharane on watch, alert.

      "Yea—dear lord of me—even you do not know how greatly I love you," whispered Sharane again, eyes worshipping, arms fettering his neck. His lips clung to hers. Even in the sweet fire of their touch he marvelled, blind to his own renaissance, at this changed Sharane— Love's changeling since that time he had carried her within her bower, disdaining her as gift, taking her by right of his two strong arms.

      Swift memories shook him; of Sharane—conquered; of some unearthly wonder that had flamed over the shrine and with fingers of pure fire had woven his soul with hers in threads of flaming ecstasies!

      "Tell me, lord of me—how much you love me," she murmured, languorously.

      There came a shout from Sigurd:

      "Waken the slaves! Drop oars! Storm comes!" Imperceptibly, the cabin had darkened. He heard the shrilling of the overseer's whistle, a shouting and patter of feet. He unclasped Sharane's arms; gave her one kiss that answered her questioning better than words; passed out upon the deck.

      Swiftly the sky blackened. There was a splintering flash of the prismatic lightning, a clashing of cymbaled thunder. A wind arose and roared. Down came the sail. Before the blast, held steady by the hands of Sigurd, the ship flew.

      Then fell the rain. Through it scudded the ship, hemmed in by blacknesses which when the lightnings fell were threaded by myriads of multi-colored serpents of glass from sky to sea.

      A tremendous gust of wind swept down upon the ship, careening her far over. It buffeted at Sharane's door; tore it open. Kenton staggered over to Gigi, shouted to the women to leave their watch, go inside. He watched them stumble in.

      "Zubran and I will watch," he cried in Gigi's ear. "Go you and help Sigurd at the helm."

      But Gigi had not gone a yard before the wind died as quickly as it had risen.

      "To the right!" he heard Sigurd shout. "Look to the right!"

      To the starboard rail the three ran. Within the darkness was a broad faint disk of luminescence, like a far away searchlight in a fog. Rapidly its diameter decreased, growing ever brighter as its size diminished,

      The disk burst out of the mists; it became a blazing beam that shot over the rushing waves and glared upon the ship. Kenton glimpsed double banks of oars that drove a huge bulk down upon them with prodigious speed. Beneath the light was a gleaming ram, lance-tipped. It Jutted out from the prow like the horn on a charging rhinoceros.

      "Klaneth!" roared Gigi, and ran shouting to the black cabin, Zubran at his heels.

      "Sharane!" shouted Kenton, and raced to her door. The ship veered abruptly, careening until the sea poured over the port rail. Kenton's feet flew from under him; he rolled head over heels to the bulwarks; struck and lay for an instant stunned.

      Sigurd's maneuver could not save the ship. The bireme had changed course, swept down parallel with it to shear off its starboard bank of oars. The Viking had thought to escape the impact. But the attacking vessel's oarsmen were too many, its speed too great for the ship of Ishtar's single banks of seven. Down dipped the bireme's sweeps, checking its rush. It swung broadside on straight against the ship, crushing the starboard oars, like sticks!

      Kenton reeled to his feet; saw Gigi leaping down to him, battle mace in hand; beside him Zubran, scimitar gleaming. And close behind them, the useless tiller abandoned, was Sigurd the Viking, shields under arm, his great sword held high.

      They were beside him. His giddiness was gone. The Viking thrust him a shield. He drew his own sword.

      "To Sharane!" he gasped. Forward they ran.

      Before they could reach her door, defend it, a score of soldiers, chain mailed and armed with short swords, had poured down the side of the bireme and closed the way to the cabin. And behind them poured other scores.

      Out whirled Gigi's giant mace, striking them down. Blue blade of Nabu, scimitar of Zubran, brand of Sigurd rose and fell, struck and thrust. In a breath were dripping red!

      Yet not a step could they advance! For every soldier they slew, another took his place. And still the bireme rained men.

      An arrow whistled, stood quivering in Sigurd's shield. Another flew and hung from Zubran's shoulder.

      Came