by Robert M. Price
in Issue 132, January 2023
i. Menace in the Mirror
Sharajsha, the Wizard of Lemuria, had lived for so long, far beyond the span granted to most mortals, that he honestly could no longer recall when he was born. For all that, he did not possess eternal youth and knew not the secret, if one there be, of gaining it. He knew of no mage who had done it. He showed definite marks of aging, though he aged infinitely slowly. Just now he stood before a full-length scrying mirror, looking for new lines and wrinkles. Imagine the old man’s surprise upon beholding his reflected image stepping forth to meet him! His unexpected counterpart at once seized Sharajsha by his boney shoulders and thrust him through the glass, still unbroken, where unknown hands received him.
Far away, a lone figure, standing well above six feet, his scarred skin burnt brown, the small of his back brushed by a great mane of night-black hair, dismounted from his reptilian steed. Thongor of Valkarth, one-time adventurer, brawler, mercenary, and thief, now the revered Sark of Sarks of the West, was returning to his throne-city of Patanga, having completed a mission. He was, as usual, unaccompanied by retainers or guards, something his queen, Sumia, as well as his advisers always protested. He proceeded on foot, leading his hardy kroter by the reins. The creature had served him well and richly deserved the relief from the burden of his rider. Lost in thought and wiping the sweat from his brow, Thongor squinted in the intense light of the primordial sun as he and the kroter came in sight of the city. He halted, puzzled, for there appeared to be a large mass of warriors gathered before the city wall, plainly holding siege.
He spoke as if to his mount: “Much has happened in so short a time, my friend!” Withal, he climbed back aboard the kroter and turned it around. Retracing his course for a short distance, with a few turns added, Thongor again dismounted and stooped before a large, flat stone. Working his fingers under its edges until he had gotten it free, he pushed it aside, revealing a surprisingly capacious shaft. “We must part company for a while, old friend. I will not tie you up. But I will return and mayhap I shall find you again. Till then, go with Gorm!” He had shifted the stone lid only far enough for him to enter the tunnel, so it was no trouble to grasp it from below and pull it back to its original place.
The tunnel had been engineered long ago, Thongor knew not how long, in the days when the Fire Druids of Yamath dominated Patanga. It had been designed as an emergency escape route. Few besides Thongor himself knew of its existence. If it became known, its usefulness would be compromised. The Valkarthan used it now as a means of entering the city without detection by the besieging host, whoever they might prove to be.
Thongor stepped, still sweaty and caked with road dust, into the council chamber—to the slack-jawed astonishment of all present. As he took his accustomed seat at the head of the table, hastily vacated by some unfamiliar noble, he quickly scanned the faces, not all of whom he knew. Even more puzzling was the absence of those whom he most expected to see. Where were Lord Mael, Prince Dru, Karm Karvus, Ald Turmis—and his beloved queen, the Sarkaja Sumia? He demanded to know, and one of the new faces answered him. It was a youngish man with deep-set, sparkling eyes, an almost-emaciated-looking face, and long raven hair hanging down.
“My Lord Thongor, I am called Kellory, an apprentice of the great Wizard Sharajsha. Those concerning whom you ask have been taken to a place of safety. That is sufficient for you to know in this moment.”
Thongor appeared suspicious. “Am I to trust one unknown to me?”
The younger man smiled gently. “If I may say so, I feel sure you will quickly come to trust me—as if we had long known one another.” He extended his hand, and Thongor noted the intricate tattoos on his hand and forearm, as well as the several exotic rings that bedecked his fingers. The gems set in the rings flashed as they reflected the brilliant, metallic inks of the tattoos. Somehow the sight of this reassured him, and he took the other’s hand.
“Now, my friends, tell me of the siege! Who is the enemy? From my brief sight of them, I saw no flags or standards. Nor did the warriors appear to belong to any single race. No uniform weapons or armor. Are they mercenaries, then? And in whose service?”
Another of the counselors spoke up. “My Lord, it is Sharajsha himself who commands the siege!”
“Sharajsha? Sharajsha is our foe? You lie! It cannot be!” With these words of outrage, the Sark sprang to his feet from his high-backed chair at the head of the long table.
Others now stood and motioned for calm. “No! Wait! Hear us out, your Majesty! While we are gathered here, Patanga is riven by strife between two warring factions, the Fire Druids of Yamath and the Blood Druids of Slidith. Many, both of their fighters and of our citizens, have perished. We currently hold only the palace, most of it anyway. There is sporadic fighting even within these sacred halls.”
Thongor nodded. “Hence the guards I passed.”
“Aye, my Lord. And now Sharajsha has gathered this host and means to defeat both factions.”
Thongor sat back into his chair, baffled. “But we defeated both cults years ago! They have returned and even occupied the city, all in the brief period of my absence? That is wizardry indeed!”
“It is that, most assuredly, my Lord,” quoth Kellory. “But your arrival opens up new possibilities. Would you come with me now? I think we can evade the Druids.”
ii. The Secret Chamber
But they did not. The pair cast their eyes this way and that as they proceeded down familiar halls. But, as if from thin air, three red-robed assassins sprang upon them. Neither Thongor nor Kellory was taken by surprise. Thongor whipped out Sarkozan and easily knocked the sigil-engraved dagger from the hand of one Druid. By sheer chance, the small weapon flew into the choking throat of a second attacker, who grasped at his gullet in a vain attempt to staunch the spray of his blood. As he collapsed, Thongor skewered a second Druid, then pressed his boot against his victim’s chest and yanked his broadsword free. The red-swathed corpse, now doubly red, collapsed in a heap. How had young Kellory fared? Thongor caught a glimpse of Kellory finishing the complex hand-waving of a conjuration. He had caused the advancing assailant to freeze in the act. The result was a ridiculous sight, given the improbable pose of the interrupted man.
“Will he stay that way?” Thongor asked with a grin.
“As long as I want him to. Now let us go. This way.”
Not much further down the torch-lit hall Kellory called a halt and pulled aside a heavy drape to reveal a door cleverly designed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding wall. Thongor, though he imagined that he knew every inch of the palace, was as ignorant of this secret door as everyone else was of the tunnel through which he had entered the city. The warlock and the warrior scuttled down the narrow, torch-lit passage into a dank chamber Thongor had never seen before. This was a day full to overflowing with surprises!
Bracketed torches provided flickering illumination here, too. Thongor took note of ritual diagrams and circles adorning the floor, some painted for permanence, others chalked. Kellory pointed to one of the torches, whereupon it brightened appreciably. Then he motioned toward a table laden with scrolls and great codices bound in Pterosaur hide. These he pushed aside to make room for an array of cooked meats and succulent fruit, which he summoned from nowhere apparent, along with flagons of sparkling Sarn wine. None of this unduly surprised the Valkarthan, as he had more than once witnessed Sharajsha perform similar marvels.
“My lord Thongor, I must tell you more than I was at liberty to say in the presence of the others upstairs. It is true that the Wizard assembled the besieging host.”
“I suppose so, yes…” Thongor had picked up a boupher haunch to assuage his day-long hunger, but now he put it back disinterestedly. “One thing escapes me, though. Have you not confirmed that Sharajsha did craft the plan we now see unfolding? What is amiss?”
Kellory replied, “I have reason, I think, to doubt that he who leads the effort is not Sharajsha, though he bears the likeness of our friend. He can often be seen aboard an airboat above the army of heroes, who are happy enough to hail him.”
“And what makes you doubt his identity?”
“Remember when I told you your queen and your comrades had been taken to a place of safety?”
“Of course.” But Thongor did not like the sound of the question.
“I witnessed, through arcane means,” and here Kellory pointed to a large crystal globe in which swirling mists swam, “certain scenes of ‘Sharajsha’ attempting to harm, kill, or despoil your loved ones. I knew that it could not be the Wizard himself. No one else knows this; they all assume I asked that Sumia and the others be removed to a hidden refuge on account of the violence in the city.”
“I see… now, this false Sharajsha — who do you think he really is?”
“My lord…” He hesitated as if he knew his answer would be doubly hard for the Sark to credit. “My lord, I believe it can be no other than your old nemesis… Mardanax!”
Thongor greeted this news in silent amazement. He had come to accept many things unsuspected by most men, but this still seemed outlandish to him. Nonetheless, he resigned himself to it. What choice did he have?
“Can the dead, then, live again?”
“Think of your own adventures. Have they not shown you that the boundaries between life and death are sometimes thin and porous?”
Thongor’s eyes widened at these words. He readied himself to respond, then caught himself, as though he already knew what the other would say. Then: What is his goal?”
“He plans to usurp and subvert Sharajsha’s original plan, to turn it to his own damnable ends: to wipe out the feuding Druids and take the city for himself! Presumably, he would continue in the disguise he now wears. No doubt he would consolidate his power here, then extend his reign throughout the cities of the West…”
“A moment, friend Kellory. Surely, if Mardanax plans to take the throne of Patanga, he must intend to assume my own likeness, no?”
The young warlock hesitated. “Yes, yes. Doubtless, you are correct, my Lord. At any rate, it will never come to that. Please follow me.”
Withal, he led the mystified Thongor into an adjoining room, at the center of which stood a tall mirror, shrouded with cobwebs and dust, but otherwise a twin to the one in Sharajsha’s sanctum.
“What we must do, what you must do, is to find the real Sharajsha – before it’s too late.” As he said this, Kellory made to clean the glass surface, taking care not to press too hard. “You must pass through it to find the one you seek.” Momentarily distracted, Kellory rubbed a bit harder than he meant to. The mirror surface shimmered, wavered, and Thongor understood.
“Where will it take me?”
“It should open onto the very stronghold of Mardanax. I feel sure he used a looking glass like this to abduct and replace Sharajsha. I know that Sharajsha owned another, and it must have been the door through which he attacked our friend.”
“Then might I simply find myself in Sharajsha’s castle?”
“You might have indeed, but I have taken the liberty to shatter it. Now only two remain in all the world.”
“Then let me be about it!” Withal, Thongor stepped through the mirror, meeting no hint of resistance but a slight coolness on his sun-bronzed skin.
iii. Phalanx of Phantoms
They were waiting for him. Expecting this, the Valkarthan immediately assumed a defensive stance, crouching with his sword held out before him. Several shadowy forms rushed him, while his lightning-fast instincts pinpointed each and assessed the threat each one posed, as some were slower and clumsier than others. The Beast-Man from the Kovian jungles was characteristically swift but frenzied, unable to focus his rushing attack. It was not difficult for a swordsman of Thongor’s skill to spot a brief but fatal opening in his hirsute opponent’s web of whipping limbs. Down he went, and Thongor turned to face another.
The second assailant had glowing, slitted eyes and rugose, pebbled skin. His rangy physique was reptilian, his sleek muscles steel springs. Thongor surmised him to be some hybrid survivor of the extinct race of the ancient Dragon Kings. Who knew what other nightmares Mardanax had waiting in his stables? Blades clashed and sparked in the gloom as the combatants continued fruitlessly. Thongor wondered that the third foe had not yet struck but was happy enough to take advantage. He began to notice that, despite the reptile man’s strength and determination, he seemed somehow uncomfortable with his weapon, as if its use were alien to him. He sought to employ it like an axe, mostly chopping, a motion not difficult to counter by raising one’s sword blade high to block the other’s descent. So Thongor stepped aside, evading the reptile’s blow, and inserted Sarkozan between his too-many ribs. Cold blood sprayed as the son of the dragon collapsed. Did the species of the Dragon Kings end here? If so, Thongor spared a thought, good riddance!
Thongor figured he was soon to learn why the third opponent had waited his turn to join the fight. Perhaps his foes feared they might get in each other’s way. That would make sense. But a glimpse out of the corner of his eye showed him something very different. Glancing at the floor underfoot to avoid tripping over the supine forms of the two already dispatched, he was shocked to behold, not the scaly and furry corpses he had created, but rather a pair of nondescript house servants, one of them wearing the stained smock of a kitchen helper. Thongor halted in his headlong rush at the blue-skinned titan who confronted him. The Rmoahal warrior’s bald brow furrowed in worry as he took in the sight of the hovering Thongor, then that of his late comrades. As realization hit home, the man shrank in stature and faded in color. One look at his now-pale, bone-thin arm, and he dropped his sword, which clanged on the stone floor before it snapped in half. Thongor could not suppress a belly laugh as the deflated fellow made a run for it.
The Valkarthan mused as he paced down the echoing hallway, scarcely noticing the stains of dried blood, the cracked-open skulls, both animal and human, and various fragments of ill-used weapons. What real danger had his foemen posed? Could any of them actually have landed a blow? He was left wondering if Mardanax, occupied as he was elsewhere, had more deadly defenses at his disposal than these? There was but one way to find out. He went on.
He had visited the manse of mighty Sharajsha, more than one of them, and more than once. As one might expect, the wizard dwelt among many wonders, though to him they seemed like the most mundane set of furniture. But nothing had prepared him for the nightmare palace through which he wandered now. There were barred cells inhabited by things that might have been animal or vegetable in nature. There were nitrous shafts adorned with embedded crosses from which hung bleeding, emaciated scarecrows, mutely moaning in a state of pathetic delirium. Thongor felt compassion at the sight of them, except that, for all he knew, they were projected phantoms, possibly even death traps in disguise.
There were large windows opening onto vast vistas, each of which, only yards beyond one another, gave sight of impossibly different planet-scapes. Thongor understood that all these spectacles were designed to distract and to mislead. But they performed rather too well: Thongor found even the briefest look at them to be so disorienting as to induce a dream-like state completely divorced from living, breathing reality. It couldn’t be real. So he shook the sensation off and anchored his attention on one clear target: he must find Sharajsha—and free him. Nothing else mattered. In fact, so single-minded did he become that he was oblivious of the time his searching took.
And at length, he came to his objective, though at first, he did not know it. Rounding a corner, he stood astounded at the sight of an enthroned figure, seated in an empty room for no apparent purpose, as if simply to display himself to envious gods who might be watching. On the throne sat – Mardanax. Upon his face was a proud and cynical smile, a smile that did not change or relax.
Again, Thongor was driven by his single focus: he must deliver his old mentor, and the way to that ultimate end must now commence with the striking down of the evil genius behind the whole wicked scheme. He readied Sarkozan to strike the crucial blow. But at the last moment, the image began to shift and to fade! Thongor rubbed his golden eyes, fearing more maddening illusions. But the illusion was ending, not beginning. The true image of Sharajsha came into focus. The image spoke to him: “Is… is that you, my son?”
The old man was obviously quite dazed, but his stupor seemed somehow to be a function of the spell that concealed his identity, for as his true image became visible, the clouds in his mind began to clear away. Thongor helped him to his feet, but it took only moments before Sharajsha was standing, then walking unassisted. Thongor had retained a general idea of the ground plan of the place and managed to lead his old friend back to their point of origin with only a couple of wrong turns, easily corrected. He was much relieved to see that the mirror had not been removed. With a deep breath, Thongor stepped across the threshold, followed at once by Sharajsha.
iv. Wings of Vengeance
Waiting for them were Kellory and a few of the others unfamiliar to Thongor. Thongor, wasting no time, turned to Kellory: “Did you not say the false Sharajsha often reviews the siege troops from an airboat?”
Kellory answered, “Indeed, sire. In fact, it is usually right about this time of day.”
“Then come with me.” Both men made for the vast stables of the palace, as everyone looked after them in a kind of optimistic puzzlement. What might their liege have in mind this time?
About half an hour later, a shining silver airboat knifed through the blue heaven, slowing as its shadow passed over the massed warriors gathered before the city wall. These men paid little heed to the craft as small groups of them played dice, entertained each other with tall tales masquerading as memories, or engaged in mock combat to keep their prowess sharp. But all pursuits ceased at once when one shout directed all eyes upward to see a second object speed toward the airboat. It was a massive lizard hawk, piloted by two men harnessed to its broad back: Thongor and Kellory. The rider in the anti-gravity ship recoiled in shock as the monster steed’s shadow enveloped him. Thongor had a rope around him before he knew it and yanked him bodily from his seat, letting him twist and twirl in the humid air. Meanwhile, Kellory caused the air to crackle and spark with sorcerous gesticulations designed, as he had already explained to Thongor, to inhibit and confuse any protective spell Mardanax might try. Left without a pilot, the Urlium craft did not crash but only floated where it might be recovered later.
Back in the palace, Kellory marched the defeated Mardanax, bound in chains, down to the chamber housing the magical lookingglass. Sharajshah stood beside the ornate frame of the thing, engraven with prehistoric runes that neither mortal nor wizard could any longer decipher. Mardanax gazed at his opposite with open contempt and finally spoke.
“You are usurpers and thieves, all of you! For all Lemuria is mine by right! By ancient promises and covenants with Powers whose very existence you do not suspect! Their hand is even at your throats and you know it not!”
Sharajsha countered: “And yet here you are and here we are.” Next, he indicated the glass sheet. “But let us not detain you.”
Mardanax stood stock still, waiting, as the meaning of Sharajsha’s words had eluded him. He said no more, but he subtly nodded toward the mirror with an eyebrow raised. Could it be true? Were his enemies, in the moment of their triumph, allowing him to go free? Back to his lair?
Quickly he decided he could not discard the chance. He strode to the mirror, stepped into it. He looked around him and began to beat against invisible confines.
One of the Patangans, equally puzzled, broke the silence: “Have you trapped him in the glass, then? Can he not return to his castle through his own looking glass?” Kellory had his answer ready.
“He could have. He could have had I not gone there and smashed it. Like this!” Withal, Kellory lifted his staff and shattered the ancient relic. Stooping to look at the shards scattered on the stone floor. Each one contained the moving image of Mardanax’s screaming face. Kellory proceeded to grind them to dust beneath his booted heel.
v. Kindred Spirits
Thongor was not present because he had important business elsewhere. There were still the warring Druids to be dealt with. He worked his way back to the secret escape tunnel through which he had entered the city not long before. He covered the distance quickly at a run. Emerging, blinking, into the sunlight, he was delighted to find his faithful kroter peacefully grazing on tree leaves nearby. Patting the reptile’s neck, he whispered some words of masterly affection and mounted up. He headed for the encampment with no attempt at concealment. He was there in no time, hailing the company with a shout.
“Ho there!” This got their attention, and those on the outer fringe strained to see who it was. As he pulled up and dismounted, he announced, “I am Thongor of Valkarth, Sark of Patanga!” To his astonishment, a great roar of acclamation broke like a wave.
“We know you right well, brother!” cried one. Well, after all, he was the ruler of the Cities of the West. Why should they not know him? In fact, he began to imagine that more than a few looked vaguely familiar… Time to pursue that later.
“Come join me! The false Sharajsha has fallen. The true one has returned. It is time to fulfill his plan and cleanse the City of Flame of the resurgent Druids! I know the secret way by which we may infiltrate the city and cut them down! Are you with me?”
A forest of weapon-bearing arms shot up against the sky, with as many hearty voices following them: “For Thongor! For Patanga!”
Most had no steeds to carry them, but they must leave them behind once they entered the tunnel in any case. Bunching around the entry to the shaft, they formed a great line and snaked their way along the length of the tunnel. Emerging one by one and two by two, they tried to be as inconspicuous on the streets as they could. But once most of them had made it through, their numbers attracted attention, especially given their armaments. Patangan citizens sniffed danger in the air and rushed into hiding. Minutes later, here came both red- and yellow-robed Druids, together with their armed goon squads. All the newcomers paused in a moment of confusion, apparently imagining that the alarm signaled by the rising panic in the city meant that both factions’ rivals had made some move requiring response. They did not expect a third force, the besiegers, to have taken the stage. But here they were! By tacit agreement, the Druids now postponed their mutual strife to unite against the invaders.
Thongor busied himself with swording all the priestly henchmen he could find. These were frightful enough to bully commoners, but they were no match for the fighters recruited by the Wizard Sharajsha. Thongor observed the mayhem wrought by these warriors who seemed so familiar yet not familiar. One hero, white but tall as a Rmoahal, sported swinging bangs of gleaming silver. No one could stand against him. Another had a wild mane of brilliant blood-red hair and had mastered the technique of fighting with a longsword in each hand. The two blades rang almost musically when they struck together in the middle of a foe’s neck, having cut into it from both sides. Another strongly resembled Thongor himself, but with deep red skin. Yet another was surrounded by an indescribable aura of majesty. He wielded a sword forged from some unearthly metal. With such a company, it was short work to exterminate every last Druid or Druidic soldier. It was a spectacle of ruthless butchery, but Thongor knew it was worth it to prevent either of the depraved sects winning the rule of Patanga. And he still found himself unable to imagine how the outlawed cults had returned and gained such influence.
A scant few days later, when the streets had been washed down and the piles of corpses duly burnt, Thongor and Sumia, now returned, hosted a celebration. Thongor arose, raised his goblet, and began to offer a toast.
But then he fell silent. At last it was all coming back to him. The assembled warriors registered no surprise, but rather smiled, as if they had been patiently been waiting for this moment.
“I do know you! All of you! Ganelon Silvermane! Chandar of Orm! Thane of the Two Swords! Kellory the Warlock! And even you, sir: Phondath the Firstborn!”
As Thongor’s words sputtered into baffled silence, Shahrajsha spoke up. “These were no mortal mercenaries. They are instead the great ones from the Hall of Heroes, the warriors celebrated in song and saga. They come from different times and even different worlds. Some say they stand ready in case Valhalla itself should one day come under attack by malign forces of supernatural evil.”
Thongor smiled, laughed, then exclaimed, “We all have feasted and jested in the Celestial Banqueting Hall! For lo these many years! And that means…”
Sumia rose and stood beside him, throwing her arms around him. “Yes, my love. I, too. We are both…”
“Dead,” Thongor whispered. “The porous border…, yes, I see….”
“Long dead,” she answered, as Sharajsha waved his hand and the room became empty, except for himself. He smiled, got up, and left.
©January 2023, Robert M. Price
Robert M. Price has published a series of stories featuring Lin Carter’s Thongor of Lemuria. Price is Lin Carter’s literary executor. A previous Thongor story by Price has appeared in Swords & Sorcery.