Classic Audiobook Collection - Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett ~ Full Audiobook [scifi]

Episode Date: March 21, 2023

Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett audiobook. Genre: scifi A lonely, forbidden mansion hidden in the backwoods has repelled curious visitors for a century, guarded by uncanny psychological barriers that feel stronger than iron. But John Pride, a steady middle-aged lawyer bound by an old family promise, forces his way through on the one night the barriers weaken and finds an impossibly ancient man clinging to life, desperate for a final duty to be fulfilled. Far across space on the planet Tarth, rival nations converge on the empty Plains of Ofrid to witness the end of a legend: an indestructible tower built by Portox, the vanished scientist of a slaughtered people, and a great clock counting down one hundred years to an awakening and an avenger. When the clock tolls, violence and politics ignite at once, and the shockwave reaches Pride's secret vault on Earth, where a powerful young man rises with a perfect body, a fractured mind, and only echoes of terror and vengeance where a past should be. Pulled between two worlds, he must piece together who he is, why he was hidden, and what price Tarth will demand when old crimes come due. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:05:33) Chapter 02 (00:14:15) Chapter 03 (00:22:16) Chapter 04 (00:31:59) Chapter 05 (00:45:47) Chapter 06 (00:56:08) Chapter 07 (01:04:44) Chapter 08 (01:25:10) Chapter 09 (01:33:45) Chapter 10 (01:44:06) Chapter 11 (01:58:22) Chapter 12 (02:15:51) Chapter 13 (02:45:10) Chapter 14 (03:00:59) Chapter 15 (03:15:08) Chapter 16 (03:37:48) Chapter 17 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 1 Mansion of Mystery In a secluded section of a certain eastern state which must remain nameless, one may leave the main highway and travel up a winding road around tortuous bends and under huge scowling trees into wooded country.

Upon a certain night, the date of which must remain vague, there came a man who faced and was not turned back by a series of psychological barriers along this road, which made it more impregnable than a steel wall. These barriers, which had kept out a hundred years of curiosity-seekers until that certain night, were forged by the scientific magic of a genius on a planet far beyond the sun. The man who boldly followed his headlights up the road was of middle-age, with calm, honest eyes, and a firm mouth indicating bargains made in his name would be kept. He pushed on, feeling the subtle force of the psychological powers against him, but resisting

because he vaguely understood them. He left the car presently and raised his hand to touch the hard outline of a small book he carried in his breast pocket, and with a gesture his determination hardened. He set his jaw firmly, snapped on the flashlight he had taken from the dash of his convertible and moved on up the road. His firm, brisk steps soon brought him to its end. a great iron gate. Its lock and hinges rusted tight under the patient hand of time.

It was high and spiked, and too dangerous for climbing. But someone had smashed the lock with a heavy instrument and had applied force until the rusted hinges gave and the gate stood partially open. From the look of the metal, this could have been done recently, even in the past few minutes. The man entered and found a flagstone pathway. He followed this for a time with the aid of his flashlight.

Then he stopped and raised the beam. It revealed the outline of a great stone mansion, its myriad windows like black sightless eyes, its silent bulk telling of long solitude, its tongueless voice whispering, Go away, stranger, only peril and misfortune await you here. But I am not exactly a stranger, the man told himself, approaching the door and half hoping to,

to find the scowling panel locked. But it was not locked. The ponderous knob turned under his hand. The panel moved back silently. The man gripped his flashlight and stepped inside. The knowledge that he was no longer alone came as a shock. It was brought to him by the sound of labored breathing and he flashed the light about frantically trying to locate the source of the harsh sound. Then the bright circle picked out a huddled form on the floor nearby. The man moved forward instantly and went to his knees. He was looking into an incredibly ancient face. The skin was so deeply lined as to hang in folds around the sunken eyes.

The mouth was but a toothless maw and the body so shrunken as to seem incapable of clinging to life. The voice was a harsh whisper. Thank God you've come. I am dying. The opening of the gate took all. my remaining strength. You have been waiting for me.

I have been waiting out the years, striving to keep life in my body until the moment of destiny. I wanted to see him. I wanted to be there when the door to his resting place opens, and he comes forth to write the terrible wrongs that have been done to our people. The strength of the ancient one was ebbing fast. The words he spoke had been an effort. The kneeling man said, "'I don't understand all this.'

"'That matters not. It is important only that you keep the bargain made long ago with your sire, and that you are here. Someone must be with him at the awakening.' The newcomer again touched the book in his pocket. "'I came because our word had been given.' The dying man picked feebly at his sleeve.

"'Please! You must! You must! must go below. The great clock has measured the years. Soon it tolls the moment. Soon a thundering on the plains of Alfred will herald the new age, the fighting age, and a new day will dawn." While the visitor held his frail shoulders, the dying man gasped and said, "'Hasin, hurry to the vault below! Would that I could go with you, but that is not to be!' And then the visitor realized he was holding a corpse in his arms. He laid it gently down and did as he had been directed to do.

End of Chapter 1. Chapter 2 Of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Librovoc's recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 2 The Great Clock of Tarth. The plains of Ophred on the planet Tarth stretched flat and monotonous as far as the eye could reach, a gently waving ocean of soft, knee-high grass where herds of wild stads grazed and bright-hued birds vied in brilliance with the flaming sun.

From the dark aberian forests to the ice-fields of Nadia the plain stretched unbroken except for the tall, gray tower, in its exact center, and it was toward this tower that various groups of Tarthans were now moving. Every nation on the planet was represented in greater or lesser number. The slim erect nadians in their flat-bottomed air-cars that could hang motionless in space or skim the surface of the planet at a thousand Jax an hour. The grim-faced abarians, tall and finely muscled on their powerful stads, their jeweled uniforms flashing back the glory of the heavens.

The Utalians, those chameleon men of Tarth, Their skins now the exact color of the grasses across which they rode, thus causing their stads to appear unmounted and unguided. All the nations of Tarth were represented, drawn toward the tower by a century-old legend, a legend which retoc the Abarian clarified as he rode at the head of his own proud group. He waved a hand, indicating the vast plain, and spoke to Hultaks, his second in command, saying, little would one think that this flat, empty land was once the sight of a vast and powerful nation,

one of the greatest upon all tarth. A smile of cruelty and satisfaction played upon his handsome features as he surveyed the plain. Aye, Holtax replied, the realm of the Euphridians. Truly they were a great nation. But we Berians were greater, Rhetak snapped. We not only defeated them, but we leveled their land until not one stone stood upon another. All saved the tower, Haltak said. No weapon known could so much as scratch its surface. A new voice cut in.

Quite true. Portoq's scientific skill was too great for you. Both aberians turned quickly to scowl at the newcomer, Bontark of Nadia, who had swung close in his one-man car and was hovering by their side. Retoc's hand moved toward the hilt of his long whip-like sword, driven there by the look of contempt in Bontark's eyes. But Retok hesitated. A formidable squadron of Bartok's nadian fighting men hovered nearby, and the Abarian had no taste for a battle in which the odds were close to even.

We defeated the Euphridians fairly, he said, and slaughtered them fairly. down the men and women and children alike until the entire nation was obliterated?" The systematic annihilation had taken place a century before, when Pontark had been but a child and Retoc a young man. Karnad, Retoc's father, now dead, had planned the war that defeated the Ophridians, his winning card having been spies in the court of Avala, queen of Ophrod. Karnad had been fatally wounded during the last battle, and had delegated to the war. to his son the task of annihilating the Euphridians and leveling their nation. This task, Retok accepted with relish, reserving for himself the pleasure of slaying Queen Evala.

Details of the torture to which Retok subjected the beautiful Evala were whispered over the planet, and it was said the sadistic Retok had taken photographs of the queen in her agony to enjoy in later years. It had been the scientific ability of Portox of Ophred that had engendered the aberrian hatred and jealousy in the first place. Portox used his science for the good of all on the planet Tarth. But when Carnod, Lord of Abaria, struck, no other nation came to Ophrid's aid. Then it was too late because Abaria's military might greatened as a result of the Ophridian defeat, and only an alliance of all other nations could have conquered them. Ironically, Portox had never been captured.

Now, as the tall gray tower came into view, Bon Tark's mind was filled with thoughts of Portox, the Euphridian wizard. It was said that Portox had been able to travel through space to other planets that were known to exist, that he had left Tarth and found safety somewhere across space, first building his tower which would never be destroyed. that a great clock within it was measuring off 100 years, the time on the planet Tarth of an infant's development into manhood, and that at the end of that span the clock would toll and there would come forth a man to avenge the slaughter of the Euphridians.

Bontark turned suddenly upon the dower retok. "'Tell me,' he said, "'is there any truth to the legend that the clock in the tower will toll the end of 100 years?' None whatever, the sadistic aberian snapped. A rumor passed from the lips of one old woman to another. Bontark smiled. Then why are you here? The hundred years are up today.

Ritok's hand moved toward his whip-sword. Are you calling me a liar? Bontark watched alertly as the blade came partly from its scabbard. If we fight, we may miss the tolling of the clock, He said evenly. With an oath, Rhetak pushed the sword back into its scabbard and put sharp heels to his dad's flanks. The animal screamed indignantly and rocketed ahead.

Bontark smiled and turned his car back toward his own group. And now they were assembled and waiting, the curious of the planet Tarth. Would the clock toll as it was rumored Porthox had said? Would an Avenger come forth to challenge Ritok and his, of Barian hordes. There was not much time left. Swiftly, the clock ticked off the remaining moments, and the end of one hundred years was at hand.

Silence settled over the assembled Tarthens. Then a great sound boomed over the plains. A single ringing peal that rose majestically into the air, reverberated across the empty land that once had been the sight of a thriving, prosperous nation. The first part of the legend had been fulfilled. Then suddenly chaos reigned. With a great thundering that shook the ground upon which they stood,

the gray tower exploded in crimson glory. A great mushrooming blossom of red fire erupted skyward, hurling the assembled tarthens to the ground where they lay in numbed stupor. The thunderous report echoed across the plain ten thousand times louder than the toll of the clock. But aside from the initial dulling shock, no Tarthan was injured, because the crushing power rose upward. There was an expression of mute wonder on Bon-Tarck's face, and he thought, "'We have not seen the end of this. It is only the beginning, but the beginning of what? Only Portox could have known, and Portox was where?'

Bontak started his car and moved across the plane, sensing cosmic events but not knowing. Not knowing that the sound of the tolling clock had gone with more than the speed of light across the void, had been flung arrow-straight to a brooding mansion in the heart of a thick forest upon another planet, to the door of a cavern deep in the rock beneath the mansion. that even now the lock of this door had responded to the electronic impulse and the huge panel was swinging slowly open. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 3 The Man in the Cavern As the sound of the tolling clock died out across the plains of Ophred, a man opened his eyes on the planet far away, and saw for the first time the place in which he had spent one hundred years. He awoke with neither fright nor surprise, but rather with a sense of wonder. He arose slowly from the great bed upon which he had lain, and allowed his attention to roam about the strange place in which he found himself. In the wall opposite the bed there was set a full-length mirror, and as the man turned he saw himself for the first time,

a tall, broadly muscled figure of heroic proportions. Completely naked, his body was reflected as masculine perfection in every detail. For a few moments, the man stared at the body as though it belonged to someone else. Then he spoke musingly, You did your work well, Portox, my friend. The sound of his own voice startled him, but not so much as to the content of the words. A baffled expression touched his handsome face. Who was Portox?

And what work had he done? What place was this? And for that matter, who was he himself? This naked figure which looked back at him from the glittering mirror. The questions were annoying because he felt that he felt that he was himself, and he was a little bit of he knew the answers, yet they would not come within reach of his conscious mind. He had little time to ponder this enigma, however, because at that moment he became aware of a second presence in the room. He turned, a man stood just inside the open door.

The naked one stared at the other with an interest that left no room for self-consciousness nor shame. "'Who are you?' he asked. "'My name is John Pride. The man answered. He was a man of erect bearing, and though there was wonder and surprise in his voice he bore himself with a quiet dignity. "'And now,' he added, "'may I ask you the same question?' The naked man looked down at his own body and for the first time seemed conscious of its nudity. He glanced around the room and saw a robe of royal purple lying across a chair

by the bed. He stepped over and lifted the robe and put it on. As he was tying the rich purple cord around his waist, he looked frankly back at John Pride and said, I do not know. I honestly do not know. John Pride said, I have wondered what I would find in this cavern, wondered through the years. Only in my wildest fancies did I tell myself that a fellow human, or even a living creature, awaited me here. But now I find this is true." The younger man regarded his visitor with a calmness that belied any weariness between them. John Pride noted this with admiration and respect.

The young man said, "'Won't you be seated?' And when his guest was comfortable regarded him with a smile. Perhaps there are some things we should talk over. there are. You say you do not know your own name? That only begins to sum up my ignorance. I am not only unaware of my identity, but I have it the faintest notion of what this place is, where it is, or how I came here. It was John Pride's turn to stare. While doing so, he analyzed the younger man keenly. He saw honesty and an inner warmth that attracted him. There was something almost Godlike in the clean lines of the body he had seen and in the face.

These things coupled with what he already knew, intrigued him mightily, and he resolved to approach this strange affair with an open mind and not play the role of the unbelieving cynic. It was time to go ahead. John Pride said, First, are you aware that there is another in this mansion, or was? I did not even know this was a mansion. It seems only one room.

It is an enormous structure set deep in the forest. This other one? A very old man. He died as I arrived here tonight. You do not know his name or how he came here? I have a vague idea. The young man's dazzling blue eyes narrowed in thought. A while ago you said you have wondered through the years

as to what you would find in this room. That indicates you were aware of its existence. True. Perhaps at this point I had better tell you the complete story, as much of it as I know. I would be in your debt. No, I will merely be discharging the last of a very old obligation. With that John Pride took from his pocket a small leather-covered book. He handled it gently, almost with affection, and said,

this was my father's notebook. In it is an account of this remarkable affair, put down by my great-grandfather and handed down through the line. When my father died, he placed it in my hand, saying it entailed an obligation both business and personal, and it was my obligation as well as his. I have read the account of what transpired many times, and with your permission, I will put it in the way.

into my own words. Then, when I am done, I will give you the book and the affair will be over so far as I and my family are concerned." John Pride had settled back in his chair and was just ready to begin when the young man held up a sudden hand. "'Just one moment, please,' he said, and a look of concentration came upon his face. Then he went on and his words took the form of a rhyme. An ape abhor a stallion, a land beyond the stars. A virgin's feast, a raging beast, a prison without bars.

He flushed and added, I don't know why I was possessed to recite that dog-girl at just this moment, but there is something strange about it. Strange in that I have a feeling it was taught to me at some long-distant time in the past. I sense that it is very much. important to whatever destiny awaits me. Yet I know not who taught me the verse, nor what it means. That verse is inscribed in this book, and I believe I know how it entered your mind and memory. I believe, too, that I understand how you are able to converse with me, though you know nothing

of this land, or even this room." John Pride said quietly, Then please, tell me. I think it better that I start at the beginning rather than give you the story piecemeal. That way your mind will be better able to assimilate and to judge. I await your pleasure, the young man said with impatience he strove to conceal. Very well, John Pride said, his eyes growing vague with a far-away look. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 4. John Pride's Story I am a member, John Pride began, of a firm called Pride Conroy and Wilson. We are a very old firm of private bankers with offices in Wall Street. Both Conroy and Wilson died before I was born, leaving no issue, so the company has been controlled by a pride for many years. This affair in which we are interested had its inception 100 years ago.

At that time, a man came to see my great-grandfather in his office. He was a most remarkable man, and gained my grandfather's respect and confidence from the very first. He never stated from whence he came, being more than. interested in the future than in the past. He put up at a New York City hotel, and my great-grandfather knew there were three in his party, the man himself, another man, and a woman both somewhat older than he. At one time when my great-grandfather visited them in their hotel suite, he saw the woman fleetingly as she was leaving the room. She was carrying something that he thought

could have been an infant snuggled in a blanket. He could not be sure, however, but he was, and he did not ask questions. The man was interested in obtaining a place of abode, a place that had to possess certain definite qualifications. First, it had to be built upon solid rock, and set in the most secluded location possible. Second, it had to be so completely free of legal involvements that when he secured the title,

no possible claim of another could ever be taken seriously enough to even cause the property to be visited. In short, the strange man said, details relevant to the property must integrate to a point where no one would visit it for one hundred years. At this place in his narrative, John Pride stopped a moment to rest his voice. After a pause, the young man in the purple robe inquired, Why do you smile? At the recollection, my great-grandfather was just a white elephant.

A white elephant? merely a descriptive term. A place that had been built before the revolution, but which even at that early time had been bypassed by the trend of progress until it was completely isolated. No one wanted it. No one would ever want it, so far as my great-grandfather could judge. Except this strange man you speak of.

Precisely. He was delighted with the place, and when my great-grandfather pointed out that even with the location and the high surrounding wall, there was no guarantee that wandering adventurers might not move in and take possession at some distant date. The man smiled cryptically and said he would see to it that that did not occur. The young man was scowling.

I know that man. He is somewhere back in my mind, but he will not come forward. John Pride regarded his listener for a moment and then went on. The man seemed in ample funds and paid for the property with a giant ruby, the like of which my great-grandfather had never before set eyes on. But the affair was far from ended. The man moved his menage into the mansion, saying he would call upon my great-grandfather later. All the legal formalities had been, of course, taken care of,

an indisputable deed, guaranteed by the strongest trust company in the land, but that was not enough. After a few weeks, during which time the man had inquired of my great-grandfather, where certain materials could be obtained, he returned to the old gentleman's office with the most startling request of all. He said that he had set in motion a procedure that would terminate in exactly 100 years from a given moment, and that he wished to retain grandfather's firm as trust agents in relation to that procedure.

The duties of the firm would be negligible during the hundred-year period. My great-grandfather and his issue were merely to remain completely away from the property, which was certainly a simple thing to do. But knowledge of what had taken place must be passed down to his son, and in case the latter did not survive the one hundred years, to his son's son. At this point, my great-grandfather interposed reality in the form of a question. I have a son, but suppose he is so inconsiderate as to not duplicate with a man air." The man smiled and said,

He was sure that would not be the case. He was right, but whether it was a gamble on his part, or whether he spoke from a knowledge beyond us, we never knew. But regardless, at the end of one hundred years, the surviving issue was, by sacred trust, to be present in this mansion. The door of a vault beneath it would open, and the trustee was to enter and deliver therein a written account of the series of events leading up to that moment. In payment for this service, the man insisted upon presenting my great-grandfather with jewels the value of which, on a yearly basis, transcended all our other income combined. My great-grandfather demurred, but the man said nothing brightens memory so much as material gain,

and he did not want the agreement to be forgotten. What happened to the man, the young listener asked. John Pride shook his head sadly. We never knew. When all the arrangements were made, he came again to the office, thanked my great sire for his services, and was never seen again.

He must have given you his name. John Pride frowned. He used a name, of course, but there was the impression of it's not being his true one. The book mentions this. The name he used was C. D. Bram. "'Portox!' the young man cried suddenly.

"'What did you say? Portox! The name is back in my mind. I used it as I awoke. A strange name—' And stranger still is the fact that I know nothing of it. Wait!' The young man's handsome features strained as he concentrated with all his power. Sweat stood out on his forehead, but then a look of disappointment came into his face and his broad shoulders sagged. No, the knowledge is somewhere back in my mind, but I cannot capture it. John Pride was about to speak, but the young man stayed him with a sudden, intense look. One thing, however, is very clear to me, and that is, the face of my mother.

The woman who held you in her arms in the hotel suite? No, I do not think so. But I see a face clearly in my mind. A sad and beautiful face. There is a marked resemblance between it and what I see in that mirror. She is the most beautiful woman who ever lived, and I yearn to find her and take her in my arms. I hope you succeed.

A tragic light appeared in the young man's eyes. But where is she? How can I find her? Why did she leave me in this place? I do not have the answers to those questions, but I have a theory concerning you in the elapsed years. Tell me. John Pride spoke firmly, but with obvious awe.

I think you are brought here as an infant for some reason known only to the one who called himself C.D. Bram. Or Portox. Perhaps. I think you were placed in that bed and left there for one hundred years. But, consider, the door has never been opened. There is certainly no other exit to this cavern.

And I have no recollection of ever having lived before, the young man said slowly, Yet you can converse with me. You obviously have been given an education. But how? It is known that knowledge can be injected into the subconscious while the receiver sleeps. I'm sure the man you insist upon calling Portox was aware of this,

this and perhaps other scientific miracles. Who are we to say that you were not nourished by some means beyond our knowledge? But that investigation was never to be made, because as John Pride extended his hand to touch the box, it suddenly burst into a glow and he withdrew his fingers quickly. Before the younger man could answer, a glowing point of light sprang into being and brightened, and a wave of searing heat erupted from the walls of the room, searing the eyes of John

pride and leaving him to grope helplessly as in the heart of a furnace. The younger man was beyond his reach. Blinding pain caused him to reel. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 5 Question upon question John Pride opened his eyes as a moan escaped his lips. The haze cleared and he found himself lying upon a cool stone floor

looking up into the concerned face of the younger man. What happened? John Pride asked feebly. He tried to refocus. I don't know, except that the heat of that fire was upon us with such swiftness that we were almost incapacitated. I picked you up and started walking. Fortunately, I moved in the direction of the door.

Otherwise, we would have been doomed. I am in your debt. No more so than I in yours. Did you extinguish the fire? It burned out of its own accord, but only after the cave was completely gutted. There was nothing left in there but the bare rock walls. John Pride sat up with a cold.

quick concern. The book! It is gone. The young man looked ruefully down at his own naked body. Gone, together with my precious robe. That can easily be replaced along with the other raiment, but the book! I was supposed to deliver it! To the cavern.

You did that, my friend. It was not through you that the fire consumed it. You have dispatched your obligation. Let your mind be at ease. John Pride got to his feet. He shook his head in the negative. No, a portion of my obligation still exists. Fortunately, I did not bring forth the second and last item I was to place in the cavern.

The second item? Yes, and I believe the most important. With that, Pride took from his pocket a small box wrapped in heavy material and sealed and resealed with a sort of rubberized wax. "'This,' he said, "'I know not what is in the box, nor I think did my father, my grandfather, nor my great-grandfather before me. We have been given to understand that its delivery to the cavern

was the most important single duty of the trust. So I now place it in your hands, praying that this act fulfills the long-standing obligation of my family. family. The younger man had salvaged a portion of his robe, a length of material that went over his shoulders and draped skimply down the sides of his body. This did nothing whatever in the way of covering his nudity, but rather accentuated and added to it. He took the box and was scanning it with great interest, when the excitement and strenuous action of the preceding few minutes again took grip upon John Pride's comparatively less rugged physique. His eyes

closed, and he began sinking again to the floor, whereupon the younger man slipped the box hastily in the pocket that had not burned away from his robe, and caught John pride in his arms. He lifted the elder man and carried him up from the mansion caverns and into the great hall that swept forward to the main entrance. As he walked, bearing the heavy burden as though it were but a mere feather, he was of two minds. One mind entertained concern for his new-found friend, and the other was occupied with interest in these new and strange surroundings. Dawn had broken over the forest, and in a brooding light within the great hall, he saw the withered body of the dead man on the floor. He paused for a moment, and then

went out across the flagstone porch and into the open air. He marveled at the green expanse of forest that reared in majesty about him. He drew in deep, deep, gusts of the cool air and found it good. He smiled. Then John Pride stirred in his arms and showed signs of returning consciousness. The young man laid the Financier on the soft grass and watched until his eyes opened. Are you feeling better? Is there anything I can do? John Pride smiled feebly as he raised himself with the younger man's aid. I'm afraid this has been more strength than I bargained for. If I'd known what would transpire, I would have kept myself in better condition. But you feel better now? Yes. If you will be so good as to help me to my car,

I'll be all right. Certainly. Your car? A means of conveyance that will take me back to the city. It stands but a few yards down the road beyond the gate. A short time later, the two men stood at the place that was to be the parting of their ways. Both sensed this, and Pride held out his hand. The younger man grasped it firmly. "'God speed to you, my friend,' John Pride said. "'I fear I can help you no further. But if there is ever a time when my services are needed,

I will be waiting for your command.' "'Thank you. Whatever befalls me, I will always remember you as the first friend I ever set eyes upon in this world.' With that, John Pride turned his car and drove off down the winding road. As he left, the younger man realized the older man had said nothing of the dead ancient in the Great Hall, but realized it was because of the strain Pride had suffered. The man was still somewhat dazed from the shock of the fire. He turned and walked slowly back toward the mansion until he stood again in the great front yard.

There he stopped and stood looking up at the sun as it topped the hill east of the mansion. Who am I? he asked himself. Why was I given knowledge, but not all the knowledge necessary to intelligently pursue my destiny? In my heart, there is a certainty that I am an educated man.

I am aware of the fact that there are different groups of people who speak different languages, and I know I will be able to converse with any I meet. I know that there are planets and stars and moons, and I know what is to be known of the universe. But where is the exact personal knowledge that would help me in my dealings with the future? Why was I left here carefully tended, and provided for these hundred years,

only to be hurled suddenly upon my own? He walked slowly into the great hall and knelt beside the still figure on the floor. A feeling of compassion stirred him, but there was no warmth of recognition. no personal sorrow as a result of the ancient's death. "'Have I ever seen you before?' he asked softly. "'Were you, Portox?' The dead one did not answer, and the young man lifted him and took him from the hall and buried him.

He could find no tools to dig the soil, but located a hole that had once been a shallow well. He dropped the body therein and followed it with stones until the hole was filled. He did this with no sense of callousness, but rather with an impersonal reverence he instinctively felt but could not analyze. Returning slowly to the front yard, he pondered the dimension of time. How, he wondered, could John Pride's line have gone through three sires to John Pride,

the last of the males, while he himself lay for one hundred years to emerge in his obvious prime, or perhaps even on the near side of his prime. He pondered this and other points, until his mind grew weary from unanswered questions and turned to things of the moment. I know not what my destiny is, but at least I am able to have a name. What shall it be? He remembered the one Portox had used, C. D. Bram. "'Bram,' he said. "'That I like.' But the CD meant nothing to him, and Bram seemed somehow incomplete.

John Pride had a name of two parts, he said, "'so why should I not have the same?' He looked about him, and a breeze in the green branches above seemed to whisper the answer. He heard and considered, then smiled to himself and raised his voice. I christened myself, Bram Forrest, to be known from this moment on by that name. Suddenly his smile deepened, then laughter welled from his great chest, a laughter arising from the sheer joy of this new thing called living into which he had stepped. Now he stretched his arms over his head, palms upward, as though supplicating to some

far-off deity. He leapt high in the air, testing his muscles and finding them good. Then he was running, naked and golden off across the open hill. He ran until his huge chest pounded with delicious pain as his lungs labored for air. Finally, he dropped to the ground and lay spread-eagled looking up at the sky. He laughed long and joyously. He lay for a long time thus, then suddenly remembered the box John Pride had given him. But the scanty garment had dropped from his shoulders, so he sprang to his feet and ran back until he discovered it. The box was still there. He examined it curiously, turning it over and over in his hands. The seal was stubborn, but it finally gave, and he peeled off the heavy wrapping. A small white box came to light. This he opened to stand frowning

at what it contained. An odd instrument of some sort. A flat disk about two inches in diameter, and possibly a quarter of an inch thick. Both faces were of shining, crystalline metal, reflecting back anything that was imaged upon them. Two short metal straps appended from opposite sides of the queer instrument, one of which held a buckle at its end.

He held the shining disc to his ear, but there was no sound that he could detect. Frustrated, he looked again into the box. It appeared to be empty. But no. As he was about to fling it away, he noted that what appeared to be its inner bottom was reality a second flat package

that fitted perfectly into the receptacle. He shook it free and found it to be merely a flat rectangle wrapped tightly in white paper. He was about to rip the paper with his thumbnail when his attention switched suddenly to the shining disc. He had envisioned a use for it, or at least a place for which it seemed constructed. He tested his theory and found the straps fit snugly and perfectly around his wrist. He pondered which wrist to put it on and decided the right one would be appropriate.

Quickly, he snapped the buckle into its hasp, and then held forth his arm to admire the brightness of the queer device. If he had expected anything to happen, he was disappointed. appointed, and he stood there wondering what use was to be found from such a seemingly useless device. After a while, he unbuckled the disc and moved it to his left wrist. Perhaps it would look better there. Again, he raised his arm to admire it, and had stood thus for some moments when he became conscious of an odd sickness in the pit of his stomach. He did not associate this with the disc at all, and immediately forgot the thing, giving his whole attention. He did not associate his whole attention to the uncomfortable feeling that had come upon him. The sickness increased

in intensity, and he bent down, doubling over his abdomen as the nausea became a pain. As he sank to his knees, he noted the disc had changed, had taken on an odd, transparent glow. There had to be a connection between his illness and the abominable device, and he clawed at the buckle, seeking to loosen it and hurled a thing away. But there was no time. The pain sharpened and a black cloud dimmed his sight. He clawed feebly at the buckle, and then his numbed fingers weakened, fell away from it. The darkness increased and seemed to lift him from the ground upon which he lay.

It clawed at his throat, entered his nostrils like a malignant force. As his consciousness faded, a single thought, was in his mind. Born but to live a few brief moments and die again. What sense is there to such a farce as this? Born but to die again. Portox, help me, it can't be. There must be some help. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Quest of the Golden Ape. By Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 6

On the Plains of Ophred Jelomek, the Nadian, guided his air-car across the grassy plains of Ophred, but a scant few feet above the tops of waving grasses. It was a fine day, and the Nadian was taking full advantage of it. One of a race of proud and noble fighting men, Jolomek was an exception to the rule in that he was a dreamer rather than a fighter, a think

rather than a doer, a poet rather than a military strategist. Thus his mind dwelt upon the historic incident of the previous days, when, standing beside his brother, Bontark, he had watched the gray tower of Portoc's the Ophridian explode into a fine cloud of dust. And it was characteristic of the gentle Jlomek that his mind was more occupied with the romantic aspect of the incident than the violent. He thought of the poem, the bit of doggerel carved in the foundation stone of the tower. For a century all Tarthens had puzzled over the verse put there by Portoc so long ago. An ape, a boar, a stallion, a land beyond the stars, a virgin's feast, a raging beast, a prison without bars. Had it any meaning, Jlomek wondered, a thousand different interpretations had been

put upon the verse over the years, but no one knew for sure. That it had something to do with the slaughter of the Euphridians, Jlomek was sure. But what? As he ruminated thus, Jolmec's attention was caught by moving figure some ten Jek's to the south. He knew this to be the location of one of the great wells that dotted the plains of Ophrid. In the times before the Great Massacre, these wells have been located in the hearts of the fine Ophridian cities, of which the aberrians stood in great envy. These wells gushed endlessly of cool crystal water which kept the fabulous hanging gardens of Ophrid, multicolored, and beautiful. But all that was in the past. The Ophridians had been slain to a man, and their cities leveled until not a stone

stood upon a stone. Now, lonely grasses grew, where once glittered the results of Portox's great scientific genius. Now there were only only the world. round steel doors in the ground to mark the locations of the great Ophridian wells. These thoughts occupied Jolomek's mind as he turned his car and coursed it in the direction of the well. The figures came clearly into view, causing Jlomek to frown in puzzlement. What manner of people were these? There were a half-dozen of them, two men, three females, and one, babe-in-arms. Jlomek got the impression that, though they were erected, and finally formed, that they were of short stature.

But now he realized he had got this impression only by their comparison to the seventh figure by the well. He knew at a glance that this seventh was an Abberian warrior, exceptionally tall and wearing the look of grim cruelty so characteristic of his race. Jolomek paid the Abberian scant heat, however, so engrossed was he in studying the strange half-dozen. Their skins were richly browned, and they wore almost no clothing. Who could they be? Jolomek wondered, and from whence had they come.

Midily intrigued, he moved forward until he came with an earshot of the party. Then, for reasons of the words he heard spoken, he halted his air-car and frowned. The Abberian, he recognized as the famed Retok himself. A fierce stad pawed the ground nearby, indicating how the tall, sneering commander of the Abarians had arrived at this spot. Ritok was known to roam the plains of Ophred at times, still savoring the destruction he and his sire, Harnod, had accomplished, pleasuring himself with memories of bodies piled high, of bloody swords and helpless cries of the dying.

Or was it for some other reason that Ritok roamed the plains? it a nameless fear that drove him there. Did the accusing face of Portox the Ophridian genius still hang balefully in his memory? Had Portox acquainted the Abberian devil with knowledge that he alone carried in his guilty heart? And did that knowledge generate a fear that retock the Abberian could not rid himself of? At any rate, he now stood between the brown people and the Ophridian well, enjoying a useless cruelty, as was his custom. The leader of the group extended his hands in supplication and said, We only ask water, sire, a small thing, but long have we waited to quench our thirst.

Retak said, What manner of people are you? Harmless ones, see, we are unarmed and peaceful. That does not answer my question. Tell me who you are and from whence you came. Then we will see whether my fancy dictates that you shall have water from this well." Indignation and rage dimmed Jolomek's better judgment. He had glided in beyond the range of Rhetak's vision, and now he leapt from his car and drew his wand-like whip-sword.

Is there no drop of common decency or compassion left in you, Retok, that you do this thing to helpless people?" The Abberian world with alarm, not knowing what force might be arrayed against him. But when he saw the lone Jlomek, his composure returned and his self-assurance again took charge. Had the newcomer Ben Bontark, the dreamy Jlomek's skillful brother, retalk the Abberian, would have conducted himself differently. But as it was, he sneered at the gentle Nadian and asked, What business of this is yours, Jlomek? Injustice is everyone's business.

These people, whoever they are, ask only to drink. Jolmec's eyes blazed, and drink they shall a barian. Ritok's handsome eyes glowed. No doubt as to the outcome of this contest. He drew his own sword and whipped its supple length through the air. Since you choose to champion this scum, let's get on with it. Had Jlomex indignation not been of a quality to blind him to consequences, he would have perhaps hesitated.

But hot with this injustice, he whipped his own sword and leapt at retock. The latter, with a grim smile of confidence, parried the thrust with ease and manipulated his own whip-sword with a skill which few fighting men on the planet Tarth could have equalled. The weapons were strange ones by Earth standards, and would have probably been considered impractical. They were a good six feet in length, with a supple resiliency of a fly casting rod. The trick of using them effectively lay in controlling the sway

and whip of the long thin blades by skillful use of the wrist. An expert Tarthen swordsman could parry a thrust with a lightning whip of his blade, arc the singing steel in the opposite direction, and perhaps bring his opponent down with a thrust that would enter between his shoulder blades, the sword still arched to describe a half-circle. In essence, this favorite weapon of the Tarthens was a combination of whip and sword, and combat was a matter of thrusting at angles far wider than could be achieved with a stiff blade. A good Tarthen swordsman would have been an excellent billiard-player on Earth, for his knowledge

of workable angles was of necessity supreme. RETOC the Abarian was a master at this sword-play. enjoying himself hugely, because there was little risk, he toyed with the less skillful Nadian. He did not intend to kill Jlomek, fearing the wrath of Bontark. He meant only to teach the stupid Nadian a lesson he would not forget. But as his blade sang and stung, its needle-point darting in like the fangs of a snake's head, and as Jolomek's clumsy blade sought desperately to Perry, Ritok's bloodlust rose to the fore. The joy of dealing death to the helpless was upon him, and with a swift thrust he allowed

his blade to enter Jlomek's unprotected back just above the kidney, to streak upward through his body and pierce his heart. Frightened at what he had done, he jerked the blade free. Its entwined force whirled Jomek in a complete circle from which he fell limply, dead before he hit the ground. Rhetak stood scowling at the fallen Nadian. His dripping blade rising and falling gently in the breeze as he held it extended. The Abarion's eyes darted to the group of brown-skinned folk, his anger centering upon them as he nimbly switched the blame for this foul murder from his own shoulders to theirs.

If they had not been at the well, he was ready to extend his slaughter in their direction to wipe out the lot of them when he paused, his scowl deepening. There was fear and awe upon their faces, but they were not regarding either Retok or his fallen adversary. Their eyes were turned in another direction, and Retoc sent his own glance after theirs. His eyes held upon what he saw. A naked man. But such a man as he had never before seen on all the planet Tarth.

End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Main. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 7. The White God. Bram Forest returned to consciousness and realized the black nausea of his previous moments had vanished. All traces of the sickness were gone as he opened his eyes, his mind intent upon the small flat package that had dropped from the box in which he had found the strange, disc-like instrument. But the package was not within reach.

This caused only a small part of his bewilderment, however. His attention was riveted mainly upon the tableau being enacted before him. A group of people, almost as naked as himself, deeply browned of skin, stood huddled nearby. Almost as though for the entertainment of these, two grim and uniformed warriors were facing each other on the level turf before the strange circuit or ground entrance, beside which Bram Forrest found himself. The two warriors possessed strange, supple swords, which they manipulated with much skill. At least one of the warriors did.

The other seemed clumsy in comparison, but there was no hint of cowardice in his manner. Upon closer inspection the two warriors who had seemed of a cut at first glance were quite dissimilar. The one of greater skill was dark and possessed of a cruel mouth and venomous dark eyes. The other was slim and fair, with contemptuous blue eyes. He fought with an erect stiffness in his shoulders, which was both awkward and dignified at the same time. The sympathy of Bram Forrest went out instinctively to the fair one, but the dark sinister swordsman held his attention.

There was something naggingly familiar about the dark one's cruel face. A tantalizing familiarity had bemused Bram Forrest, even as the singing swords thrust and parried, with that of the dark warrior always on the offensive, and the other fighter striving more for self-preservation than for aggressiveness. Where, Bram Forrest wondered, had he seen the dark one before? Nowhere, of course, any previous contact was impossible. Or was it? Dared he, Bram Forrest, call anything impossible after what had already occurred,

Bram Forrest glanced down and realized he had been removing the disc from his left wrist and placing it on his right. He had committed the act instinctively, in the same manner he breathed and moved, and his mind went back momentarily to the two tubes he had found in his ears when he awoke in the cavern back on Earth. "'Back on Earth? How did he know he was not still on that planet? I've got to stop questioning these things I possess knowledge of, but no, not why.

I must take them at face value and without wonder. Otherwise, I shall spend all my years in conflict with my own mind. At that moment, the dark warrior's whip-sword whined in a skillful arc and entered the body of the fair one. A moan of sympathy arose from the waiting group as the defeated warrior sank to the ground, his face strained in agony and fast becoming a death mask. The dark warrior stepped back, a cruel sneer of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Bram Forrest, sickened by the unequal contest, rose up from where he lay and moved forward.

This drew the attention of both the group and the victorious warrior, and the effect was electric. The huddled observers reacted with a mixture of consternation, awe, and fear. that would have been comic under less tense circumstances. They dropped as one to their knees. They placed their foreheads upon the ground. A concerted moan escaped them that far transcended in depth and feeling the one with which they had reacted

to the death of the fair warrior. In a language Bram Forrest was completely familiar with, their voices sounded a chant of fear and awe. "'The white god has come! The white God has come! The white god has come!" Bram Forrest scarcely considered them. He was advancing upon the dark warrior with the clean, stalking movements of a tiger, his great shoulders low, his magnificent legs tense for the death-spring.

The dark one was frozen from surprise. From whence had this naked white creature erupted. He stood stiff from sudden fear and uncertainty a moment too long, and the hands of the Avenger were upon him. The fingers of those hands were like steel talons driving deep into his throat, and in his panicked mind he looked upon the face of death and found it horrible. He was being driven down to the ground, lower and lower in abject submission by this strange and terrible manifestation the brown-skinned ones had called a white god. The dark warrior's mind raced, and in his terrorized desperation, a native cunning sprang to his aid. Using every ounce of

his remaining strength, he forced words up from his tortured throat. "'Would you kill an unarmed man?' The words touched a responsive chord in Bram Forrest's mind. The Craven spoke aptly. By killing him thus, was not Bram Forrest doing the same thing for which he had condemned the other? Bram Forrest straightened and hurried. hurled the cringing figure from him. Then, defend yourself, swine, he cried, and seized up the dead warrior's shining whip-sword. The dark one sought means of escape, but he feared turning from this avenger as much as facing him.

He could only play for time. Rising, he retrieved his own sword and faced the other with his expression of fear not one whit abated. The man of the steel hands whipped the sword experimentally, and the The Dark One was struck by a ray of hope. The other's actions with the blade were as clumsy as had been those of Jlomek the Nadian. Perhaps all was not lost. The Dark One gripped his blade and moved forward in the customary crouch of the Tarthen fighting man.

Then elation welled up within him as the answering posture of the other revealed him as knowing nothing whatever of the whip-sword's use. The Dark One's smile returned. God or not, the skill of this one with the ancient weapon of Tarth was even less than that of the pathetic Jlomek. The dark warrior parried a clumsy thrust with ease and whipped his blade around to harass the others exposed back. "'You are a fool,' he said.

"'Whatever else you may be. As you die, give thought to the fact that you join a large company. Those who have faced the greatest swordsman of Tarth and fallen ignobly before his blade. With that the dark one whipped his blade home and spun his adversary expertly in order to discover the exact point of entrance of the blade. His aim was true. It was a trifle low, but the other fell heavily and the dark warrior withdrew his blade and wiped it uneasily.

His nervousness sprang from fear. If one of these so-called gods had appeared, why not two or four or a dozen? The Tarthens swordsman, well upon the principles of discretion, felt a sudden urge to be quit of this locality. It was indeed a disconcerting place. Brown folk, the identity and origin of which he knew not, a white creature with steel hands appearing from nowhere. What would the next manifestation be?

The dark warrior moved swiftly toward his waiting stad. He mounted and rode away, and not until the figures about the well were tiny spots almost beyond range of his vision, did he again breathe easily. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 7. The Brown Virgin Bram Forest moved from unconscious into a dark half-world of pain and frustration. He felt his flame-seared body to be hanging upon the edge of a black abyss into which he could neither fall nor draw away from.

At times it seemed, gentle hands reached out to explore, but were without the strength to draw him back from the perilous precipice upon which he hung. There was an endless time of balance in this dark half-world, and then the thick blackness faded to a gray. The precipice seemed to draw away of its own. volition, and the pain within him lessened. He opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed of soft, cool moss in a semi-dark cavern, with the sound of

tinkling water in the distance. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long time, wondering into what manner of place he had come and how. Then his keen ears caught the sound of breathing other than his own, a soft breathing that fell gently upon his senses, and calmed rather than alerted him. He turned his head and saw a beautiful, naked, brown-skinned girl kneeling nearby, but beyond his reach. He was struck first by the beauty of her face and form, and then by the fact that she was not as completely brown as his first impression had given him to believe. Her breasts and loins were of pure white,

and droplets of shining water ran down her body. She was in the act of replacing a sort of leather harness upon her person, and Bram Forrest realized she had just returned from bathing, at whatever place the unseen water gurgled, and laughed, and that she was now dressing herself. He held his peace until the act was completed, not wishing to embarrass her by making his consciousness known while she was nude. After a few moments, the harness was. was in place, and she rose to stand erect and shake out her dark, shining hair. Bram Forrest chose this time to speak.

I do not know who you are, but I am obviously in your debts. My gratitude. The girl reacted like a startled fawn and drew back several paces. You have regained consciousness? It seems so. Where is this place? And how came I here? We brought you.

Bram Forrest's brow furrowed in thought, "'Oh, yes, now I remember. There were a group of people such as you at the place I tried to fight the dark swordsman with his own weapons.' Bram Forrest chuckled ruefully. It seems I did not fare so well. When we discovered you were not our God, the others wanted to leave you there to die, but I resisted this as being inhuman and made them bring you here. Where are the rest? They have returned.

Returned. The girl lowered her beautiful head, sadly. That I cannot tell you. Brown Forrest smiled. Be not so sad. The fact that you prefer to keep the information to yourself is no reason for near tears. I am not sad for that reason, sire. Then why?

Because you ask the question, and are even more surely there for. for, not our God." Bram Forrest was deeply curious and half amused at the trend of this conversation. Tell me this, then. Why does my asking the question eliminate all possibility of my being your God? Because, if you were the God we seek and yearn for, you would not have to ask where my people went.

You would know. Instead of clarifying the situation, Bram Forrest mused, each question sends me deeper and deeper into a mental labyrinth. We risked our lives in going to the place you found us. It was forbidden to credit the ancient legend of our people. Therefore, what legend? That upon this day and at that place our God would appear to deliver us.

Bram Forrest, now desperately seeking a question that would clarify, rather than further, before us, huddle, held up his hand. Wait, if you expected a god to appear and I arrived on schedule, how can you be so sure that I am not he?" We thought so when you advanced upon the hideous aberian and took his throat in your great hands, but when you not only allowed him to live but also suffered him to take up his whip-sword and come within an eyelash of killing you, we knew you were not our God."

Bramforst nodded with unethelieu. Horace nodded with understanding. I can see now how stupid that act was. Certainly, not a matter in which a genuine God would conduct himself. He glanced at the girl and smiled. Please come closer that I may see you better. She moved her head in the negative, reluctantly, Bram Forrest thought, and replied, If you were our God, I would gladly place myself in your power to do with me as you would,

but as you are mortal I must remain away from you." Bram Forrest frowned. Again things get murky. I am a virgin, the beautiful girl explained simply and with no self-consciousness whatever. I must remain so until my time is ordained. If I lost my virginity, even through violation that I resist, I would immediately be delivered into the golden ape.

Bram Forrest came upright, causing the girl to retreat a step further in alarm. The golden ape, did you say? Yes. And you are a virgin. This last was a statement rather than a question as Bram Forrest sank back, his eyes misty with thought. An ape abore a stallion, he pondered. A virgin's feast.

The girl eyed him with concern. Are you sure that your wound has not caused? It is not that, he said, switching his mind back to things of the moment. I was just wondering, might you tell me your name without breaking any rules of reticence? I am I am Ilya, she said with a childlike solemnity that touched Bram Forrest. And does Ilya never smile? It seemed to him she made an effort to do this, but was so unfamiliar with the expression that she could not

manage it. He extended a hand, not disconcerted, that she did not come close and take it. He said, I would not again ask a question you did not wish to answer before, but I am mightily puzzled about the life you must have led, about the manner of males you have had contact with. They are certainly a miserable lot if a female of their race must look to her virtue every waking moment. As for me, Ilya, and please believe, I would no more touch you in desire than I would knowingly injure a child. You are safe in my presence, as in the most guarded room of a nunnery. If he expected gratitude or a pat on the back for his nobility, he was rudely surprised.

Ilya straightened, her young breasts protruding gracefully, and if she did not react with anger, her face mirrored something close to it. Then I am not desirable." Bram Forrest blinked. I did not say that. You are one of the fairest I have ever set eyes upon. This puzzled Ilya completely. Then, in the name of the golden ape, why?

Bram Forrest raised his hand with a gesture of both interruption and surrender. Please, let us pursue this subject no further. The waters grow deep, and I say, suspect quicksand at their bottom. There are questions in my mind. Allow me to bring them forth with the understanding that you do not have to answer any you do not wish to." It was evident that Ilya's mind was also a bag of conundrums relative to this late candidate for Godhood, who had insulted her desirability and yet complimented her upon it at the same time. She moved forward and sat gracefully down near the moss resting-place of her patient.

Bram Forrest was aware of her tenseness. She was like a beautiful animal, ready to spring away at the first sign of hostile movement on his part. But he also got the impression that coming within reach of his arms thrilled her. He believed this, even while knowing that she would have fought like a tigress against any advance upon his part. He said, "'Ilya, you are indeed a strange child.

You remained here after your people left and brought me back from the brink of death, even with the fear that I would rise up and violate you as soon as I acquired the strength to do so. Your thought processes are difficult to understand. Ilya lowered her eyes. You wish to ask some questions, sire? My name is Bram Forrest. The sire ill becomes you. Bram Forrest.

She murmured experimentally. Then she raised her eyes, and there dawned upon her face the most brilliant of smiles. Her look was one of both dignity and gratitude. You do me much honor, Bram Forrest. Honor? I fail to understand. Ilya's eyes glowed proudly. Why, you treat me with such respect that I could be even Volna herself.

And who is this Volna? Ilya was startled at this strange man's ignorance. Why, everyone on Tarth knows of Volna, Princess of Nadia, sister of Bontark, who is Prince of Nadia and ruler of that great nation. She is the most exquisitely beautiful woman ever to be born on Tarth. Fancy that, Bram Forrest said with a lack of enthusiasm that proved marked disinterest. I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure of the lady's acquaintance. nor of her illustrious brother either."

Ilya lowered her eyes in sadness. She was also the sister of Jlomik. And who, pray, is Jolomik? I thought you knew, since you tried to avenge his death. He was the nadian the cruel Abberian retox slew under your very eyes. I'm sorry to hear that, Bram Forrest said. But the cowardly death had been accomplished, and Bram Forrest's its mind did not dwell upon it, as he could not see where it affected him one way or another.

"'Ilya,' he said, "'take it as a supposition that I was born this very moment and know nothing of this world or its customs. With that in mind, tell me of it, the things you would tell a wondering child.' She glanced at him strangely. "'I will tell you all that I am not bound to hold secret. I would not wish to know more. The beautiful Ilya leaned forward, so preoccupied with the task she had set herself that all her reserve and wariness left her. Her action brought her lowered head close to Bram Forrest's face, and the sweet smell of her newly washed and shining hair was in his nostrils. Then he also became preoccupied with the map Ilya was drawing on the floor of the cavern.

Long they sat thus, Ilya enjoying her task, and Bram Forrest's facile mind drawing in each syllable she spoke and committing it to memory. Finally, the sun lowered and the interior of the cavern darkened, until they could no longer see each other. The most important conviction Bram Forrest arrived at from Ilya's discourse was indeed a startling one. He was certain that this Tarth was a twin planet to Earth, of which there was complete knowledge in his mind. He could hardly escape the fact that Tarth swung in

an orbit exactly opposite to that of its more familiar counterpart, thus remaining invisible from it. This conviction came to him through several things Ilya said, and it was buttressed by a bit of Tarthan mythology she chanced to mention. The legend told of a flame god, obviously the sun, which stood forth in its wrath one long-distant day, and and hurled two great stones at a demon who came from far away bent upon torment. This last Bram Forrest thought was perhaps a comet of great size that tore both worlds from the sun and set them upon their orbits. The existence of the mythological legend indicated, too, that civilization on Tarth was not

backward, or at least had not been in ages gone. In the more exact realm, Bram Forest learned that Tarth was far less watery than its invisible sister, scarcely half its surface consisting of ocean. It had two ice caps at the poles, known as the outer reaches, and an equator termed the inner belt. There were no isolated continents, according to Ilius map, all the dry surfaces being connected by wide passages of land through the continuous ocean. Ilya's description of the people interested Bram Forrest most intensely.

On Tarth he learned, there was no association of nations, each mistrusting the others in a world where a state of continuous war at some point of the globe was an accepted state of affairs, which no one sought to ameliorate. Ilya herself was hazy upon the description and number of the nations. She thought some two hundred existed, but only the most important could she describe. The Abarians were the most successfully warlike, fearing only the Nadiens to the South. This was because, though the Nadiens were not aggressive and even treated other lesser nations in a kindly fashion, they possessed an inherent fighting skill and a power potential that had

not been tested in recallable history. Though they had not fought for centuries, their potential had not lessened, because such a folly would have been considered tantamount to national suicide on Tartth. There were also the Utalians, that Bram Forrest visualized as some sort of lizard men, for the reason that they possessed the defensive characteristics of the chameleon. There was also another intriguing race, no member of which Ilya had ever seen. She referred to them as the twin people of Coombe, an area near the north outer reach. Bram Forrest speculated upon what manner of people they would be, and it came to him that the evolutionary processes on Tarth had not corresponded to those of earth, where all members of the human race evolved into practically the same form.

Then a name came into Bram Forrest's mind, a name that rose out of that mysterious well of knowledge in his sense, subconscious. A well he could not explain, but had been forced to accept. He no longer questioned it. Tell me of the Ophridians. Ilya started as though he had slept her. The deep brown of her beautiful face paled so much, and her eyes grew very sad. Bram Forrest saw the sadness by the light of the moon that had risen and was sending wan light in through the cavern's entrance. He only sensed the paleness from the tremor of Ilya's voice. It grows late. I must go and bring food. Your strength must be nurtured and

greatened. With that, she hurried off in the direction of the sounding water, leaving Bram Forest both bewildered and intrigued. Why had she reacted so violently to his question? And for that matter, why had he been able to ask the question in the first place? By what process did he know the name Ophrit, and that it designated a nation on Tarth, without knowing of that nation, and already possessing the knowledge for which he had begged the patient and beautiful Ilya? Then he remembered that he had resolved not to wonder about these things, and at the same instant remembered something else.

The small flat package that had fallen from the box back on earth. It had been his first thought upon reg. gaining consciousness near the Ophridian well, but it had been pushed from his mind by subsequent events. How long ago had that been? He tried to assess the passage of time, but failed. The only indication of its length was the fact that he bore no wound where the Eberian's blade had entered his body. That pointed to a long span of unconsciousness, but perhaps there were contributing factors. He had sensed that the mysterious Ilya had at her command something that had healed him very swiftly, but he had no proof of this. At any rate, he had to retrieve the package if possible.

But would it be possible? Granted the strange disk had brought him somehow from Earth to Tarth, would it repeat the process in the opposite direction? He resolved to find out and began unbuckling the disc from its place on his right wrist. As he did this, a sound manifested outside the cavern, but he was so intent upon his task that he gave little note. Quickly he strapped the disc into its potent position on his left wrist. Then he sat tensely, awaiting the reaction. As he waited, the sound without became so pronounced he could no longer ignore it. He raised his head and saw a tall, sinister form outlined against the moonlight. He was unable to distinguish the features,

but the outline told a sickening truth. Also, the drawn whip-sword spoke eloquently of who this intruder was. The aberian of the Euphridian well in search of prey. The cowardly assassin who would now enter and find a defenseless man and a beautiful girl who would set him aflame with lust. Raged through a red curtain, over Bram Forrest's eyes as he struggled up to meet the intruder. But the latter never saw him, because at that moment the now-familiar nausea seized Bram-Forest's vitals doubling him over. And when the Abarion had advanced into the cavern, he found only an empty bed of moss, Bram Forrest, having been snatched up and whirled into darkness by the relentless hand of time

put into terrifying motion. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 9 In custody Bram Forest regained consciousness upon a grassy slope

across which slanted the rays of a setting sun. The same sun that had warmed him upon the planet Tarth, of this he was certain. He arose and glanced about quickly. realizing, while he was sure he had returned to Earth, that he could be many miles from the mysterious mansion under which he had spent one hundred years. At first his heart sank, because the terrain was not at all familiar. Then it rose again as he saw the tower of the gray mansion pushing somberly above the line of the forest top. He stood for a moment,

orienting himself with the tower the center of his calculations. Then he moved out of the glade toward his right. But he had gone scarcely ten feet into the wooded area, when his sharpened instincts gave him quick warning and he dropped like a stone and lay still. The sound of footsteps gratened until their echo came loud in his ears, and a man passed not ten feet from his outstretched hands. The man wore the blue uniform and smart cap of a state trooper, and he was on the alert, but not so much so as to detect the silent Bram forest. The latter, with the first moment he had had to give thought to himself since he had awakened in the cavern on the plains of Ophred, realized suddenly that he was no longer naked. He had,

of course, been vaguely aware of this before, but now he gave it his attention and realized what had happened. He focused on past events. During his time of unconsciousness from the treacherous Aberian's blade-thrust, the beautiful Ilya had garbed him in the brilliant uniform of the slain Nadian Jlomek. This uniform was both colorful and practical, but it did nothing to either hide or encumber the great muscles of his chest and arms, thighs. The State Trooper passed on his way and Bram Forrest wondered what he was doing about the old mansion.

But this did not occupy his thoughts for long. As soon as the way was clear he moved like a great cat through the underbrush toward the spot from whence he had made his own. exodus to the planet Tarth. As he skirted the last glade, he prayed that the second article in the box containing the fabulous disc he had now switched to his right wrist, still lay where he had carelessly dropped it. He came to the edge of the open field and warily surveyed the terrain.

No one was in sight. He strained his ears for the sound of any approaching footsteps and heard nothing. He sprang swiftly into the open and ran across the field. It was there, the flat white package, exactly where he had dropped it that first morning. He swept it up, intent upon returning to the shelter of the forest. But his interest in what lay beneath the white paper wrapping had grown to such a point of intensity that his footsteps lagged, his attention riveted upon the tantalizing thing, and he came to a full stop midfield while his strong fingers tore at the wrappings.

The white parchment came away, and Bram Forrest stared at what was revealed. Then a strange and terrifying change came over him. His handsome features contorted as every drop of blood was drained from his face. His great frame shook as with an illness, and such a demoniacal rage came over him as few people in this or any other world have seen. Now a great and terrifying cry arose from his throat, a cry that make even the beasts of this forest freeze in their tracks and crouch lower in their places of concealment. A cry of such rage and agony that even the trees of the forest seemed to pause and listen in mute wonder.

Mulcahy Davis, State Trooper, picked brambles from the legs of his blue uniform and cursed his assignment in no uncertain terms. Why, in the name of law and decency, had he and Mowbray been ordered to patrol this tangled, deserted spookhole? Sure, the body of some old hobo had been found in a well with rocks thrown on it, but what were he and Mowbray going to prove by tramping around through these brambles? Mulcahy Davis heard footsteps and looked up to see Mowbray laboring across the last few yards of his beat. Mowbray broke from the last clutching strands of thornbush and began beating burrs from his legs.

"'Find anything?' he asked. "'Not a blasted thing. It's downright crazy, our clamoring around this woods. What will we find? A couple of rabbits?' "'That body in the well has to be investigated,' Mowbray said, seriously. Pretty odd deal. What progress have they made? They've located the outfit that held this place in trust, but the guy in charge had a

stroke or something. He can't be questioned. They may never be able to question him. An old guy named Pride. He's in pretty bad shape. Chances are he wouldn't know anything about it, even if they could ask him. What would he have been doing out here? There's that funny fire in the basement, too. Nothing routine about that. Fire so hot? It melted rock. A lot of unanswered questions here. If they'd ask me, I'd tell them.

Mulcahy Davis's throat froze as a terrible cry smote his ears. Mowbray paled suddenly, and the two men looked at each other in instinctive fear. But they were tried and tested law enforcement officers, and were not held in the grip of terror for long. Did you hear that? Malkaie Davis said. Good Lord, man. How could I help it?"

Where did it come from? Over there! Let's go." The two troopers plunged again into the undergrowth to emerge at the edge of an open field, and regardless of their personal courage and experience in their line of effort, what they saw froze them anew. A giant of a man, a creature of godlike proportions, stood in the open field, washed by the rays of the setting sun.

His great arms were held aloft, and he was looking at the world. looking up into the sky with a terrifying expression that was a mixture of pain and rage. He was speaking, and his great voice echoed in what was remindful of a thunderous prayer. I know not the purpose for which I was created, but well do I now know my dedicated task. Vengeance! Vengeance! Such as this world or any other has never seen! this, the giant, clad in a strange, colorful uniform of some sort, dropped to his knees and

lowered his great head into his hands. Mowbray's face was grim and alert. "'Come on,' he whispered. We're behind him, so we get a break. Move in quietly, and let's get him before he sees us. I've got a hunch he could lick ten of us, and we don't want to use our guns.' They crossed the field softly and moved in behind the kneel. man. They acted in concert with an expertness telling of lengthy experience. Mowbray was thankful for the way it turned out. He knew not why the giant put up no resistance. The man seemed stunned as from a great blow, and before he could recover, the troopers had him bound hand and foot with their belts. Mulcahy Davis got to his feet and wiped the sweat from his face. There's one for the

psychos and a padded cell afterwards. You said it, Mowbray agreed heartily. Let's take him in. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape

Chapter 10 The Road to Nadia The Stads of Abaria, like the masters who rode them, were ill-accustomed to the clear, cold air of Nadia. They snorted visible jets of vapor into the crisp air as their splayed feet scratched and slipped, seeking purchase on the ice-covered, up-tilted, rocky plain. "'It's an accursed country-lord,' Holtucks told the king of the Abarians as their steeds advance shoulder to shoulder. Rhetoc sat stalled and straight on the Stads broad back, his black

cloak with the royal emblem billowing in the stiff wind, his hard, handsome face ruddy with the cold air, his cruel eyes mere slits against the nadian wind. "'Quiet, you fool,' he admonished Haltax. Everything we Abberian say and do in Nadia must be sweetness and light, now. The vanguard of the long column of Abarian raiders had reached a rushing mountain stream, its waters too swift to freeze in the sub-zero temperature. Lifting one hand overhead, RETOC called a halt. "'They'll find out, Lord,' Holtax persisted.

"'They'll find out what you did. I know they will. They'll find out it was you who killed Jlomek, their ruler's brother.' Ritok smiled. The smile made Holtak's blood run cold, for he had seen such a smile before, when Ritok witnessed the execution of disqual. loyal aberian subjects. The smile hardened on Retoc's face as if it had frozen there in the cold nadian wind. "'Dismount your steed,' he said in a soft voice which only Hultaks heard.

Trembling, Haltax obeyed his master's command. His stad, suddenly riderless, pawed nervously at the frost-hardened ground on the edge of the stream. Retoc withdrew his whip-sword and fondled the jewel-encrusted haft. "'If you ever say that again, here, in Nadia or elsewhere, I will kill you,' he warned his lieutenant. "'But the brown girl—the brown girl be damned!' roared Retock in sudden fury. "'We haven't been able to find her. That day at the cave she came rushing out, Lord, while you—I was detained,' Ritok said, some of the passion gone from his

voice. He would never forget the sight of the iron-thood young man, who once had almost strangled him, growing suddenly, incredibly transparent, then disappearing. He had stood there, whip-sword in hand, mouth agape, while the brown girl ran past him, and, according to what Haltax had told him later, mounted his own stad and vanished across the Ophridian plain. "'But, Lord, don't you see?' Haltax demanded. The brown girl knows what happened to Jomek, Prince of the Royal Nadian blood. If she attends the royal funeral, she will— Retok laughed.

Holtak's blanched. He had heard such laughter when enemies of Retok and thus of Aberia had died in pain. Fool, fool, he heard Ritok say now. Think you a bedraggled wayfaring maid of the Ophridian Desert will be invited to the funeral of a prince of the Nadian royal No blood?" "'Nevertheless, sir,' Haltax persisted. That day at the cave I took the liberty to send three of our best

stadsmen after the girl, with orders to capture her or kill her on sight. Slowly, as a thaw spreads in spring over the broad nadian ice-fields, RETox smiled at his second in command. Haltax too let his face relax into a grateful grin. Until now he had been teetering on the brink of violent death, and he knew it. You may mount, Ritoch said. Hustily Haltax climbed astride his stad. Ritok lifted his arm overhead and made a circuit or motion with his outstretched hand.

The first of the aberian stads advanced with some reluctance into the swift, cold, shallow water of the stream. What about the white giant? Hultax asked unwisely when the entire party had reached the other side, and Retak was urging his stand up the slippery bank. Have your scouts been able to find the wayfarers who saw him? No, sire. Only the girl nursed him back to health.

The others fled. And wisely. They have learned to hold their tongues, as you should learn, Haltax. They will give us no trouble. As far as they are concerned, there is no white joltz. But there is talk of what happened at the tower, and of Portoc's wizardry, and a God who would return, full-grown, in exactly a hundred years. Shut up!

Retak cried, almost screaming the words. But that night at the Ebarian encampment a day and a half's march from Nadia City, Rhetak dreamed of Queen Avala, the lovely Ophridian ruler, whose slow death by torture he He had relished as the final act of his utter destruction of the once-proud-Ofridian nation. Ivala in the dream seemed happy and confident. Ritaka woke sweating, although frigid winds howled over the nadian ice-fields. Her confidence sent unknown fear through him. Really, it's quite simple, the superbly muscled prisoner said in the language which was

not his own but which he could speak as well as a native. You see, it wasn't simple at all until I saw what was in the package. But it's quite simple now. In the package was a picture of my mother, the dead Queen of Allah. I am her son. I am of the royal blood. When I saw the picture, it suddenly triggered my memory responses as Portox had arranged. Then—

"'What about the old guy in the well?' The trooper asked unimaginatively. I'm sorry. I can't answer your questions now. I have to return to my home. The handful of wayfarers, who alone are left of a once great nation, are waiting for vengeance. I will— His voice trailed on, earnestly, politely. The trooper looked at the man from the state mental hospital who shook his head slowly. They left the powerful, polite prisoner in his cell and went through the corridor to the prison office. "'Real weirdy, huh, Doc?' the trooper said.

"'Ah, um, weirdy to you, but rather cut and dry to me, I'm afraid,' Dr. Sloanum said. Delusions of grandeur and delusions of persecution. Advanced paranoia, I'm afraid.' "'It's funny, Doc. When they took everything away from him he might hurt himself with, He didn't mind at all. Only the bracelet. Three strong men had to hold him when they took the bracelet. Bracelet?

Dr. Sloanum said. We got it in the office. I'll show you. The bracelet turned out to be a small, mesh-metal strap as wide around as a big man's upper arm. Attached to the strap was a disc of silvery metal. You'd think it was worth a million bucks, the trooper said. Dr. Sloanum nodded sagely.

Paranoid. It helps confirm the diagnosis. You see, out of touch with the real world, a paranoid can attach great value to utterly worthless objects. Well, I'll write out my report, Sergeant. Captain Carruthers said to thank you, sir. Not at all. Part of my job.

Meanwhile, back in his cell, the prisoner, big hands gripping the bar so tight that his knuckles were white, was thinking, I've got to make them understand. Somehow I've got to make them understand before it's too late. He closed his eyes, lost in intense thought. When he did so, an image swam before his mind's eye. He did not know how this could be, but ascribed it to more of the dead Portoc's magic. What he saw was the barren ice fields of Nadia, with several great caravans

making their slow way across the bleak, blazing whiteness toward Nadia city. As was the custom in Nadia, the prisoner, whose name was Bram Forrest, knew great funeral games would be held to honor the memory of the late-beloved Prince Jolomek. And it was here, in frigid Nadia, at such a time as this, when all the royal blood of all the royal households of Tarth gathered. The wizardry of Portoc seemed to tell him that vengeance would come. Here, if only, Ilya! The image blurred. He had seen her once. His knuckles went white as bleached bone on the bars. He concentrated every atom of his will. Ilya! Ilya!

But now, with his eyes shut, he saw nothing. With his eyes opened, only the bars of his cell and the cell-block corridor beyond. Ilya, Ilya, hear me. There is danger on the road to Nadia. Ilya. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 11. On the Ice Fields of Nadia. Broth, the Italian, left footprints in the snow. Otherwise, Broth was invisible.

But if a hidden observer watched the Italian slow progress across the ice fields of Nadia, he would see where the ice was soft, or where snow had fallen during the night into gullies, the unexpected, mysterious appearance of footprints. A left staggered after a right, then another left, then a right again, then a white, then a left. Actually, Bront the Utallian was not invisible. But like all Utalians, he was a chameleon of a man. Within seconds his skin would assume the color of its environment, utterly and completely. Thus, from above, Brant the Utalian was the dazzling white of the nadian icefields. From below, looking up at the pale, cloudless sky, he was cold, transparent blue.

All morning he had been trailing the girl. He had reached her camp on the road to Nadia only moments after she had quit it in company with an old man. From the tattered snow cloaks they wore, they both clearly were wayfarers. Bront could have challenged them at once, sprinting across the ice toward them, but he hadn't done that. Brant, the Italian, was a coward. He accepted the fact objectively. His people were notorious cowards. The proper time would come, he told himself. They would come a time when the girl and the old man were helpless.

Then he, Broth, would strike. The day before an aberian warrior had given him a description of the girl and had promised him a bag of gold for her capture, half a bag of gold if he killed her and could prove it. A bag of gold, he thought, He would take her alive. It was a long cold road to Nadia City. True, Brant the Utalian was of small stature, a puny creature like all his people. And there were certain disadvantages in his perfect camouflage. He was walking naked across the icefields in order to remain unseen. His flesh

shivered and his bones were stiff. But a nadian boy named Lulu Ki, whom Bront had promised half the gold, was not many minutes march behind him with warm clothing, food, and drink, after he captured the girl. Invisible, he mounted a rise where solid sheet ice adhered to the shoulder of a rocky hill. Below him, traversing a snow-floored valley and so far away that they were mere dots against the snow, were the old man and the girl. Brant the Italian chuckled. The sound was swept up instantly and dispersed by the wind. It was a cold wind, and it all but froze bront to the marrow, but the nadian sun was surprisingly warm and now seemed to beam down on him with promise of his golden reward.

Shivering both from cold and delight, the invisible Utalion walked swiftly down into the snow-mantled valley. There would be a trail of footprints for the boy Lulu-Kee to follow. No. Cold Hammeth?" Ilya asked her companion. No, girl, I'll manage if you will. Is it much further? Half a day's march to Nadia City yet, I'm afraid, Ilya said. We could rest if you wish. The man was extremely old by Tartian standards, probably three hundred and fifty years old.

He wore a snow-cape of Perilion fur, which the wind whipped about his bony frame and up over his completely bald head. "'I'm sorry, Ilya,' he said suddenly. There were tears in his eyes which the cold and the wind did not explain. "'What for? You came to the cave. You accompanied me here to Nadia.' When Retoc the Abarian almost killed the white god, I fled with the others.

If you didn't flee, you too might have been slain, Hammuth. Yet you remain behind. He still lived. Someone had to tend him. Hammeth's breath came in shallow gasps. He once had been a strong big man, but the life and the strength had fled his frame when Retock destroyed Ophred a hundred years before.

As a wayfarer on the plains of Ophred, he had aged in those hundred years, and he had shrunk and shrivelled with approaching senility. "'Tell me, Ilya,' he asked panting, "'is this Bram forest you speak of, indeed, the—the god of the legend, the god of the tower come to right the ancient wrongs?' A frown marred the beauty of Ilya's matchless face. "'At first,' she said with a faraway look in her lovely eyes,

"'at first I thought he was. Hadn't he come suddenly from nowhere, at the ordained moment. But then, when he did not slay Retok, when instead he allowed Retok the use of his whip-sword and was almost slain by Retok, when he bled like any mortal, when he— All at once, Ily was blushing.

What is it, child? Hamath asked. Nothing. It is nothing. Ilya, you were the infant daughter of a lady in waiting in the royal court of Ophred. I was a captain of the Queen's guards. When Retox's legions brought their death and destruction, I fled to the wilderness with you. I raised you from infancy. I—' The old man's eyes clouded over with emotion. You have no secrets from me, child.

Ilya was still blushing, but a serene smile replaced the frown. on her face. Very well, Father Hammuth, I will tell you. There in the cave, as I nursed the stranger back to health, as he grew stronger and could move about, as we conversed and came to know each other, I—I desired him. Hamlet said nothing. His face was stern. "'Please,' said Ilya, laughing now that her secret was out,

It wasn't the kind of desire that could make me a candidate for the golden ape, but I desired him. It was a pure, sweet emotion, such as I have never felt before. I wanted him. I wanted to serve him. I wanted to spend my life helping him, and... Hammuth... Father Hammuth, loving him.

There I have said it. Hamlet only muttered. They plodded on through the snow, which here was deep and powdery, so they floundered sometimes to their knees. But a girl shouldn't feel such desire for a god, so I told myself he was mortal. Abruptly, and for no reason that Hammuth could fathom, Ilya began to cry. "'What is it, child? What is it? He—he fled. He had lost much blood.

and he was weak, yes, but he didn't even stay to protect me. He fled from Retok. Is that a God? Is that even a man who can bring retribution to Retrook? Is it, Hammeth? Is it?" Yet you are taking the road to Nadia, even as legend says the white God will take the road to Nadia. Nonsense," said Ilya, wiping away her tears. Someone has to tell the Nadea, what really happened to Porge Lomac, that's all. Retok. Retak will have them eating off his hand.

He'll have them believing whatever he says. They'll never know that he killed a prince of their royal blood. But what can Bontark of Nadia or anyone do against the power of Rhetok's abarians? The white god could... Ah, you see, then perhaps you do believe. after all. The white god or whoever he was, said Ilya coldly, fled a coward from Retock. She pouted, and yet, and yet he seemed so confused.

Perhaps he fled so that the Euphridians might live again in the pride of their greatness, Hamlet declared with vehemence. You believe, don't you, Father Hammuth? Ilya asked simply, I want to believe, child. You're panting so, you're tired, we'll have to stop and rest. They were traversing the deepest part of the valley

where the nadian wind, funneling through between the hills, flanking the depression, had piled the snow into drifts twice the height of a man. They hunker down in the lee of one of the snowdrifts where the wind could not reach them. With stiff fingers Ilya withdrew strips of jerked stadmeat from the inside pocket of her snow cloak, sharing them with Hammeth. They munched the tough, cold meat.

Ilya looking at the old man with tenderness and affection. Her foster father, he had been the only parent she had ever known. She closed her eyes, and for a moment thought back over the years they had spent as wayfarers on the Ophridian plain, the years dreaming of revenge. revenge and succor which would never come. The years— Ilya! Ilya! Father Hammuth was calling her name urgently. She shook herself from her reverie. They were seated with their backs to one of the great snowdrifts, where it fell off suddenly

like a suspended, frozen sea-wave. With a trembling hand, Hammuth was pointing before him, out across the ice-fields. There in the soft snow which meant to be it. mantled the ice of Nadia to a depth of only a few inches were footprints. They were not old prints, deposited there when some wayfarer had passed. Incredibly, they were being made even as Hammuth and Ilya watched, as if by some creature with no palpable existence. The icy wind seemed intensified.

"'It—it's coming toward us!' Hamuth said his voice a croaking whisper. Ilya knew that he was afraid again. Somehow, with the advancing years, the steel and fire had gone from Hammath's heart. Or perhaps, she thought in sympathy, the terrible defeat and destruction of Ophred a hundred years ago had done this to him, had turned one of the Queen's proven champions into an aging, craven wayfarer. "'We'll have to flee!' Hammuth said breathlessly. Behind them was the frozen wave of snow.

To the right, far away across the snows, a barrier and the plains of Ophred. To the left, not half a day's journey, Nadia City. Ahead of them, the advancing footprints. "'Your whip-sword!' I cried. "'Quickly!' "'I carry it, but I can't use it now,' Hamlet protested. "'I'm an old man, Ilya, an old man.' "'Then let me.

have it. You, but you're just a girl. You couldn't. Don't you see, Father Hammuth? It's only a man, an Utalian. It can't be anything else. If he comes in peace, well enough. Otherwise, here, give me that sword."

But Hammuth shook his head with unexpected pride and pulled a weapon from its scabbard. Just then the footprints became wider spaced and appeared more quickly in the snow. The invisible Utalian was running toward them. Awkward, cursing at his own impotence, Hammuth fumbled with his weapon. You who call yourself Bram Forrest, Ilya thought, White God or whatever you are, help us, help us! Then she hated herself for the unbidden thought. Bram Forrest had deserted her once, hadn't he, after she had saved his life?

What help could she expect from a man like Bram Forrest? Or was Father Hammeth right? Perhaps Bram Forrest had fled so that Ophrod might one day live again to see the wrath of the gods' fallen Rhetak and his Obarians. Or, Ilya thought with an abrupt flash of insight, Perhaps Bram Forrest's flight had been out of his control. Perhaps he was as yet a pawn in a game he barely understood. Bram Forrest, we need you!

The running footprints were almost upon them. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 12 Volna the Beautiful Bram Forrest had been daydreaming.

Ilya? Hadn't Ilya been calling his name? But how could that be? Ilya was almost two hundred million miles away. Clearly, as long as they kept the magic disk away from him, he could never see Ilya again. And besides, now that he had been vouchsafed a vision of his dead mother, the former queen of Ophred,

and now that that vision had conjured up the entire tragic past for him, why is it that when he shut his eyes and allowed the bright sun to beat down on the lids through the cell window, he saw an image of the sun-browned maid Ilya. Could it be, he asked himself, wondering if somehow he were profaning the memory of the mother he had never known, that Ilya stood not for the past, but for the present and the future, and that it was in the present and the unknown future that Bram Forrest must live and do his life's work, and, perhaps perish, although he was motivated from the past. A guard brought food on a tray. The cell door clanged open. The tray was delivered. The cell door

clanged shut. The guard did not pay a particular attention to Bram Forest. He had been a docile enough prisoner. Ilya, he thought. He knew he must escape next time the guard brought food. Dr. Sloanum held up the bracelet with the metal disc on it and stared curiously at the contraption. He was a psychologist. He could hardly consider himself an expert on metallurgy. Still, he had never seen a metal like that from which the disc had been fashioned. It seemed too opaque for steel, too hard for silver. A steel and silver alloy then, but he had never heard of a steel and silver alloy. He held it up to the light. Like a fly's many-faceted eye, it threw back manifold images of himself. Somehow it made him dizzy to gaze at the images. He drew his eyes away

and had an impulse to fling the strange disc away across the room. The sun was going down. He heard a clattering from the prison kitchen as the evening meal was prepared. Tomorrow, he thought, should see the completion of his work here. Another interview with the paranoid giant who had brought the disc, perhaps. The disc fascinated him. He looked at it again. He didn't want to, and recognized the strange compulsion within himself. Then, before he quite realized it, he was staring at his multiple image again.

His senses swam. There was a far-away rustling sound like, the words came unbidden to his mind from a poem by kibbling, like the wind that blows between the worlds. He gazed again at the disc. It seemed to draw him, as a magnet draws iron filings. Now he wanted to fight it, wanted to fight with every ounce of his strength. A wave of giddiness swept over him, leaving nausea in its wake. He clutched at the prison office desk for support. The rustling grew louder. He saw, or thought he saw, a girl, a lovely sun-bronzed girl.

There was a look of fear on her face. She seemed to be crying out for help. An abyss yawned before his feet, before his very soul. He longed despite himself to plunge into the abyss whatever the fearful consequences might be. He lurched back, fighting the longing. Yet he knew he wouldn't win. He took a step forward.

Give it to me. The voice, urgent, distant, beckoned him back to reality. It seemed a great distance off, but it was something to which he could hold. Give me that disc. He felt himself dragged roughly back, saw the abyss retreating. The rustling of the wind between the worlds became distant, a sound imagined rather than heard. Give it to me!

He blinked. The nausea had washed over him. He felt weak, drained, exhausted. But the substantial reality of the prison office surrounded him. The young giant stood before him, strapping the bracelet which held the disc on his powerful arm. A look of intense concentration was on his face. His skin was bathed with sweat although it was cooled in the room.

"'What did you do to the guard?' Dr. Sloanam asked, wondering if the prisoner would slay him. "'He'll be all right. I only hit him. I'm sorry. It was necessary.' The giant spoke in haste. His eyes were clouded, dreamy, as if he had taken an overdose of barbiturates. "'What are you going to do?' "'You saw, in the disc?' "'Yes,' said Dr. Sloanum.

I'm going. It's my way home." The giant took a step forward, then began to stagger. "'You're home?' Dr. Sloanum gasped. "'Your home?' The giant, who had given his name to the prison authorities as Bram Forrest, did not answer. Dr. Sloanum reached out as if to grab him. Bram Forrest stood there, a smile and the acceptance of pain fighting for mastery of his face. Dr. Sloanum staggered back as if struck.

His hand had passed through Bram Forrest's body. Staggering, trembling, Dr. Sloanum leaned for support on the desk. He could see through Bram Forrest now, see through him entirely. A cold, fierce wind, like no wind ever felt on earth, touched him. He shuddered. When he looked again, Bram Forrest was gone. Retok, the Abarion, the Seneschal's voice proclaimed. An uneasy stir passed through the crowd of morning courtiers in the palace chamber.

Retok, ruler of Abaria, did not often visit Nadia. A state of armed tension existed between Abaria and Nadia of the ice fields. Nadia alone of the many disunited nations of Tarth had strength in some ways compared to that of black forested Abaria. But even then, if a war came between the two nations, the issue would never seriously be in doubt. As a matter of diplomacy, Rhetak had been invited to the funeral of Prince Jlomek, although neither Bontark, ruler of Nadia, nor his sister, Volna the Beautiful, had ever dreamed he would come.

While the crowd milled about in their white morning garments, Retoc told the seneschal, I wish an audience with the Princess Volna." The crowd was suddenly quiet. Volna the beautiful, haughty, imperious, princess of the royal blood would certainly refuse to see the Abarian ruler. Nevertheless, the Senna shall bowed low, said, Your request will be carried to the staff of the royal household, Lord,

and disappeared behind a hanging. Some time later, in another part of the palace, Bontark was saying, "'Vona, Vona, listen to me. You can't see that man now.' "'I'm going to see him,' Vona the beautiful told her brother. "'So it may not be said that a princess of the royal blood hid in fear behind a wall of tragedy. But, sister, with dear Prince Jolmec still not on the burning barge which will carry him down the river of ice on the final journey,

from which, please, brother, Volna said a little coldly. I'm going to grant retalk his audience. Don't you understand? He thinks me weakened by Jlomek's death. Oh, I love the prince, yes. He was always so, so quiet and aloof from affairs of state, but I can be strong if strong I have to be. Then you won't change your mind, Bontark asked. He was a fighting man by nature, the devious paths of diplomacy he set foot on only with reluctance. For answer, Volna said,

Let me prepare to greet the royal visitor, and she watched Bontark leave her quarters. At once she clapped her hands. Six serving-maids skipped through the hangings into her huge bower, and while they clustered jabbering about her like so many excited birds, She undid the fastening at her left shoulder, and allowed her gown of morning white to fall in a crumpled heap at her feet. She stood naked and perfectly still, while the serving-maids administered to her, each girl a master in one of the cosmetic arts.

And Volna, she of the haughty face and glorious body, she who already have been beautiful to look upon, was soon transformed by the cosmetic arts into the loveliest. woman the planet Tarth had seen since the Queen Evalla. Her thoughts went to the dead queen of Ophred as the maids dressed her again in the morning garment. Ivala, a woman with beauty to match Volna's, had ruled the most powerful nation Tartth had ever known. Then, Volna smiled, why not another such woman, with hands strong enough and vision clear enough to grasp the chalice of power and drink deeply of its heady brew? Raitak, she was saying a few moments later.

She clapped her hands. The maids in waiting withdrew, giggling. Volna, Volna, said the big Ebarian ruler. You are glorious. Every Jek of the journey from the plains of Ophred across the ice fields of Nadea, I burned for you. He came very close to her. His face swam before her vision, a hard, strong, handsome,

face with the cruel eyes of a sadist. Fitting consort for a woman who would rule the world, his lips parted. Volna, smiling, placed her cool hand over his mouth. Then let me put out the fire, she said coolly, for we have much to discuss. But, princess, I hush. And what exactly were you doing on the plains of Ophred? Ritoch's big face flushed red. Then when he saw Volna was still smiling, he said, When we met last, you mentioned that two men stood between you and the throne of Nadia. Yes, said Volna, mocking him, turning swiftly with the light behind her, sending its bright beams through the white morning garment and outlining the seductive curves of her body.

Jomek is dead, Rhetag said simply. Still smiling, Volna slapped the big man's face ringingly. Ritok stepped back, startled. Fool! Volna hissed. I can call the guards. I can have you slain. But I, I did not say I was not pleased, but don't lie to me. That isn't why you slew, my brother. Well, man, is it?

Ritok bowed his head. Only in his eyes there was fury. We'll make a strange pair, Volna, you and I, he said passionately. Is it? Ritok shook his head slowly. You see, I knew it. I knew it was you when they told us Jlomek had been slain, and yet because I know you, and know too, how you are quick to passion,

I told myself you had not done it conscious. because I had suggested it to you. Fool, can I trust such as you? Only Bontark stands between you and Empire, and Bontark is a simple man. As you are a passionate man. Yet you need me, Volna. You need the strength of my arm and my army. What a pair will make!

Volna stepped into the embrace of his big arms and allowed herself. to be kissed. Retoc burned for her. He had said so. All men burned for her. She knew that. And before she was finished, every man of Tarth would kneel at her feet and called her queen. Rhetak drew back finally, breathing hard. Volna had for him only a cool, mocking smile. At last he said, There are some who might say Retok of Abaria killed the royal prince. Dolt, were you seen? Ritok shrugged as if it were not important. A band of wayfarers on the Euphidian plain.

They were so frightened they fled at once, after I had wounded the white giant. Volna's eyes flashed suddenly. There was someone else? You did not kill him? I tried to. He escaped, Princess. Then you are more a fool than I thought. But I begone. We can't be seen together too much. Take quarters in Nadia City and let me know where you are. You understand?

Yes, Princess. She allowed him to kiss her hand, then he withdrew. A few moments later, at her summons, the Seneschal appeared. Subtally, her face had changed. No longer was she the desiring and desirous princess. Instead she was a grieving sister, whose brother's body still lay in state in the royal palace. The seneschal, whose name was Procliam, bowed obsequiously. He knew that, by custom, the body of a royal nadian floated down the river of ice in the

company of two living servants, one man and one woman, who would perish with him in the place of the dead. He knew also that he had been Jlomek's favorite, and now lived in constant fear that the Princess Volna would decree that he, Proclium, must accompany his dead master on the journey of no return, to serve him in death as he had served him in life. "'Yes, lady,' the frightened Proclium asked. "'Bontark, our king, grieves mightily for the dead prince,' Volna said. said. All Nady agrees for Jlomek, Lady," Procliam said, and added hastily,

"'Although I must admit I do not grieve more than the next man. No, no, it is a mistake to think I was Jlomek's favorite.' Be that as it may. Bontark grieves, so that for a while at least some of the affairs of State will be in my hands. I hear and understand, Lady. Good. If anyone comes, anyone at all, whether wayfarers from Ophred or others, with news of how Jlomek died, they are to be brought at once to me. Is that understood? Yes, my princess, Proclyum the Seneschal bowed low once more.

Serve me well in this proclium, and you will be rewarded in measure. Proclyum smiled. I will be the personification of discretion, he said boldly, bearing his toothless old gums. Then perhaps I was still the rumors that you were the dead Jlomek's favorite. Proclaim dropped at the royal feet and touched his lips to the royal toes. Then he bowed out of the room. Volna stared for many moments at her beautiful face in the mirror. Queen, she thought. She said it aloud.

Queen Volna! End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 13 The Journey of No Return Earlier that day, in the ice fields half a dozen and Jex from Nadia City, Broth the Utalian had sprinted boldly across the snow toward the girl and her elderly male companion. This had taken considerable effort, because Brant the

Utalian had not been endowed with an abundance of courage. But Brantth was a poor man, as Utalia was a poor country. A bag of gold would be a veritable fortune to him. Like most cowards, Broth had one passion which could override his timidity. That passion in Broth's case was wealth. The old man was fumbling clumsily for his whip-sword when Broth hurtled at them. The girl screamed, Look out, Father Hammuth! Look out!

Bronth smiled. They would not see the smile, of course. Broth, a chameleon man, was invisible. They would see his footprints in the snow, true. They would know him for an Utalion and understand his invisibility, but still the advantage of invisibility would be his. It had always been so when a Utalion fought. It would always be so. Broth leapt upon the old man even as he prepared to strike out with the whip-sword. Broth was both naked and unarmed. The sword lashed whining at air a foot from his face.

Broth wrenched its haft from the old man's hand. Hammeth stumbled back. Broth swung the whip-sword. He was no duelist. A duelist would lunge and thrust with the whip-sword, allowing its mobile point some degree of freedom by controlling it deftly. A non-dualist like Bronth would hack and slash,

the deadly sword point whipping about, curling, slashing, striking. Hamlet held up his hands to defend himself. The whip-sword whined in the cold air. The girl screamed. Hammeth's right hand flew from his arm, and blood jetted from the stump. Hammoth sank to the ground and lay there in a spreading pool of crimson. His eyes remained open. He was staring with hatred at Bronth.

In a matter of minutes, Broth knew he would bleed to death. Broth turned on the girl. She stood before him, swaying. She had almost swooned, but as Bront approached her, she flung herself at him, crying Hammoth's name, and they both fell down in the snow. Bronth let the whip-sword fall from his fingers. Half a bag of gold for a dead girl, but the whole bag if she lived. She fought like a wild cat, and for a few moments Broth regretted dropping the weapon and actually feared for his life. But soon, his courage returning in his whole being contemplating the bag of gold, he subdued

the girl. She lay back, exhausted in the snow. "'Please,' she said, "'please, she said, please bind his arm. He'll bleed to death, please.' Broth said nothing. Ilya staggered to her feet, then collapsed and crawled on her knees to Hammuth. The blood jetted from the stump of his arm. He was watching her. A little smile touched the corners of his mouth, but pain made his eyes wild.

Brantt licked his lips. He had earned his bag of gold, and earning it, thought of more wealth. He thought, Why should I accept one bag of gold from a common Abarian soldier when there are millions of bags of gold in Nadia City? He could deliver the girl, who obviously knew something the abarians did not wish the nadians to know to Nadia City. He could sell her to the Nadians, or if the Abarians outbid them, then the Abarians. Bruised, her cloak and tatters, Ilya reached Hammuth. His eyes blinked.

He smiled at her again, smiling this time with his whole face. Then he turned his head away, and his eyes remained open and staring. "'You killed him!' Elia said, sobbing. Bronth dragged her to her feet. "'Lulu-Kee!' he called. "'Luloo-Kee!' "'Where was the boy?' Lulu-Kee did not answer.

Cursing, Bront stripped the corpse and dressed in its warm clothing. The blood on the right sleeve was already stiff with cold. "'Where could Lulu-Kee have gone off to?' wondered Brant. "'Well, no matter. They were only a few Jeks from Nadia City, where wealth awaited him. "'Come,' he said, he dragged the girl along. She looked back at the dead old man until a snowdrift hid him from sight.

After the Italian had dragged the beautiful girl beyond the ridges of snow, Luluki, the nadian, came down into the valley. He was a small boy of some sixty winters, who, like many of the nadians who did not come from their country's single large city, had lived on a small hard life as an ice-field nomad. He had seen an opportunity to profit in the service of Brant the Utalion, but had not expected this service to include murder. Thus, when the Italian had called him, expecting the boy to drag his supply sled down into the snow valley, Lulu Kee had remained hidden. Now, though, he made his way to the body of the dead man,

and, scavenger-like, went over it with the hope of turning a profit by Bront's deed. In that he was disappointed. Bront had taken the dead man's snow-cloak and his whip-sword. There was nothing left for Lulu-Kee's gleaning. He was about to turn and trudge back the way he had come, when he realized that if he did so, if he exposed himself on the higher wind-ritches, Brantth might see him. Therefore, he remained a long time with the frozen body of Father Hammuth, actually falling into a light slumber while he waited. He awoke with a start. He blinked, then cowered away from the apparition which confronted him. It was a man, but such a man as Lulu Kee the Nadian had never seen before, a superbly muscled man, a head taller than the tall aberians themselves.

"'Where's the girl?' the man demanded. "'I don't know, Lord.' "'How did this happen?' The man looked down with compassion at Father Hammeth's corpse. "'I only just arrived, Lord.' "'You lie,' the big man said. "'You were sleeping here. You tell me, or—' Luluki blanched. He owed no loyalty to Brant the Utalian. If indeed he remained loyal, he might be implicated in the murder of the old man.

He said, "'It was Broth, the Italian.' "'Where is he?' Going to Nadia City, I think. Alone? No, Lord, with his prisoner. A lovely woman. Ilya, the giant cried. You, how are you called?

I am Lulu-Kee of Nadia, Lord. Lead me to the city. Lead me after them. But, Lord, lead me. The giant did not shout. He did not menace of glower or threaten. Yet there was something in his bearing which made it impossible for the frightened Luluki to do anything but obey. "'Yes, Lord,' he said.

"'Tell me,' as they started out, the boy slid reluctantly left behind. "'Is this Bront the Italian in retox pay?' "'No, I don't think so. He works alone, Lord, reaping profit wherever he can.' "'And he took the girl unwillingly?' "'Yes, Lord.' Lord. He won't profit in this venture, Bram vowed. The wind howled behind them. Six Jex ahead of them was Nadia City. Can't you see I'm busy? Can't you see I have no time for the likes of you? Procly and the Seneschal whined in self-pity. Then make time, Brons said

boldly, his cowardice obscured by dreams of avarice. What I have brought through the ice-gates is important to your ruler. Bontark of Nadia, said the Seneschal haughtily, does not waste his time on every Utalian vagabon who reaches his court. True, but I assume Bon-Tark of Nadia wishes to know exactly how his brother, the Prince Jlomek, died. Proclyum fought to keep his puckered old face impassive, but his mind was racing and his heart throbbed painfully. Could the Utalian know anything about that? If so, and if he, Procliam, brought this

Bront before Princess Volna as she had ordered. Wait here, Proclyum snapped arrogantly. And keep your cloak on! We don't want invisible Utalians floating about the palace. Broth offered a mock bow. Proclyum turned to go, then whirled about again. If you're lying, wasting my time! Broth smiled unctiously. In the ante-room, being amused by your palace guards,

is one who has been on the plains of Ophred quite recently. So? When the Prince Jlomik was there, she saw him slain. "'Wait here,' said Proclyum a little breathlessly. He pushed the hanging aside and stalked down a corridor, and around a bend and up a flight of stone stairs. He was busy all right. That had been no lie. Preparations must be made for the funeral games of the Prince Jolomek, to which all the nobility of Tarth had been invited. But this obviously was more important. On this Procolum's life might depend.

Are they checking way past his Lord? Luluki asked the big, silent man at his side. Ahead of them, filing slowly through the ice gates, were hundreds of visitors entering Nadia City for the funeral games. A flat-bottomed aircar hovered overhead, Peltas leaning over its sides, ready. Guards flank the ice gates with drawn whip-swords, as if admitting the superiority of a barian weapon.

of war." "'We'll get through,' Bram Forrest vowed. "'Tell me, Lulu-Kee, if you brought a prisoner to the city who might be worth much to the Berrians but also to the nadians, and if you were intent on getting the biggest profit, where would you take her?' "'If I had great courage, Lord?' If you dreamed of reward. I would take her to the royal palace, Lord, to Bontark the king, or to his sister,

Princess Volna the beautiful, who, some say, is the real power behind the Nadian throne, although Bontark is a great soldier. They had reached the gate. Way passes, a bored guard said. Luluki mumbled something uncertainly. His heart beat painfully against his ribs. His brain refused to function. There was intrigue here.

He could sense that. More intrigue than he cared to have a hand in. As a nadian citizen, he owned a way pass, of course. But the giant? Obviously, the giant did not. Lulu Ki was sorry he had ever agreed to go along with Brant, the Italian. Now he only wanted to get out of the entire situation as quickly and safely as possible. He pointed an accusing finger at Bram Forrest.

He has no way pass, Lulu Kyi cried. The guard stiffened. their whip swords ready. They looked at Bram Forest. Overhead the air car hovered, its Peltas stationed there in the event of trouble, their slings poised. Ilya was in there somewhere, a prisoner. Bram Forrest spurned violence for its own sake, but Ilya might need him. Ilya, who had nursed him back to health when Ritok had left him for dead on the parched plains of Ophrid. Ilya the lovely. I'm going through, Bram Forrest said softly.

Don't try to stop me. For answer, the nearest guard let his left hand drop. It had been a signal. Overhead, the Paltas drew back their slings. Will you go in peace? The guard asked, his eyes narrow slits now, his right-arm tense to bring the whip-sword around. Bram-Forest waited. every muscle in his superbly conditioned body cried for action, but he would not initiate it. The guard pointed back along the path across the ice fields, where hundreds of visitors to the city were waiting impatiently.

Then go, he said harshly, before your flesh feeds the still birds on the banks of the river of ice. The guard raised his sword menacingly. Standing rigidly still and giving no warning, Bram forwarded. Forest lashed out with his left fist, hitting the guard in the mouth. Lips split, teeth flew, blood covered the guard's face. Someone screamed. The guard fell, but his companion lashed out with his own whip sword. Bram Forrest lunged to one side and grabbed the sword arm, twisting it.

The guard howled, dropping his weapon. Lulu Ki made a die for it. But the guard, his legs still free, kicked Lulu Key in the face. As he fell, his senses blurring, Luluki wondered why he had made that desperate, foolish attempt to help the big, silent man. He could not answer the question in mere words, but there was something about him, something about Bram Forrest, which drew loyalty from you even as the sun drew dew from the ground. Bram Forrest lifted the second guard by sword-girdle and scruff of neck and held him aloft.

The guard's arms and legs flailed frantically. No! He screamed up at the peltasts. No! But he had already unleashed their first volley of stones, pelting the helpless guard until he lost consciousness. Bram Forrest flung him aside, leapt over the first fallen guard's supine body, and plunged recklessly into the crowds, milling just inside the ice gates.

He went that way! A voice screamed. That way! Over there! There he is! It was an ancient city with narrow, tortuous alleyways and overhanging buildings and little-used passageways. The wide streets, the few there were, mobbed with people.

For all his size, the giant had disappeared. Lulu Ki picked himself up, dusted himself off, and showed his way past to the guard. The guard said nothing. He had lost three teeth and his mouth. was swollen, painful. Luluki sensed that somehow the little he had done to help Bram Forrest was all he would ever do for him. Yet he felt with a strange pride he did not fathom, that, although his role in the saga of the

mysterious giant had come to an end, it was the most important event in his life, and would remain so if he lived to be 600. He felt somehow, and could not explain why he felt this, as if in his small way he had done something to make the world tarth a better place in which to live. Whistling, he pushed his way through the crowds and was lost to sight, just as the giant who went before him. "'Branth of Utalia!' Proclaim the Seneschal proclaimed. Volna the beautiful nodded.

The dottering old Seneschal had already told her about the Italian. She was prepared to receive him now. If he knew what he claimed to know, if he knew the true details of the death of Prince Jlomac, then he must be silenced. Naturally, he wanted gold. They always wanted gold. But gold was not the way to silence them. Gold never worked. It only made them greedy for more. With Volna were, instead of her usual ladies-in-waiting, two discreet palace guards. Grinning, she looked at their whip-swords. That was the way to silence one, such as Brant the Italian.

"'He may enter,' Volna told the seneschal. Proclyum bowed out, saying, "'And, Princess, you will not forget.' No, proclium, I won't forget. You hardly knew the Prince Jlomek at all, did you? You certainly couldn't have been his favorite. Princess! Breathe the Sennishel tremulously as he withdrew.

A moment later, Brant the Italian entered the royal chamber. He wore a snow cloak. He was all but invisible except for the snow cloak. He was, eerily, a disembodied cloak floating through air. Although, noticed Vona, if you look Looked closely, you could see the faintest suggestion of a man's head above the cloak, as if you saw the rich wall tapestries of the room through a transparent, head-shaped glass. Likewise, the suggestion of arms and legs.

"'You are, Bront'?" "'And none necessary question, but Volna had not yet made up her mind what must be done. "'Yes, Majesty,' the cloak said in a different, but somehow unctuous voice. You are alone?" "'No, Majesty,' said the cloak. "'Then—a girl, a wayfarer of the plains of Ophred. I accompany her.'

"'And a story you have to tell?' "'I realize, Majesty, how the royal princess must grieve at the loss of her royal brother, the prince. I realize—to the point, man, get to the point. Are you trying to say you know how Prince L' Lomek was slain? You know who killed him?" Yes," said the cloak boldly, eagerly. Princess Volna smiled. Perhaps something in that smile warned Brant the Italian. But of course

the warning came too late. In a quick jerky motion the cloak retreated toward the doorway. Princess, Brons said, Princess Volna told her guards, kill him. Bront, the Italian, had time for one brief scream, which, if a sound could, seemed to embody all his frustrated dreams of wealth. Then one of the guards moved swiftly, his arm streaking out, the whip-sword in his hand lashed, blurring toward the cloak. Bright red blood welled, jetted. Brant the Italian's head, no longer invisible, rolled on the floor at Volna's lovely feet. "'Clean that up,' she told one of the guards. To the other she said, "'Now, fetch the girl.'

"'Mind Lord, I don't question you,' Haltax the Abarian said. "'But it's just, did you send the message?' Retak cut him off. "'As you ordered, sire, yes.' "'Good.' "'Sire, I hate inactivity. I loathe it. I am a soldier.' "'As I am,' said Retak slowly, his hard, cruel eyes staring at something Haltax could not, and would never be able to see. "'So we just sit here in this rented house in Nadia City, cooling our heels.

It doesn't make sense, sire.' "'Sence?' mused Ritok. "'What is sense? Is it victory and power for the strongest? Well, is it? Yes, Lord, Haltax responded. But— And you sent the message?

Our legions will come. Yes, Lord. Two days hence they'll be encamped on the ice-fields, three Jek's march from the city gates. But I don't see—you obey, Haltax. I see. I do the seeing. But I thought you—the Princess Volna—t together.

The princess can serve me now. If she can deliver Nadia without a fight, then Tartth is mine, Holtax, don't you see? In two days, all the royal blood of all the royal families of Tarth will be assembled here in Nadia for the funeral games. If Bontark's army doesn't interfere, then I will be master of Tartth. But if Bontak finds out, that Haltak's, said Retak with a smile, is why. Why you sent the message." "'My sire,' said the proud soldier Holtax humbly.

Soon thought Rhetak, all Tarth would call him that. My sire." Ahead of Bram Forest loomed the ramparts of the palace. He must hurry. He knew he had to hurry. He pushed impatiently through the crowd. Several times men looked up angrily and would have said something, but when they saw his face they turned away. What they saw in Bram Forrest's face made them afraid.

"'Madesty?' Proclyan the Seneschal said. "'Well,' Volna demanded, didn't the guard send you for the girl? "'Madesty, I was thinking. Well, Proclyum, what is it? Didn't you go for the girl?' "'Not yet, Majesty, begging your pardon. If you have something to say, then say it, and get the girl. Majesty, a seneschal knows the palace. It is his job. I warn you, Proclyum, I have little patience today.

Her anxiety was evident. No one wishes to be chosen, Proclyum blurted quickly, boldly. Even as I did not wish to be chosen to accompany the body of Prince Jlomac on the journey of no return, now that you have spared me in your royal benevolence, I thought I might in turn advise you. Yes, what is it, man? You should not have killed the Italian majesty. If it is ordained that a living man and a living woman

accompany the prince's body to the place of the dead, to die there with him, their spirits serving him in death, why choose from among the palace staff? We all have family. We all have friends. We all stand something to lose. But, Majesty, if you were to break with tradition, if you were to send instead two strangers

whose loss met nothing to the palace, the palace staff would love and revere you even more than they already do. Fauna's beautiful face smiled at him. He did not know what she was thinking. He never knew. No one did. She might reward him or have him sloth. on the spot.

Why do you tell me this proclium? She asked. For saving me when it was thought I would accompany. No, there must be another reason. If you do this deed, and if the palace and the people love you for it, and if the scepter of power

should slip from Bontark's hand to yours, and if, when it came time to select your prime minister, "'A-ha! We have an ambitious palace-butler.' "'But surely you—' "'Yes, Procliam, I understand. I won't deny it. Perhaps I had the Italian slain impetuously. But there's still the girl. I'll fetch her at once, majesty.' "'And if,' mused Vona, no longer aware of the Seneschal's presence,

We could find another stranger, a man to accompany the body of Prince Jlomac on the journey of no return, not only the palace, but the people as well would love me. A stranger. Take me to your king, Bram Forrest told the palace guard. The guard smirked. Do you think any stranger in the realm is granted an audience with King Bontark fool? It is a matter of life and death. But whose life and death?

Demanded the guard, roaring with laughter. Yours, idiot? It is about Ilya, the wayfarer. I know of no Illia the Wayfarer. Be gone, dolt! It is about Prince Jolomek. The guard's eyes narrowed. The word had been passed by no less a person than Procliam, the Seneschal,

that anyone with information concerning the death of the royal prince should be brought at once not to Bontark, but to Princess Vulna. Could the guard, could he, Porfus, do less? Very well, he said, come with me. Unarmed, but aware of his giant strength and the mission which had seen him spend the first hundred years of his life in a crypt on earth, Bram Forrest went with the guard. The way was long, through chambers in which priceless tapestries hung,

through narrow, musty corridors, into which the light of day barely penetrated, through rooms in which ladies-in-waiting and courtiers talked and joked, up bare stone stairs, and through heavy wooden doors, which porphus the guard opened with a key which hung at his belt. The doors opened slowly. Bram Forrest entered a large room. It was, he could see at a glance, a woman's bower. Someone was standing at the far end of the room in shadow.

He squinted. He took two slow steps into the room. He began to run. Ilya! Ilia! He cried. Too late he saw the fetters binding her arms. Too late he saw her bite savagely at something

and twist her neck and spit the gag from her mouth. Too late he heard her cry, Bram! Bram! Fram! Forest! Behind you! He turned barely in time to see Porfus the guard, his whip-sword raised overhead hilt first. He lifted his arm, but it was swept aside in the downward rush of the sword. Something exploded behind his eyes, and all eternity seemed to open beneath his feet. He plunged into blackness with Ilya's name on his lips. Unconscious, he was taken with Ilya through subterranean passages to the Royal Dock on the River of Ice.

The barge with Jolomik's embalmed body waited. It was very cold on the river. The place of the dead beckoned from the unseen end of the journey of no return. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape Chapter 14.

Land Beyond the Stars At first, Retoc the Abarion was too stunned by what he witnessed to think coherently. With the other Tarthians of royal blood, he had received an unexpected summons to appear at the Royal Dock on the River of Ice, and before he could even try to fathom what it was about, an escort of Nadian guards had come to fetch him. It was cold and murky on the banks of the River of Ice. The two men, Retoc and Holtax, had arrived barely in time to see them on fasting the hawsing of the royal barge. Curious, he pushed closer through the crowd of nobles. Suddenly, before the

barge was quite unmoored, as it swayed and rocked on the currents of the river, Nadian soldiers appeared with a platform on poles slung across their shoulders, the usual means of intra-city transportation for Nadian royalty. But this was no royalty RETOC saw on the platform, although they were dressed as royalty. The woman, conscious and bound hand and foot, was the virgin of the wayfarers who had witnessed Prince Jolomek's death. The man, unconscious, his head propped high on pillows, was the white giant who once on the plains of Ophred had almost strangled Retoc.

A hatred such as he had never known flashed through Retoc's brain. He was so close he could see the gentle up-and-down motion of the giant's chest as he breathed. Then beyond the platform he saw Volna. Volna smiled at him. The platform bobbed by was placed on the barge at the foot of Jolomek's beer. The remaining hawsers were cut loose. There was, Rhetak thought triumphantly, no return from the place of the dead. But still the white giant had recovered from what looked like certain death once, had vanished abruptly and fantastically when he would have died again. What was good enough for Volna the Beautiful

was not necessarily good enough for retok of a barrier. He watched only long enough to see the royal barge pushed out into the icy currents of the river. Then he turned and made his way to the second tier of observers, where Haltak stood among the lesser nobility

and the military officers of the planet Tarth. He found Hultax and whispered for a time in his ear. Holtax's face blanched. But, Lord, he protested, there is no return. It is obvious the man will die. You couldn't expect me to— Hultax, frightened, confused, could neither think clearly nor express himself properly. His mouth hung open.

Earlier Hultax, Rhetag said with a hard smile, You craved action. I give you action. Take a boat. There are some more down-rearrow. for the use of nadian priests on their religious pilgrimages to the banks where the stilt birds dwell. Overtake the royal barge. Board it.

Slay the man and the woman. But I—the place of the dead— Fool! History, talk. I didn't ask you to visit the place of the dead. That's up to you. If you slay them first on the river of ice and can bring back proof, but the longer we talk, the further they go.

You'll go?" It was phrased as a question. Actually, it was a command. Grim faced the whip-sword trailing at his side. Haltax left the crowd of soldiers and made his way downstream. A few moments later, he had pulled a wooden skiff out into the icy current and went down river in pursuit of the royal barge. The guards had unbound Ilius fetters on the barge, knowing she could never swim for safety

in the waters of the river of ice. She sat now at the foot of Jlomek's beer, with Bram Forrest's handsome head cushioned on her lap. It was very cold there on the river. Wind blue, rustling the reeds which grew along the bank. They had long since emerged from the river's underground cavern. The swift current carried them now through a country of ice, a tundra. The reeds, twice as tall as a man, seemed to thrive on the river banks. They swallowed everything. Bram Forrest opened his eyes and looked at her and smiled. He tried to sit up, wincing as pain-knifed through his head.

We seem to make a habit of this, he said, smiling again. Shh, you mustn't talk. She leaned close. He could smell the animal perfume of her body, like Musk and Jasmine. Impulsively, she kissed him softly on the lips. His arm went around her neck. He pulled her head down and drank deeply of her. "'Why?' she began all breathless.

"'Because I love you. I think I loved you the first moment I saw you. But I didn't know it then.' He laughed softly, gently, and she did not know why this should be so. "'Why do you laugh?' "'I was an infant, the son of the queen, of Queen of Queen of Queen of Queen of Portox the scientist fled with me, the last of the Royal Ophridian blood, to the other side of the solar system, to a world the twin of this, a world we never see because the sun always stands

between us, a world called Earth. There I would wait until maturity. There I would be given the strength and the wisdom I needed. And then I would return to Tarth and write the ancient wrong. Well, I have returned. I love you. It is enough, I want to think of the future, not the past. Ilya let him kiss her again.

Isn't it the same, the future and the past? Aren't they one? I too am of Ophridian blood, Bram Forest, of the lesser nobility. There are hundreds of us living nomadic lives on the Ophridian plains where once our great nation stood. I didn't know that. It wasn't in Portox's training. Now Portox is dead. I buried him on this world called Earth. He could not even come back to his native tarth. Darling, don't you see? That's exactly why the ancient wrong must be righted. Why Retok must

pay for his infamous deeds. So Portoc and the millions of other Ophridians, slain, all slain, can sleep eternally in peace. You are their champion. But revenge? What is revenge if you are the champion of the future too? Don't you see? Oh, don't you? Of all the unborn to-morrows when the Euphridian nation may live again? Of all the unborn to-morrows when the nations of Tarth can live together in peace and harmony?

Don't you understand that? It's funny. I tried to see my mother's face, Queen of Allah, but all I see is you. She's the past, Ilya, you are the future." He held her lightly. There is no future for anyone as long as retoc the Abberian rules and dreams of Tarth, all tarth as his domain. Bram Forrest stood up, the cold winds blew. He looked at the blue cold body of Jlomek, lying in state at the ice-choked river at the banks of rustling reeds. He did not have to ask where they

were. He knew. Perhaps, he said at last, I only mean that if I do this thing, it will be more to see that future generations live in peace than to bring vengeance on a power-mad aberian. Oh, Bram, that's what I wanted you to say. I wanted to hear you say that. For tomorrow, for all our tomorrhs." Bram Forrest walked her rail of the barge and gripped it, and looked out over the ice flows. He recited, "'An ape, a boar, a stallion, a land beyond the stars. A virgin's feast, a raging beast, a prison without bars.'

"'Why, what an unusual poem!' Ilya cried. Then—' "'Hold me close. It's so cold. And I'm afraid, Bram Forrest. Of the place of the dead? Yes, yes, the place of the dead. It and the poem are entwined, Bram Forrest said musingly.

I know they are. Together, they're my destiny. And the destiny of all, Tarth? Perhaps. Portoc's like to think so, I guess. I like to think so, Bram Forrest. She smiled up at him tremulously. and my destiny as well." "'Ilya,' he asked abruptly, "'what do you know about the golden ape?

You mentioned it to me once when you thought I—well, when you thought I endangered your virginity. Why, nothing beyond what the legend say? And what do the legend say?' "'It is written in the most ancient of our religious beliefs that the messenger to the place of the dead is a golden ape. Naturally, in these same beliefs, a defiled virgin is supposed to kill herself. Thus, in a way of speaking, she goes to the golden ape, you see? Bram Forrest smiled down at her.

What would you think if I told you the golden ape was real, if I told you that there actually was a place of the dead? For the spirits of the departed? Ilya asked in a very small voice. No. Man can't presume to know about that. It's in the realm of the gods. I mean a place which somehow borders on Tarth, and yet, yet is beyond the stars, a place which, when wayfarers returned from it miraculously long and long ago, gave rise to the legends. Borders on Tarth, yet beyond the stars, how can this be?

Portox found it and explained it with his science. Bram Forrest insisted. Earth and Tarth, twin worlds, yet so different, forever unseen one by the other on opposite sides of the sun. They're unique in the solar system, Ilya. Portoc's thought, if the memory he had planted in my mind is correct, that they're unique in the entire universe. Somehow, a million million years ago, a world's world's

split, becoming two worlds. But ordinary space—I don't know, the memory is confused, could not hold them. There is a warp of space, a place where space bends. Learn to master the warp and you go instantly from Tarth to Earth or back again. That was the way Portox brought me as an infant to Earth. He held aloft his arm, showing her the steel-silver disc. With this, I can travel back and forth at will. Without it, either Earth or Tarth would be my prison. His voice trailed off. Then he blurted,

A prison without bars. What? The prophetic poem. Part of the poem. Anyway, Ilya, Earth and Tarth exist at either end of this space warp, connected thus through normal space where there should be no connection. And someplace along the warp, where ordinary spacetime distances don't matter.

I'm sorry, Bram Forrest. I don't understand you. I'm not sure I understand myself. Tarth is a primitive world. It is beyond our science. It is even beyond the science of Earth, I believe, and Earth is a millennium ahead of Tarth in its development. But Portoc's new. Anyhow, some place along the warp, in ordinary distances along the spacetime continuum,

perhaps a billion light years distant from either Earth or Tarth, is a third world. On the warp it is very close. The river of ice leads to it. We call it the place of the dead. But the golden ape inhabits the so-called place of the dead. Their world was dying, but Portoc saved them. I think, the science is beyond me, the entropy of their galaxy was running down,

their world perishing, freezing, when somehow, with his great science, Portoc's claim for their use the unavailable energy in their thermodynamic system and saved them. "'Why do you frown so?' "'Words, words only. I don't understand. I can only act.' "'You can act,' Ilya said, hugging herself tight against him, for Tarth and the future. For Tarth and the future, Bram Forrest said, but he hardly heard the words. Ahead of them, in the cold, clear air, a wall seemed to rise. It came up so suddenly, and in fact the air had cleared so suddenly from the accustomed murkiness that Ilya was

afraid. It is in the legend, she whispered. The black wall, Bram Forrest, and beyond it the place of the dead. More accurately, an edge-on view of the space-warp, where it meets the normal world. But although he spoke the words of Portoc's, Bram Forrest did not sound too confident. We're coming closer to it, Bram. Hold me.

He held her. There was nothing else he could do. The current swept the barge on inexorably. The black wall reared ahead of them, frowned down at them, seemed to block off all the rest of the universe and all reality, whether of earth or of tarth. The barge penetrated the wall. Black and solid seeming, solid as stone, it yet offered no resistance. The barge disappeared within it. Behind the barge, rope trailing so close that its prow almost scraped the royal wood, was a skiff in which, shaking and afraid,

yet somehow triumphant because he had heard Bram Forrest's strange words was Holtax, the Abarian. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 15. The Golden Ape. Hultax the Abarian shook himself. He had lost consciousness as every nerve-ending in his body had screamed with pain. Did this have something to do with the warp, warping Bram Forest had mentioned? Haltax the Iberian did not know, but he did know that he was alive,

as alive as anyone could be or had a right to be in the place of the dead. And he did know, gratefully, that the intense cold of the river of ice was gone. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. He blinked his eyes, a balmy, pink-tinted sky, a pink sun, not on the horizon, when indeed the sun might be pink, but overhead. On the horizon, Haltex blinked again and thought he was mad, a second sun, smaller, paler, the ghost of green in color. The royal barge was in ruins.

It had piled up on some rocks. The beer of Jlomek, Prince of Nadia, had been thrown clear. He could see it on the bank, also in ruins. He stood up unsteadily, then waited through the shallow water in which he'd regained consciousness, over to the wreck of the royal barge. The fingers of his right hand were poised inches from the hilt of his whip-sword. Sleigh Bram Forrest and the girl, if the wreck hadn't already killed them. He shook his head.

Bram Forrest knew more about this strange place, this world of the pink sun and the green sun, than he did. He climbed over the wreckage and finally came upon the two bodies. He went down on his knees beside them. They were covered with blood. They were broken, broken being the only word that could describe them. They had been crushed, perhaps by falling timber, perhaps by the beer of Jlomel. as it hurtled over the side. There probably wasn't a bone in either of their bodies, at least

a major bone, which had not been crushed. They were dead. With a craftiness which surprised even himself, Haltax remembered the dead Bram Forrest's words. It was the bracelet with the shining disc which gave Bram Forrest the power to appear and disappear at will, as Ritok had described. Or, as Bram Forrest had put it, to journey between the worlds. Carefully, Haltex took the bracelet. It was miraculously intact from the crushed, broken arm of Bram Forrest's corpse.

He circled his own arm with it, and felt, or imagined he felt, an instantaneous source of power surged through his body. Without looking back at the broken bodies of the man and woman who had found love and finding it, died in each other's arms, he made his way from the riverbank across a pleasant green meadow. Far in the distance he saw a dark blur which looked like a forest.

It was many miles away, almost at the limit of vision. Yet, incredibly, it seemed to rush up at him. It was not merely that Holtax the Iberian walked with a warrior's long stride toward the forest. It was as if the forest rushed toward him. A different world. He remembered Bram Forrest's words vaguely. A warped world? Something like that?

Naturally, Haltak's was afraid. This was the place of the dead, wasn't it? But still, Bram Forrest's cool, if little understood, scientific explanation, quieted his fear. Besides, didn't he have the bracelet-disc amulet? What could happen to him now? By Lannus, the Golden Ape, only two thousand seven, hundred years old, quite young as golden apes went, saw the wreck of the barge from a great

distance. He extended his vision through warp space and spotted the tiny figure of a man trudging away from the wreckage. Bilanus squinted and shifted his buttocks on the saddle. Bilanus was fifteen feet tall and weighed eight hundred pounds. The steed he rode, about twice the size of an earth elephant, looked like a blown-up cross between a tarty in Stad and an earth horse. Bailanus stared, then sat up very straight in his stirrups. Something gleamed on the man's arm. Bailanus gaped.

It was the bracelet of Porthoc's savior. Bailanus used his will to psychokinocys the man. The man, still apparently trudging along, sped toward him. Bilanus climbed down from his stallion and prepared to bow, all fifteen feet and eight hundred pounds of him before the man. At first, Haltax could think only of fleeing. Abruptly before him stood a monster stad and a man. No, not a man, a men-like figure pelted with soft, smooth, lustrous golden fur.

The stad, the not-quite stad, was five times bigger than a stad had a right to be. The man, even as he unexpectedly bent before Hultax, was almost three times Hultax's height. Man? No, not a man. Hultacks rooted with fear to the spot, unable to run, opened his mouth to cry out. But his vocal cords were paralyzed. This was no man. It was the golden ape of legend, the golden ape of the place of the dead. "'Portok's savior,' said the golden ape quite distinctly. Then he pointed a forefinger, almost the size of Hultack's forearm, at the bracelet Hultack's war. Hultacks took a deep breath and could feel the strength returning to his legs.

Like all military officers, he was an opportunist. He had to be, for in battle one had to seize upon opportunity as soon as it appeared, if one were to win at all. Haltax said, his voice surprisingly steady, "'You may rise.' The ape did so. The stallion pawed the ground, and great clods flew. Hultax was trembling, but the ape, speaking in Hultak's own language, in the language of all Tarth, said,

"'Are you really from Portox?' "'It seems like only yesterday he was here, although, of course, your people and mine measure time differently.' I am from Portox, Haltak said. He wished he could keep his knees from trembling. Portok's Savior said that one day a man would come to ask us for help, even as Portox helped us in our time of troubles. The ape proclaimed.

Yes, Hultaks muttered. What kind of help do you wish? Haltak stared, saying nothing. He did not know what. what to say. He lacked the imagination to make something up. Somehow he knew it was terribly important. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that his life might depend on his answer. Well, the golden ape asked gently. I—that is—the ape's eyes narrowed as he looked down at Haltax.

You are from Porthox. Yes, yes, of course. I see you have the bracelet. Yes, here is the bracelet. And the cloak of Porthox? Demanded the ape. The cloak Porthox foretold you would wear. I... I lost the cloak in my journey, lied Holtax, not knowing about any cloak.

There, he thought. That ought to satisfy him. But the ape said, There was no cloak. No cloak? No cloak? I made that up to test you. You are not from Portox. The stallion pawed the ground and looked up and then down at Hultak's snorting.

Hultack's trembling wished he could melt into the ground. Still, Holtak said, shaking, I am from Portox. You tried to trick me. You—we shall see, the ape said still pleasantly. Come. The ground rolled, or so it seemed to Haltax. The forest loomed ahead of him, then trees were all around him, then they stood on a rolling plain again.

Where did you take me? The ape smiled. He seemed quite human, despite his size, despite his fur. The stallion pawed the ground impatiently. Behold, said the ape. Something on the fringe of the forest screamed. It was an awful sound, and it made the hackle stand upright on Haltax's bull-neck. He drew his whip-sword and faced the forest.

"'Well, man,' shited the golden ape, "'and do you need a weapon?' Portox told us we would know his man, because his man, unarmed, would be able to conquer the wild boar of the Kranuean wood. "'And you?' The screaming came again. Terrified, Holtax did not fling his weapon aside. Wild boar? What wild boar? Time enough later, to convince the ape.

The boar emerged. It was almost as big as a man and covered with dirty gray hair. Its tusks were two feet long. The stallion whinnied, but remained perfectly still. The golden ape waited and watched. The boar charged. Haltax's right arm blurred, and the mobile blade of the whip-sword whizzed through air and struck the boar's meaty shoulder. The boar screamed and came on. It was, Hultax realized in despair, only a superficial wound. The boar came on, bleeding, furious. He tried to lunge aside. He yanked at the whip-sword, and it came loose, making him lose his balance. The boar reached him, screaming. Never slackening its pace, the boar gored him and wheeled about, clods flying to gore

again. Haltak's voice bubbled in his throat. The bore was on him again, its tusks sharp as razors. Finally, it stood clear, nervously eyeing by Lanus and the stallion. Then it turned, and slowly, with great dignity, retreated into the Cranuian wood, which was its home. The man, Bilanus saw at a glance, was dead. As an impostor, he had deserved to die. Bilanus quickly dug a shallow grave with a large, sharp-edged stone and rolled the body in. As he did so, he noticed that the bracelet, the bracelet of Portoc's savior, or more probably a copy of that bracelet intended to trick him, had been battered, punctured, and broken by the bore. Even if it had been the real bracelet, the amazing steel-silver disk of Portok's

savior, it would now be useless. Sying, Bailanos buried it with Haltak's body. Bailanus mounted his steed and galloped toward the river. He could have psychokinicized himself there, but the day was brilliant and clear, and he was in no great hurry. At last he reached the wreck of the royal barge of Nadia. He did not pause to examine Jlomik's beer. He had seen such funerary devices before. Something in the wreck itself confused him. There was a man.

There was a woman. That fit the ritual, two servants to accompany dead royalty on its way. This was the custom of the nadians. But the man... On the man's crushed arm, the arm completely covered with blood, was a mark. It was as if something, say, a band of metal, had protected the arm at one point.

For circling the upper arm was a band of skin, not bloody like the rest, wide in the shape of a disc, then narrow all around. The bracelet of Portoc's savior, thought by Alanis, had this dead man worn it? Had the impostor, now slain by the wild boar, taken it from him? Oh, poor talk Savior! Poor talk Savior! How long dead! Am I too late? Is it too late for this man, your heir?

As gently as he could, the huge Bilanus lifted the two bodies and put them in his saddlebags. He faced the Cranuian wood astride. The stallion held its head up, alert, ready. They psychokinistized, and disappeared in a twinkling with Bram Forrest and Ilya. both of whom were dead.

End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 16. The Raging Beast Although once mighty Ophridia of Tarth, and certainly the nations of Earth, had outstripped by Lannus World and the physical science, science, the planet of the pink and green suns was supreme in biology. Thus had it needed

Portoc's help, a hundred Earth-Tartheon years before, when run-down entropy threatened its very existence. On the other hand, through biology, the science of Bilanus world had come a long way in the conquest of death and destroyed human tissue. So it was that with some faint ray of confidence by Lannis brought the two broken bodies to the single large city of this park-like planet. There, tenderly, he left them in the care of the specialists at the Regeneration Station, and began his long vigil. Sensation and movement. Hardly anything at first.

Bram Forrest dreamed of dreaming. The motion was gentle, warm, comfortable. The glow of life and not the cold breath of death. With it, with the first stirrings of regeneration, came the shadow of pain. But it was far away and almost impalpable. Pain understood rather than felt. And slowly the pain departed. There came a time when Bram Forrest realized he was not breathing, was indeed immersed in

liquid. He floated, helpless, serene, strangely content. with the first signs of impatience, strength flooded through his regenerated limbs. "'In every cell of a living creature's body,' Orro the biotechnician explained to bylanus, there is the potential for complete and perfect regeneration. For whereas the eye is an organ to see with, in every one of the millions of tiny cells making up the eye is the gene pattern, not merely for the eye, but for the rest of the body. theoretically then by Lannos, if we are given but a single intact cell of a living

or once-living organism, we ought to be able to reproduce the organism in its entirety. This is not supernatural. It is not creation of life. We can create nothing. The secret of creation is not ours here at this laboratory, but we have mastered the secret of recreation. Nurtured by the life-giving fluid, their development controlled by their own genes, the two human beings you brought are being made whole again." Bilanus nodded. Oro, the biotechnician, was loquacious and spoke quickly, confidently, with mild pedantic enthusiasm.

As for Bilanus, he awaited the regeneration of the man who had worn Portoc's savior's bracelet. He looked at the bodies in the vat, hanging upside down, floating head down, rocking gently in the warm, circulating life fluid. He waited. Bram Forrest took his first breath. The first thing he said was, Ilya!

Bailanus met them after the vat had been drained and a door had opened for them. He told them what had happened, including the death of Haltax. Then he added, As far as I am concerned, there can be no doubt as to your identity. But the bracelet is lost forever, and there will be some, who doubt your identity." Abruptly he seemed to change the subject.

How do you feel? Good as new, Bram Forrest said. He was naked, he was tingling with health and well-being, as if he'd awakened from a long, health-giving sleep. He looked at Ilya, her skin glowing, her hair gleaming, her glorious body, a shining promise. Then he frowned. Bylanus words took meaning. You want me to fight the boar of the Kranuean wood, is that it?" Yes," Bailano said. Bram Forrest shrugged. Coming here was not my idea, although Portok somehow realized it would be so.

Slay the Kranuean boar, proving your identity without question, and all the golden apes will be yours to command. Yes. But did Portox really feel I must wreak upon a barrack? and the Abarians the same destruction they brought to Ophridia? If I destroy RETAC the Abarion responsible for what happened a hundred years ago, wouldn't that be enough? I don't need the golden apes for that.

I can do it myself. I must do it myself." "'Tarth,' said by Lanus, is a world of warring nations. But here on the planet of two sons we live in peace. We are strong, but know not the meaning of warring nations. war. Is that what Portok's Savior wished for your people?" Perhaps, Bram Forrest said. Then, Ilya told him, speaking for the first time,

Even if you slay Retok, his legions will not willingly give up their arms. Bram Forrest nodded slowly. The idea of a Tarth-wide Holocaust did not appeal to him, but if all Tarth could be shown the folly of war when its most powerful army went down to defeat before the Golden Apes. "'Thank you,' Bram Forrest said humbly to the Golden Ape. He had a vision, almost mystical, of a time in the future, perhaps the near future, when all Tarth knew nothing but the ways of peace. When we return on the river of ice, we want you to accompany us.

I'm ready to meet your boar." Ilya held him, tears glistened in her eyes. "'Bram Forrest,' she said tremulously, "'now that I found you, I don't want you to be hurt ever again.' Bram Forrest responded, "'Don't worry, Ilya. If Portox had known I'd be more than a match for the boar, he never would have established its conquest as proof of my identity. "'But, but don't you see? You've been regenerated, as by Lannis said.

You may not be as strong as you were.' Bram Forest looked at Bilanus, who shrugged. Bailanus lifted them when Bram Forrest nodded. The park-like terrain flashed by, a dark forest loomed. The Cranuian wood. Close at hand, an animal screamed. How do I look, Procliam? Volna asked her seneschal.

He bowed before her. You are lovely, oh my queen! Volna smiled. She wore the royal purple of Nadia in a gown which fell, clinging as if sentient and voluptuous, to the wonderful curves of her body. "'I am not your queen yet,' she said, laughing. "'A mere formality, my queen.' "'I am Volna, virgin princess of Nadia, sister to Bontark the king.'

"'Ha!' snorted the old man. "'That is your official title. But what do titles matter? When this day ends, you will rule all tarth side by side with Retok the Abarion." Yes, Volna thought, with Retok the Abarion. But how long with that alliance last? Would either of them be content to share power with the other? Wouldn't there come a day when she would give the nod to Proclium, and the legions would march

against those of Abaria chanting, All power to Volna! All power to Volna the beautiful! The thought of power, power over strong men, over leaders of nations, made her giddy with desire. All the royal blood of Tarth was gathered in Nadia City now for the funeral games. She knew Ritox plan, her spies had confirmed it. Ritox legions would slay the rulers of the multiple nations and clans of Tarth, and one by one, stunned, leaderless, the small nations would flock to the banners of a barrier and

and Nadia. If, then, Rhetak had in mind to betray her and claim all power for himself, her own legions would be tested and ready. And Bontark, she thought, what of Bontark, her brother? As if he could read her thoughts, Proclium said, I have arranged the list for the dueling which will end the game's majesty. Bontark, as you know, expects a duel to the first blood with some competent whip-swordsman. Procline licked his thin, dry lips. He would be confronted instead by a duel to the death with Rhetak, the best swordsman of all tarth.

To flee would mean cowardice. The army would then be loyal to you, Majesty. To remain and fight would mean only one thing. Death, said Vona softly. She could hear the legions. The legions seemed to chant in her ears. All power to Volna the beautiful. She thought of the day's funeral games.

Games for the memory of Jolomac, the prince, indeed. They were games for her, for Volna. They would be a party celebrating the rise to power of Volna, virgin princess of Nadia. But, of course, neither Nadia nor Bontark, its rightful ruler, knew that yet. And when they did, Retoc and his legions would make sure they could do nothing about it. The games would be a feast, Volna's feast. All power to Volna.

The Kranuian bore came screaming from the forest. Its small, close-set eyes found Bram at once. If it had seen by Lannus and Ilya, it ignored them. Four hundred pounds of muscle and sinew, it made stomping and pawing for Bram. He sidestepped nimbly, saw the massive head go down, felt one of the the wicked tusks brush his thigh with fire. He stumbled and almost fell. If he fell, he would not rise again. The boar would finish him first. Bram Forest! Ilya screamed. He got up and grasped the tusks. He was dragged along,

furrowing the ground. The huge head snorted close to his own. The boar's breath almost made him gag. Then, before the boar could smash him into a tree trunk, he let go and rolled over and over and quickly stood up. The boar did not wait for him to regain his breath, but came charging at once. This time Bram Forrest waited until the last possible instant before the tusks would impale him. Then he leapt, twisting around in air. It was a prodigious leap and brought a word of exclamation even to Bilanus lips. He landed on the hard-muscled back of the boar and at once clamped his knees firmly against his its sinewy flanks as if he had been trained all his life for this job.

The boar reared and bucked and swung its great body from side to side, trying to dislodge its tormentor. But Bram Forrest clung as if all tarth depended on the outcome of this contest, as perhaps it did. The boar ducked its head. Bram Forrest fell forward, but his knees locked. The boar rolled over, but moving so swiftly that the eye could hardly follow him, Graham Forrest squirmed out from under and was seated astride again when the boar got to its feet.

Then, leaning forward, Graham Forrest grasped the two tusks and began to pull the boar's head up and back toward him. The animal screaming became squealing. Slowly the head went back. The short, almost non-existent neck strained, the beady eyes darted. Then there was a loud snapping sound, and the boar squealed once and fell over on its side with a broken neck. Bram Forrest, panting, the muscles of his legs quivering, stood clear. Bylanus touched his great golden head to the ground. Ilya ran to Bram Forrest and flung

her arms about his neck. "'I was afraid,' she said. "'I was so afraid you would be hurt.' Bram Forrest kissed her. She clung to him, sobbing his name when their lips parted. Finally, Bram Forrest disengaged himself and said, "'The poem, Ilya, we've seen an ape, a boar, a stallion. This world is the land beyond the stars. But was the boar also the raging beast?' Ilya shrugged. Bailana stood up and told Bram Forrest,

"'The golden apes are ready to serve you in any way you wish.' Three worlds, Bram Forrest thought, one which Portox had saved from doom, one which had been the haven in which Bram Forrest had grown to manhood, and one in which all their destiny soon would be written. Then Tarth thanks you, Bram Forrest told the golden ape by Lanus. "'Assemble your fighters. We are going back up the river of ice.' "'Tunadius City?' Ily asked. Bram Forrest nodded grimly.

To Nadia City and Retok. Bontark, king of Nadia, asked his royal guest, You liked the game so far? They sat with Princess Volna in the box of honor at the amphitheater of Nadia. I, I liked them, Bitoch said slowly. But, sire, I would like them much better if they were not to commemorate the passing of your noble brother, the Prince Jlomek. Bontak nodded his head in gratitude. That was well-spoken, Ritok, he said.

Ritok went on. Have you any idea who killed him so treacherously? Jolomek was not a fighting man. None, Bontark admitted. He missed entirely the smile which passed between Ritak and Princess Vona. Well, Bontak said after a while, If you will excuse me, I must go down below to prepare for the dueling. Under the circumstances I'm hardly inclined to participate in the games, but my people expected

of me. "'Yes, brother,' Volna said softly. "'They do, oh, they do.' And Bontark went. Ritok looked at Volna. "'I'd best get ready myself,' he said. Vona nodded her lovely head. A blood-lusting animal cry welled up from a hundred thousand throats as the gladiators of

Nadia marched out across the sands of the amphitheater to do battle with the fierce snow-sloths of the plains of ice. While several Jek's from the gates of ice, Rhetox legions waited. "'Wait here,' Bram Forrest told by Alanis, who had led them safely, along with the vanguard of the Golden Apes, back up the river of ice. What will you do, Brown Forest? According to Ilya, we can trust Bontark of Nadya. He's a fighting man, but he craves peace for all Tarth.

I'm sure of it, Ilya said. Bontark didn't send us to the place of the dead, Princess Volna did. And long ago, according to the stories the wayfarers of Ophred tell, Bontark and your mother, Queen of Avala, were allies striving to establish universal peace throughout Tarth. Besides, despite his civility and fairness, Bontark loses no love on retalk of a barrier. "'And if you need us?' Bilanus asked.

"'We'll get a signal through to you,' Bram Forrest said. With Ilya, he climbed into a skiff and pulled it out into the river. Now the riverbanks were deserted, except for the solitary stilt birds, tall as men, waiting out into the frigid water, their low-pitched calls, all but swallowed by the sound the cold wind made rustling through the river rushes. After a while the skiff came to a bend in the river. It was the last turn before the gates of ice and Nadia City. Here the wind blew more strongly, and there was a section of rushes which had been cleared,

cut probably by an ice-fields nomad who would use the tall rushes as fuel. "'Look!' Ilya cried suddenly, startled. Through the gap in the rushes at a distance of two or three Jek's across the flat plain from the river, Bram Forrest saw an armed encampment. There were tents with flying standards, tethered stads, pyramids of stacked spears like hayricks, and pacing sentries. "'What can it mean?' Ilya asked. "'Those standards are a barian.'

Retok, Bram Forrest said. He lifted the pole and felt the mud of the river bottom cling to it before it came clear. He allowed the skiff to drift toward the bank. Retox's planning treachery. We'll have to go back and alert the golden apes. Bailanus and his apes can destroy Retox legions before they even march on Nadia City. But we can't go back, Bram. If Retok's army is here, ready, then what's happening in Nadia City?

Who can say what Retok is doing? You'll have to go ahead and stop him, or at least delay him. I'll go back for Bilanus. Bram Forrest shook his head. I can't let you go alone, Ilya, not with the Iberian legion so close. But I must, don't you see? Bram Forrest frowned. There did not seem any other way, but...

but he was reluctant. I love you, I couldn't let... What happens in Nadia City today is more important than our love, Bram Forrest. What would our love mean if Retok the Abarian ruled all tarth? Then you take the skiff, Bram Forrest said finally. I can make my way to the city along the bank. No, the army is still encamped. They won't do anything for some time yet.

See? all their tents are still standing. That was true enough. Besides, Ilya went on, we don't know what Retok is planning in the city. You can reach it faster by Skiff. I'll go back for bylanus on foot.

The logic of what Ilya said could not be refuted. With sinking heart, Bram Forrest helped her from the skiff. He kissed her quickly. I love you, I, he said. And I love you, Bram Forrest.

Be careful. Keep hidden in the rushes. Tell by Lannis to use his judgment in attacking or waiting for Ritox legions to make the first move. Elias pretty head nodded. Then she ducked into the rushes and was gone. Bram Forrest looked after her until the rustling and the rushes stopped. Then he pulled the skiff once more out into the center of the river and sped swiftly toward the gates of ice.

No one stopped him. No guards were posted. He beached the skiff and sprinted through the gates and through the city and up its biggest hill toward the amphitheater. Then, only a Jek's distance away, he heard the crowd at the funeral games. They roared suddenly, in a frenzy of excitement, and another part of Portox's poem slipped into place. The crowd watching the games in Nadia city was the raging beast, blood-lusting, expectant, animal savage, whipped into a fever of goggle-eyed enthusiasm and ready to move en masse in whatever direction a strong leader might push them. A strong leader. Retock or Bram Forest? Which one? Purim the Abbarian shifted his weight uncomfortably, leaning down on the haft of his spear.

The whole idea of posting pickets along the bank of the river seemed unnecessary to him. They could not actually see the river through the rushes, and they dared not go closer, for fear of being spotted by whatever traffic moved on the icy waters. Then what was the point of them standing here, half frozen with the cold, waiting for an assailant who would never come? And while he was thinking thus, the girl virtually walked into Pyrham's arms. At first he heard a faint rustling in the rushes, and before he could investigate, the tallest of the dry plants had parted, and a lovely, brown-skinned girl appeared. She turned to run, but Pyram caught her in his muskid her arms and held her despite her struggles. She bit his arm, and with an oath he caught her hair

and twisted her head back. "'Who are you?' he said. "'Who are you, eh?' The girl glowered at him. Pyrum dragged her along. She continued to struggle. Shaking his head, he hit her on the jaw with his fist and caught her before she could fall. Then, swinging her up over his broad shoulder, he stalked through the rushes toward Nadia City. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Quest of the Golden Ape. Chapter 17. The Prison Without Bars No one tried to stop Bram Forrest until he reached the very gates of the amphitheater.

But there a guard with drawn whip-sword barred the way and demanded, "'You don't look nadian to me. What delegation are you with, man?' Bram Forrest had no time to parry words with words. He tried to push his way past the guard, who, too surprised to thrust with his weapon, used his free hand to grab Bram Forrest by the shoulder and spin him around. Brown Forest drove his left fist into the guard's belly and heard the whoosh of air escaping from his lungs. That was the last thing he heard for some time.

A second guard crept up quietly behind him and struck expertly with the hilt of his whip-sword just behind the left ear. Bram Forrest fell as if the ground dropped out from under him. By all the fiery gods of Tarth! Will you look at that? The first guard exclaimed. The second guard could only gawk, not comprehending. The unconscious man was growing tenuous.

The first guard in confused alarm lashed down with the whip-sword, but its point passed through Bram Forrest's now transparent body without meeting any resistance. "'Right through him! Right through him!' cried the guard. And by the time he said it and coiled his sword again, Bram Forrest had vanished. When an urgent message had come for Retoc, the Princess Volna, alone in the royal box, had decided to investigate the matter herself.

She had to hurry, though. In not many minutes Retoc and Bontark would find themselves face to face on the sands of the amphitheater. Wouldn't Bontark be surprised? Too proud to flee, not swordsman enough to match the mighty Retok. "'Yes, yes, what is it?' She snapped irritably when she entered the dungeon like Ready Room below the amphitheater sands. She was in a hurry to return to her box, lest

she missed the duel between Bontark and Retok. Alone in the Ready Room was a soldier in the uniform of Abaria. "'Begging your pardon, ma'am,' said the soldier, "'my message is for Retalk of Abaria.' "'And I tell you Retok of Abaria is not here to receive it.' Volna clapped her hands and two of her own guards appeared. I am the Princess Volna, well?" Pyrrim looked at her, at the armed guards flanking her on either side, at the door through which she had entered at the ready-room's second door.

Very well, he said at last, and opened the second door, beckoning. Volna went to the doorway and looked. She gasped involuntarily, hardly able to believe her eyes. There, on the stone floor of a smaller ready-room, only now regaining consterned, consciousness was the Virgin Wayfarer of Alfred, who had seen Retox Slage Lomek, she who had been sent by Volna herself to sure death on the journey of no return. Terror gripped her. "'What does this mean?' Volna cried.

"'Where did you find her? Where, man? speak.' "'On the river, ladyship.' "'On the river? Returning from the place of the dead?' "'No, ladyship, heading toward the place of the dead.' of the dead. Volna went to the girl and stood over her.

You, what's your name?" Ilya, the girl said. What were you trying to do, Ilya? The girl said nothing. Volna called to Piram, who came at once. Hit her, Volna said. Grasping Ilya by her hair, Pieram struck her face with his open hand. Her head snapped back.

The mark of his fingers was on her face. She said nothing. "'Hit her again,' Volna said." Piram struck Ilya a second time. The girl whimpered but held her tongue. "'Where is your friend, that giant of a man?' Volna asked. Again Pieram hit Ilya when she would say nothing.

Finally Volna shrugged. "'She'll talk, given enough of that. What's your name, man?' Piram, ladyship. Very well, Pieram. My guards and I are returning to our seats. There is a duel I wouldn't want to miss. All tarth will reap its consequences.

Meanwhile, stay with this girl and do what you must do to make her talk. It might be important." Pieram bowed. Yes, Ladyship, he said and watched the others depart. Then when they were alone, Ilya surprised him by flying at him, nails bared, like a wildcat. He fought off her attack and struck her a savage open-handed blow, and she fell back. At least this, Pyrr of thought advancing on her, might be an interesting assignment. Hit by that cab, Mac? You all right? He's getting up, ain't he?

Geez, I swear! The sweating taxi driver said to the crowd, which had gathered about the prostrate man, he popped up out of nowhere. One second I'm driving along, looking for a fare. The next, he's standing right in front of me. I almost pushed the break through the floor, honest, but... Ilya, the stricken man said. Hey, now, take it easy. What'd he say, anyhow? Be going to a costume ball or something.

Look at that outfit he's wearing, will you? What's he supposed to be? A man from Mars or something? I read the papers where Mars was pretty close a while back. My kid thinks there are... I shout up about your kid. Need any help, mister? No, no thank you.

I'm all right. Got a nasty crack on his head is all. See? See the blood? He's getting up. A cop. When you don't want them, they're around. Now you need them. Where in the heck are they?

That's what I want to know. The bracelet, the stricken man said in sudden alarm. He stared at his own right arm in confusion, then his left. His arms were bare. "'You wasn't wear no bracelet, Mac,' someone said. "'No bracelet,' he said. "'No bracelet.' His eyes looked vague, confused.

After a while a policeman came and took in the situation at a glance. "'All right, all right,' he bawled. "'Step back and give him air, give him air, will you?' The crowd dispersed slowly, and the policeman talked for a while with the taxi driver, then with the stricken man. "'My name?' The stricken man said in answer to a question, Bram Forrest.

Yes, Bram Forrest. But I don't have the bracelet. The bracelet is gone forever. Without the bracelet, I can't... His voice trailed off. He drunk, the policeman asked the cab driver. Search me. A prison without bars, the man recited.

Earth is my prison forever. Ilya. Ilya. Ilya. The driver made a circular motion with his forefinger in the general vicinity of his temple. "'You both better come down to the station house with me,' the policeman said. "'Oh, officer, I'll lose some fares.' Anyhow, the guy talks batty, but he don't look drunk. We got to figure this here out.

"'Elia,' the man said, almost as if the sound were a name, and he was crying out to the owner of that name across an unthinkable abyss. Bontark, king of Nadia, felt as good as could be expected under the circumstances. Now that the first shock of bereavement had passed, he knew no morning would bring back his dead brother Jlomek. And the son of Tarth was hot on the amphitheater sands, as Bontark stood awaiting his as yet unknown adversary. He flexed and uncoiled his whip-sword, smiling in expectancy. He was a competent swordsman, among the dozen or so best in nature.

The duel to first blood would be just what he needed. Win or lose he'd feel a lot better afterwards. And meanwhile he was a king, wasn't he? The adulation of the crowd swept down all around him, lifting his spirits. The corpse of Prince Jolmec, treacherously slain, seemed very far away, as indeed it was. A roar of expectancy went up from a hundred thousand throats as Bontark's adversary appeared at the other end of the arena. The sun was dazzling.

At first, Bontark saw the swordsman only as a dot across the gleaming sands. But now the roar of expectancy had turned to a groan of dismay, which was followed by a silence, as of death, then an eager whispered buzzing. Why should this be? Why? The figure came closer on the burning sands.

Bontark squinted. Was it possible? He felt a tremor go through his body. It was Retok of a barrier. To the death, Bontark, Ritok said softly, savagely as they approached. Bontark shook his head imperceptibly. He was no coward, but he knew he was no match for Retak and didn't see why he should lay down his life on the amphitheater sands.

I'll not fight you to the death, Ritok of a barrier, he said. Ritok shrugged as if it weren't very important. Well, he said slowly, if you don't want to kill the slayer of your brother. Bontar charged, laughing, Ritok was ready for him. Please, please, you're just wasting your time. I won't tell you. No, Pyrrham said, panting. He saw the girl through a haze of anger, frustration,

and desire. She was naked, her lips were bloody, but her eyes still flashed defiance. Pyrrham, like most Abarians, was something of a sadist. Oh, you'll talk, he said. You'll talk. Never. He dug his strong finger cruelly into her tender body. Bram Forrest! she cried. The policeman behind the desk was saying things. Bram Forrest heard. heard the droning voice, but not the words. Ilya, he thought. Ilya.

A moment before, he actually believed he heard her cry out to him in pain. But that couldn't be. Besides, what could he do about it? He was trapped forever on earth, without the bracelet which could send him, almost on the wings of thought, back to Tarth, to Ilya, to his destiny. I love you, girl of Tarth, he thought. I love you, Ilya, more than words and more than worlds." Something whisperingly cold plucked at him, and for an instant his heart was stilled.

Ilya, could his love for the girl of Tarth draw him across the unthinkable abyss? I'm modestly attired, and—the death sergeant was saying, Ilya, Ilya, call me. Draw me to you, girl of Tarth. Bram Forest, help. I hear you. I hear you. What the heck's he doing? Praying, the patrolman asked. For Bram Forrest was staring devoutly at nothing, staring at the air in front of his face,

there in the mundane precinct room as if it held a radiant vision. Suddenly, the desk sergeant's jaw dropped open. The patrolman said, Hey, wait a mo... Bram Forest was becoming tenuous, vanishing. Insubstantial, transparent, the image of Bram Forest soared past the encampment of the golden apes. Bidlanus, he called, and his voice was not insubstantial.

Balanus came at once. If the Abberian legions move, attack them, Bailanus. As you will, Bram Forrest. But you. Don't worry about me. I can control it. I can control it.

Bailanus passed an enormous hand through Bram Forrest's body. I'll materialize when I find Ilya. She draws me. Already the vision was fading. Farewell, Bram Forrest. Farewell. Was it merely the sound of the wind along the banks of the river of ice? by Lannis wondered.

Something struck Pyrrham's shoulder. The girl crouched, sobbing at his feet. Pierham whirled. His face went white when he saw the man. He swung his fist desperately, and the man blocked it without effort. His arm was caught as in a vice. He screamed. Something snapped in his arm.

Something streaked at his face. He took the blow from Bram Forrest's fist under the point of the jaw. His head snapped back against the dungeon wall, and memory and desire and lust and life oozed out through his smashed skull. "'Ilya! You came, Pram Forrest! I'll never leave you again. Yes, now, in the amphitheater, I think—'

Overhead the crowd roared. Bram Forrest listened for a fraction of a second and raced for the stairs. When word of the duel between Bontark and Retoc came by courieres, to Logrim, second in command of the Abarian Army, under the missing Haltacks, Logrim decided it was time to attack. He gave the signal for his army to march on the city, and the signal was passed from signal fire to signal fire in the huge encampment. In a very short time the army's vanguard began to march. There's no force on all tarth strong enough to stop us now,

Logrim thought exultantly. This day, Retoc would rule Tarth. He was right. There was no Tarthian army strong enough to stop them. But the army of the Golden Apes, which, after Bram Forrest's warning, had deployed itself at the very gates of Nadiah city, so the people in the amphitheater might witness the battle was not of Tarth. "'Well, Bontark!' cried Ritok. "'Can't you do better than that? Surely a king!' For many minutes now, Ritok, the finest swordsman on Tarth, had been toying with his adversary. He could have killed Bontark a dozen times over, but he waited, driving the Nadian ruler back, playing with him, making him do incredible gymnastics in order

to survive, three times returning his whip-sword to him when it had been torn from the nadian's hands. All Nadia and all the rulers of Tarth watched spellbound. It seemed to them that the Nadian ruler had gone into the contest willingly. They had been made no move, and under the ethics that govern their world would make no move to stop the uneven contest. Ritoch's blurring sword-point whipped and flashed, drawing blood from a dozen superficial wounds. The smile never left Ritoch's face.

Desperately, knowing his life was forfeit whenever Retoc chose, Bontark parried the whip-lashing blade. Bram Forest emerged into the dazzling sunlight of the arena floor, squinted. He saw the figures across the sand. The men before him were Bontark of Nadia and Rhetak, slayer of his mother, destroyer of Ophredia. Ritok saw him first and cried out exultantly. His wrist blurred, his whip-sword flashed, the point singing, and Bontark's sword flew from his fingers. You! Ritok cried. The sword point had slashed an artery on Bontark's wrist. The blood spurred it out, and Bontark stood there, dazed, holding the wound shut with his left hand.

"'Are you all right, sire?' Bram Forrest asked. "'I can manage until a doctor binds.' Bram Forrest picked up the Nadian ruler's whip-sword and faced his enemy, sword to sword at last. Ritok looked at him and laughed. "'I almost killed you once,' he said. His hand barely seemed to move, but the point of his blade. whipping, flashing, was everywhere. Bram Forrest parried desperately.

I'll finish the job now, Retok vowed. Then Bram Forrest did an unexpected thing. He used the whip sword, not as a sword. He couldn't hope to match Retok's skill as a swordsman. He used it as a whip is used, his great arm slicing back and forth through air, up over his head and down. The long length of the uncoiled blade whipping and darting like something alive across the sands. Ritok retreated two steps and lunged with what he hoped would be a death blow. Prokley and the Seneschal was trembling so much he could hardly stand. Just outside the amphitheater, in the very shadow of the amphitheater wall, the great

golden apes of legend had materialized. There were thousands of them, and they were three times the size of men, and methodically and with great ease they were destroying the Abarian army before it could enter the amphitheater. Without the Abbarian army, Volna and Retoc would never subjugate Nadia, never rule Tarth. But Procliam, the Seneschal, had committed himself to their cause. Now only death awaited him. Or had he committed himself? Couldn't he change sides before it was too late? couldn't he slay Volna here in the royal box for all to see? Couldn't he become a hero of the people?

He was confused. He wished he could think clearly, but he was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. There was something wrong with his logic. Something—well, no matter. Slave Volna first, call her traitor, and then worry about his logic. He turned away from the wall and marched down the flights of stairs between the men. the citizens of Nadia, flanked in two wildly shouting mobs on either side of the aisle, and plunged a knife into Volna's back, killing her instantly. The people roared and rose up. Like a tide they swept toward Proclium, the seneschal, who had wanted to be Prime Minister.

No, no! he cried. No, please! You don't understand. I see it now. What was wrong with my thinking? You don't know yet. You don't know. To you she was still the Princess Vona, loyal, true. You don't understand, please!' The wave rolled over Procliam the Seneschal, leaving him battered and bloody and dead in its wake.

The strong whipping motion of Bram Forrest's arm made a wall of steel of his whip-sword. Try as he might, with all the skill at his command, Retok could not dent that wall. But he thought there was another way. Slowly, desperately, he maneuvered Bram Forrest back toward Bontark, who was sitting in the sand and using all his remaining energy to hold the lifeblood in his veins, his fingers clamped, vice-like, about his own arm. Bram Forrest's arm blurred up, down to either side. He wove a web of death. It was brawn against

skill he knew, and the strength of his arm might win. RETOC was sweating. RETOC was not the cool swordsman he had been moments before. Desperately RETOck sought an opening and found none. True, his superior footwork was forcing Bram Forest back across the sand. But what did that matter? Last time they dueled he had made the mistake of meeting Ritok on his own grounds as great as swordsmen of Tarth.

This time his legs caught against something. He fell heavily. Ritok's swordpoint flashed down. Bram Forrest rolled over, stood up with sand blinding his eyes. For precious moments he could see nothing, but could only spin with the whip-sword, slashing air in all directions, hoping Ritok couldn't strike through the wall of steel. Then slowly vision returned to his stinging eyes. Bontark lay stretched out on the sand now, unconscious, the blood pumping from

from his severed artery. If he bled like that for more than a few moments, he would die. If he died, and if Nadia rose in its wrath against Abaria, then all that Bram Forest had dreamed of, not revenge against Abaria for a wrong done, but eternal peace on tarth would be lost. He took the offensive, weaving his wall of steel toward Retok. The Abarian thrust his own sword and withdrew it and parried and lunged to and thrust again. The wall of steel which was Bram Forrest's singing blade advanced relentlessly. Round and round his head, Bram Forrest whirled the whip-sword. Ritok could, just, block the motion, the death-laden circle, with his own blade. He became accustomed to it. He used all his effort,

all his skill to block it. Then abruptly, Bram Forst raised his sword arm and brought it down from high over his head. Retoc screamed, and died screaming, his head and torso split from crown to navel. Bram Forrest rushed to Bontark, stretched out on the sand, and with his own hand stemmed the bleeding. Bailanus the golden ape said, "'All Tarth is yours to command if you wish it, Bram Forrest.' "'No, bylanus, take your people back to your world and live in peace. We of Tarth, thank you. Bailanus smiled. I thought you would say that."

Portox was a great scientist, Bram Forrest said, but he thought too much of revenge. The ancient wrong is righted. Then you'll spare a barrier? gasped the delegate of the assembled Tarthian nobles, could come to the meeting called by Bailas that night. My fight was with Rhetak and the the Abarian army. Rhetak is dead, the army decimated and disbanded. My fight with a barria is over."

Then what will you do?" Bram Forrest took Ilias hand. I'd like to see a great nation rise again on the plains of Ophred." Bontark, his arm bandaged, said, My people will help you build, and, with your wayfares as a nucleus, made Ilya. It will be a small nation at first," Ilya said. It will grow so long as Tarth knows peace, Bontark told her. Tarth will know nothing but peace from now on, Bram Forrest promised.

It was a promise which he knew all of them would keep. The End of Quest of the Golden Ape by Randall Garrett.