Black Legion of Callisto
Lin Carter
BOOK ONE
THE BOOK OF JANDAR
CHAPTER ONE
YARRAK, LORD Of THE KU THAD
It is one of the more remarkable of the verities of life that in many circumstances one man can accomplish that which thousands would find impossible.
I refer to the means by which I achieved the solution of my dilemma.
Through the action of a mysterious force, whose nature was still an inexplicable enigma, I had been transported across the tremendous gulf of space which yawns between the planet of my birth and Callisto, moon of Jupiter.
No sooner had I materialized on the surface of that strange and beautiful world of black and crimson jungles, whose queer skies of golden vapor are lit by enormous moons, than I found myself thrust into the midst of adventures beyond parallel in human history.
Alone and friendless in an alien world of curious peoples and ferocious monsters, that I managed to survive unscathed I owe to a mixture of audacity, chance, and accident, rather than courage or wisdom.
I found a primitive world torn by savage antagonisms, where the hand of every man was lifted in eternal enmity against every other. Three races of sentient beings, each distinctly differing from the other, had I thus far encountered during my wandering adventures across the face of the jungle moon.
Lowest in the scale of civilization was the Yathoon Horde, a primitive nation of warrior clans. The Yathoon are not human beings, are not, in fact, even remotely hominid, but a peculiar species of arthropod.
Like tall, jointed insect-men they seem, their gaunt yet not ungraceful limbs clad in sheaths of gray chitin, their faces mere featureless masks of glistening horny substance adorned with quivering antennae, their eyes somber and expressionless orbs of jeweled blackness, their clacking and metallic voices devoid of inflection. Naked, seemingly sexless, the stalking monstrosities live lives of endless warfare and know nothing of the finer sensibilities: love, paternity, friendship, mercy―all the emotions which adorn the human soul are unknown to them.
At first I feared the uncanny arthropods and found them loathsome. But eventually, during the months of my captivity in which I was not mistreated, I came to understand the poor creatures and to sympathize with their cold, lonely lives. I found them no longer ugly or repellent; their stalking, multi-jointed limbs assumed the functional perfection of a beautifully designed machine, their gaunt skeletal figures the elongated beauty of an attenuated sculpture by Giacometti.
At length I succeeded in making my first friend upon Thanator, which is the name by which the natives of Callisto call their mysterious world. This individual, a chieftain named Koja, to whom I belonged, proved susceptible to the finer emotions once their practical utility was demonstrated to him. I saved his life when the indifference of his fellow warriors would have left him to die, and in so doing I placed him under a certain obligation, for the Yathoon are not without a primitive code of honor and are cognizant of indebtedness (which they call uhorz). Ere long he reciprocated my kindness by releasing me from my involuntary servitude.
And thus, in my new freedom, I encountered the second of the higher races of Thanator, for I chanced to rescue from the attack of a savage dragon-cat, or yathrib, a beautiful girl named Darloona. She was the reigning princess of a walled stone city, Shondakor, whose people, the Ku Thad, had but recently been driven into exile by a bandit army. The Ku Thad are fully human and represent a higher level of civilization than that yet achieved by the poor arthropods. In appearance they resemble an unlikely combination of Southeast Asian and Nordic racial features, with their honey-amber skin, slanted emerald eyes, and curly red-gold manes. Seized by a rival Yathoon chieftain, one Gamchan, and condemned to torment, we were freed by my friend Koja, only to fall into the clutches of yet another race.
This race, the Sky Pirates, as they are called, represent the most advanced civilization on all of Thanator. They dwell in a mountaintop city called Zanadar, whose lofty elevation would render it inaccessible save for their remarkable and ingenious flying ships, which are unlike any form of aerial vehicle ever perfected upon Earth and demonstrate an astonishing level of technological ingenuity. The Sky Pirates differ from the Ku Thad in their papery-white flesh, lank black hair, and Caucasoid features.
The cunning and unscrupulous monarch of the Sky Pirates, Prince Thuton, condemned me to slavery while pretending to befriend Darloona. I won freedom, and found a friend among the Zanadarians in the person of Master Lukor, a gallant and gentlemanly master swordsman who taught me the skills and secrets of his craft. Learning that Thuton was secretly negotiating with Darloona’s deadliest foe, the bandit chief who had overwhelmed her city, Lukor, Koja, and I effected our escape from the City in the Clouds by means of one of the ingenious flying contraptions.
Injured in a gale, the flying machine crashed in a mighty zone of dense jungles called the Grand Kumala. Although we had escaped the wreck without harm, our party was attacked by one of the savage predators of the jungle and the Princess Darloona became separated from us and was taken prisoner by a bandit patrol. Helpless to render aid, we watched from the margin of the jungle as she was borne a prisoner into her own city of Shondakor.
Wandering in the jungles, we eventually encountered her people, the Ku Thad, and joined forces with them.
Although the Ku Thad were able to direct me to the mysterious Gate Between The Worlds, whereby I had first come to this barbaric world, I elected to remain behind, for I realized at last that I was hopelessly in love with the flame-haired beauty of Darloona. I employ the word “hopeless” to describe my suit, and for excellent reason. Not only did it seem impossible that I should ever see her again, but even were such to occur, she would coldly spurn my affections, for the proud, fiery Princess had conceived a misapprehension concerning me, and deemed me a coward, a weakling, and virtually an enemy.
At an impasse, helpless to rescue the woman I loved from her captivity, I set down an account of my adventures on Thanator, feeling that some narrative of my remarkable discoveries, however crudely composed, should be preserved. This manuscript I placed within the Gate, hoping that it should thus be transported to the far-distant planet of my birth. It was with mixed emotions that I observed it as it disappeared in the weird beam of sparkling force. Whether or not it safely traversed the colossal distances between the worlds, to reach the surface of Earth at last, I shall probably never know.
Shondakor was in the grip of a wandering bandit host known as the Chac Yuul―the Black Legion―who had taken the city by surprise or treachery some months before.
I am at a loss to find any parallel in terrene history for this bandit legion. A large and disciplined force of fighting men, homeless nomads, willing on the one hand to sell their swords as mercenaries in any conflict between opposed cities, and on the other, to seize by force lands or loot, they are uniquely Thanatorian. I suppose the closest parallels could be found in the nomadic warrior clans of seventeenth-century Russia, such as the Don Cossacks. Then again, in certain characteristics the Black Legion resembles the wandering bands of condottieri found in fifteenth-century Italy.
Professional warriors, forswearing homeland and family, banded together under a military commander selected by popular acclaim, they go where they will, living off the land, here attacking a merchant caravan, there seizing a fishing village or a farming hamlet, sometimes laying siege to the castle of some wealthy aristocrat, at other times selling their swords as a mercenary unit in some internecine conflict. What had led them to assault one of the most splendid and brilliant of all the great cities of this world was still an unsolved mystery, but they had seized control of the metropolis in a blitzkrieg attack. Perhaps their warlord, Arkola, wearied of the rude nomadic life of camp and march and yearned to wield power over a kingdom of his own.