Lord Yarrak has promised me that when I have concluded this history, a band of his warriors will carry it from the gates of Shondakor through the jungles of the Grand Kumala to that enigmatic ring of monoliths which stand as eternal guardians over the Gate Between The Worlds. They will set the bundle of manuscript within the circle of the standing stones, and will watch as the cycle of the moons comes again to that hour when the mysterious sparkling beam of unknown force blazes forth once more to link this world of Thanator and my own Earth, the planet whereupon I was born, with its weird and inexplicable shining pathway.
And for the second time a bundle of manuscript that is a true narrative of my remarkable adventures upon the surface of this strange and terrible and beautiful world will dematerialize into a sparkling cloud of energy and go flashing up that weird ray to vanish from the knowledge of men in the dark places between the stars.
Will this record of my adventures find its way across the limitless void? Will it cross unharmed the vast distance of some three hundred and ninety million miles of space to rematerialize once more in the Lost City 9f Arangkor amidst the trackless jungles of Cambodia, on the planet Earth?
I cannot know for certain.
I can only hope that this record of my discoveries and deeds will survive that mysterious trip through space, and come to the attention of some person of my own world. For I should not like to think that this account, wherein I have so laboriously preserved the lore of another world, will be lost forever in the darkness between the stars.
There is a curious blending of nostalgia and sorrow in my heart as I set down these last few words.
There is a restlessness in me, and a hunger to visit again the fair and splendid cities of my youth, to see dawn break crimson over the green jungles of the Amazon and the stars glimmer faintly in the clear gliding waters of the Oronoco, to drink raw gin in the fetid back alleys of Rio, and taste the indescribable savor of fresh black coffee and frying bacon on the cold winy air of a little camp high in the Rockies.
I would like to see the fabulous lights of Broadway beating up to dim the few faint stars above, and to see the mighty shaft of the Empire State lift its flashing crown of searchlights against the gloom, and to wash down a sizzling veal scallopini with a bottle of tangy Chianti in that Italian restaurant on Bleecker Street in crazy, cluttered Greenwich Village.
All of these things I would like to do, and all of them I could do, if I truly wished.
Yes, for I could accompany that band of handpicked Ku Thad warriors across the jungles of the Grand Kumala to that ring of stones that marks the place where I first set foot on the surface of this world of Thanator.
Then I was naked as a babe, alone and friendless, lost in a weird and hostile world of savage men and hideous monsters.
Now I have a multitude of friends: somber Koja with his great eyes blazing like black jewels in the featureless casque of his gleaming, inhuman features; gallant old Lukor, that chivalrous and gentlemanly master swordsman; brave, noble Valkar and wise Zastro and stern, kingly Lord Yarrak―good friends and gallant comrades all, tried and true, and tested in a thousand battles. They love me well, that I know, and will stand beside me in peace or in war.
And, although they have heaped me with honors, ennobled me with the high rank of a komor of the Ku Thad, thus giving me a place in the lordly nobility of Shondakor, and although I know that the Golden people of the Golden City will be proud and pleased to offer me a home amongst them for however long I wish to stay … I also know that they would not stand in my way if I should desire to make that long trek through the jungle country of the Kumala and stand naked amidst the standing stones of the Gate, to bathe again in that shimmering force that will whisk me across millions of miles of space to the world that is my home.
My departure would grieve my Thanatorian friends and my old comrades would miss me at their high councils and on the ringing plains of war, we who have so often stood shoulder to shoulder, a smile on our lips, a sword in our hands, facing together the onslaught of our enemies.
They would mourn my departure, but they would set no obstacle before it.
But of course I shall not enter the Gate Between The Worlds.
It well may be that I shall never again stride the shores of the Oronoco, the back alleys of Rio, or the busy sidewalks of Broadway.
Perhaps, someday, I shall return, but not yet and not now. For now Thanator is my home. Here on this jungle world of war and battle and intrigue, I have found good friends, a cause for which to fight, and a woman to love.
Never shall I leave Callisto until she stands once again at my side.
If that longed―for day ever comes, if she truly yet lives, if I have succeeded in rescuing Darloona from the clutches of her enemies―then and then only will I think of going home once more.
My days are busy, assisting my friends in the rebuilding of war-shaken Shondakor. My afternoons and evenings have been devoted to setting down, however crudely, with what poor skill I possess, this record of my experiences.
My nights are given over to―dreams.
And my dreams have a soft, generous scarlet mouth, a splendid and womanly figure, clear, tilted eyes of emerald flame, soft warm flesh of amber gold, and a savage mane of rippling, red-gold splendor, like a mighty war banner.
Never can I forget her heart-shaking beauty, her peerless courage, her strength and fierce pride.
Never shall I forget my last glimpse of Darloona. The joy and horror and heartbreak of that cataclysmic moment echoes yet within the depths of my being.
The palace was finally ours and the last dejected survivors of the overwhelmed and broken Chac Yuul were disarmed and bound, our helpless captives.
We raced through the corridors, Yarrak and Lukor and Koja and I, to the broad terrace where I had left Darloona under the protection of Valkar’s sword. All about us lay scenes of carnage and devastation; corpses lay strewn about the hallways amidst the wreckage of broken barricades.
Bands of the Ku Thad paced vigilantly the hallways of their retaken citadel, herding groups of Black Legion captives before them or seeking out the last pockets of resistance. Swords were naked in their hands and the joyous light of victory shone in their weary faces.
At length we reached the level terrace and looked out over a city rejoicing in the first hour of its freedom. Here and there a building in flames cast a drifting pall of black vapor across the skies, but the streets were cleared now and the gold and crimson banners of imperial Shondakor shook out upon the night winds their heraldic colors in token of victory.
Through the smoke-veiled skies the last few ornithopters yet circled the vast metropolis, ere rising to the heights of the sky for their long return voyage to Zanadar, the City in the Clouds. One mighty vessel yet hovered close above the palace. I recognized it as the Kajazell, the flagship of the aerial navy, Prince Thuton’s own ship.
We searched the broad terrace with eager eyes, but strangely enough we did not see either Valkar or Darloona.
The ghostly chill of apprehension touched my heart.
Then I heard a stifled cry from behind me. It was Lord Yarrak, an expression of consternation on his face. With a trembling hand he pointed to a crumpled shape that lay huddled in the shadow of a mighty pillar.
It was Valkar!
His eyes were closed, his limbs slack, and a thread of scarlet fluid leaked from a great wound on his brow to stain the deathlike pallor of his features.
My heart racing, I knelt beside his sprawled figure and laid my palm against his breast. He yet lived, for the throbbing of that vital organ beat however faintly against my touch.