"Yes, but does Ganelon know in which direction Jemmerdy lies?" inquired the Illusionist. "The dear boy is not the brightest creature that ever trod Old Earth, you know!"

"Well, please, someone make up their mind. Tell me in which direction to fly," begged the Prince of Valardus.

"Oh, very well! Just fly iri an ever-widening circle, with Chx in the middle, until I am able to spy Ganelon's aura on the Astral plane," said the Illusionist, despairing of a better plan.

They flew in a lazy spiral, gradually drawing further and further away from the Scarlet City. An interminable vista of farmlands and woods, plains and fields swung beneath them under the glittering stars and the awful cyclopean glare of the Faffing Moon.

83.

The Illusionist sat in the foremost of the bucket-like seats of the kayak, the cowl of his robe drawn up until it covered his face, the better to employ his powers of vision on the Astral.

Around and around they swung, until then* spiral had widened to a width of many miles, with the walled city of Chx a clutter of miniature houses far off. No sign of Ganelon Silvermane could be perceived. The Illusionist said nothing, but inwardly he wondered how Ganelon could have come so far, unless he had indeed been mounted on the Bazonga bird. If such proved not to be the case, was it possible that the heroic Construct was dead? At death, the Astral counterpart of the physical body departs for a higher plane of being, to rejoin the Soul, the Spirit and the Zaliph. This is the innermost soul-of-souls, usually resident on the Akashic plane. From the viewpoint of the Akashic, time past, present and future is seen as one continuous palimpsest, he knew. He could not believe that Ganelon Silvermane had been slain. However, every hour their flight continued in an ever-widening circle, it became less likely that the mighty youth could have come so far unaided.

Suddenly, Xarda uttered a stifled shriek. Erigon. voiced a startled cry and paddled frantically, as if striving to avert a collision. The magister, whose physical eyes were m.u.f.fled to insure his higher vision a clearer, un-confused vista, s.n.a.t.c.hed back his cowl and blinked into the wind.

Directly ahead, swinging towards them, an immense flying monster loomed with spread wings black against the argent immensity of the Fallirig Moon.

THE OMEGA TRISKELION.

Very early the following morning, Silvermane, accompanied by his escort of metal men, went out on the exercise field and worked himself into a sweat with the p.o.r.noi, the yarmak and the war-hammer. He still felt just a trifle sleepy from the narcotics in his wine at dinner the night before, and it was a pleasure to practice with the weapons, stripped to a loin-cloth, under the cool red rays of the aging sun.

Grrff the Tigerman had been working out at the opposite side of the field, practicing with sting-sword, dart-thrower and the traditionally Tigermanic weapon, the ygdraxel. Silvermane had never seen the ygdraxel used before, and studied the Xombolian's technique with claw-tipped, tridentiform billhook appraisingly.

They met, after an hour or so, at the water-b.u.t.t. Between deep draughts they managed to exchange a few surrept.i.tious morsels of conversation, even though they were under the alert, suspicious eye of Turmus. The Colonel stood near the bleachers, himself conversing with Drng, chief of Zelmarine's Death Dwarves, careful to keep upwind of the bowlegged green monster. He had been imbibing rather heavily of mixed cobra-venom and hydrochloric-acid c.o.c.ktails the night before, and his breath had to be smelled to be believed.

"Prison scuttleb.u.t.t has it the Red b.i.t.c.h is trying to seduce you; any truth to the rumor?" growled Grrff in low tones, while ostensibly guzzling at the water-pail. Ganelon, who was not too certain what "seduce" meant, 85.

made a noncommittal reply. The Tigerman shrugged, took another gulp from the pail, put it down, and began to preen his muzzle and chest-fluff. "None of GrrfFs business, eh? Well, maybe so: but you'd better watch your step, big man. Varesco, who nurses a jealous and frustrated pa.s.sion for the minx, has his eyes on you, and would slay you if he dared. Which he does not. Zelmarine wants to breed a race of supermen wherewith to dominate the world, and needs your,"-he chuckled-"services to that end. She'd skin the old Mind Worshipper alive if she caught him trying to slip some poison into your wine. Keep your eyes^ peeled when you're alone with Varesco: he knows every sneaky method of a.s.sa.s.sination and has a hundred ways to kill without leaving clues. The only reason he hasn't put you under the sod already is that he would be the first suspect on the Witch's list if you suddenly turned up your toes and went to Galendil."

Ganelon digested this thoughtfully, while dousing his steaming, naked torso with cold water. "What can we do to escape from this place?" he asked. The cat-yellow eyes of the Tigerman flashed with excited fires. "Now you're talking! Old Grrff has a few ideas along that line-have you ever heard of the so-called 'Cavern of a Thousand Perils'?"

Ganelon nodded somberly. "I've heard Zelmarine is the last of the Red Amazons, and came hither from Thoph by means of this Cavern. But I don't really understand just what it's supposed to be . . ."

Grrff snorted, blowing water-drops from his whiskers. In his snarling, growly voice he explained: " 'Tis a hyperspatial tube, Grrff's heard, a veritable labyrinth of 'em; connecting different parts o' Gondwane together with other worlds, planes and strata of existence. These hyperspatial tubes collapse s.p.a.ce in upon itself; inside one of 'em, a step can take you a hundred leagues, or a thousand, or a quintillion, if you're not careful. Tricksey things, hyperspatial tubes. n.o.body knows who built the system, or when, nor even why. Some say the Tensors o' Pluron, others the Fabricators 86 Lin Carter of Dirdanx or the Dional Moralists, or the High Advo-cats o' Tring or the Ptelian Dynasts, or the Technarchs of Grand Phesion. They've been around since the Age of the Glaspenfells, at least, if not since the Eon of the Blind Philosophers."

Warming to his subject, or perhaps enjoying the chance to display his erudition, the furry Tigerman expanded on the subject. "Some say 'twere the Zealots o' the Black Enigma bent s.p.a.ce to make the labyrinth, others say the Mnermite Dissenters, the Nexial Para-phrasts, the Monadic Centralists or the Mysteriarchs of Pesh. At any rate, ol' Grrff, who keeps his ears open and is ever wary, understands the Shai terminus is located somewhere beneath the palace, marked with an Omega Triskelion-"

A sluggish, grating voice spoke suddenly behind them. "Why, you, talk, humans? Go, work, weapons." It sounded like gritty pieces of carborundum being rubbed together in an echo chamber. They turned to see the green dwarfling, Drng, staring at them with dull, suspicious eyes like blood-blisters.

Ganelon did not have a chance, due to Drag's untimely interruption, to ask what an Omega Triskelion was, or why the hyperspatial labyrinth was called "the Cavern of a Thousand Perils". As for the latter question, he thought he could figure it out by himself; it stood to reason that, in a region where a single inaccurate step could carry you across the breadth of Gondwane or to the unknown surface of another planet, the descriptive term "Thousand Perils" might be, if anything, an understatement.

The Omega Triskelion, though, was quite another matter. That afternoon, following a light repast of hot m.u.f.fins fried in glick b.u.t.ter and daubed with dingle-berry marmalade, with frica.s.see of mermaid in calandre sauce, washed down with crystal tumblers of effervescent wine the color of starshine, he sought out the librarium in the Palace of Red Magic. The Enchantress had given him library privileges at his request, to alleviate the boredom of captivity with some light reading. Never much of a reader, the moody giant had browsed through a few odd volumes during the past couple of days.

Now he asked of the librarian, an Automaton whose sentience was attuned to the catalog storage brain, for a volume on signs and symbols. Retiring to an alcove overlooking the Rainbow Fountains, he leafed through Saliche's Symbolic Imagery until he found a representation of the sign Grrff had mentioned. It resembled a three-armed swastika composed of open loops with serifs on them. According to Saliche, the curious sign had symbolized open-end infinitism, recorded by the Blind Philosophers of Tring during the Ninth Pastoral Age.* Memorizing the design of the Omega Triskelion, he closed the book and returned it to the metal man.

That evening before moonrise a servant brought to him an invitation to attend Queen Zelmarine at another of those interminable intimate suppers of hers which he found so boring and uncomfortable. The servant also brought him a note from Grrff, which the Tigerman had bribed him to give Silvermane.

In his continuing attempt to figure out Ganelon's s.e.xuality, if any, Varesco had gone back to trying boys to tempt him. This was fortunate, because Grrff could hardly have bribed one of the clanking, empty-headed Automatons.

This particular boy was a languid, lissom lad of twelve or thirteen, as slim, graceful and pretty as a girl. Long blond curls tumbled over his slender shoulders, and he had enormous limpid blue eyes with thick sooty lashes and a soft, pouting mouth. Outside of an abbreviated loincloth of lilac silk, he was naked. Rather * Although why Blind Philosophers should use a visual symbol is as much beyond me as it was beyond the redactor of this second book of the Epic, who interpolates a mystified footnote at this same point in the text 88 Lin Carter nervously, he slipped Ganelon the note from the Xom-bolian Tigerman. At the same tune, he gave him the perfumed invitation from the Red Queen.

His palms had been sweating from sheer anxiety and the ink wherewith Grrff had scrawled the note was smeared, but since the boy wore nothing except the skimpy loincloth and a bit of rouge on a few erogenous zones, there was nowhefe else he could have concealed the note on his person. Ganelon dismissed the child with a somber nod and waited until he had exited before opening Grrff's note. It read as follows: What ho, big man! Prison scuttleb.u.t.t says unless you serve the Red b.i.t.c.h as stud, she'll turn you over to the Ningevite for a Mind Probe. He'll wipe your memory clean and indite a new one, which says you are madly in love with Her Witchery: so watch your step! GRRFF. P.S. The cub bringing you Grrff s note is not as nancy as he looks, runs errands for us sometimes, and can be trusted. His name is Phadia. Keep your whiskers clean! G.

Ganelon palmed the note and read it while pretending to examine the invitation from the Queen. Then he crushed it hi his hand and calmly ate it while munching on a ripe vrique-fruit from the Queen's submarine gardens. He wondered what to do. From what little he knew of Mind Probes, he didn't think he would have any chance of resisting the vindictive Ningevite.

Escape, then, was the only alternative. Ganelon felt embarra.s.sed at the very notion of yielding to the seduction of the Enchantress. He thought her a very pretty lady, in a slightly overpowering way, but when it came to amatory activity he was completely innocent. It was a matter of actually not knowing just what to do, and with what and where. (For a country boy he was remarkably innocent, but his foster-parents had been artisans, not farmers. He never had the opportunity to learn about It from watching the animals.) 89.

Escape, then: but to where, and how? Shai was an island of civilization surrounded by harsh, tindery plains and mountains infested by hordes of Death Dwarves. Overland travel would be hard and hazardous, if not suicidal. He thought of what Grrff had said about the hyperspatial labyrinth called the "Cavern of a Thousand Perils."

On sudden impulse,, he touched the gong that summoned the Automatons who guarded him. When the metal man came clanking in, Ganelon gruffly asked for the boy who had just brought him the Queen's invitation. A few moments later the lad entered and came swaying toward him, a tentative smile on his girlish features.

"You want me, lord?" the boy inquired in a husky soprano.

Ganelon cleared his throat with embarra.s.sment and beckoned the boy nearer to him so they could talk without being overheard.

"Grrff the Tigerman says you can be trusted. Your name is Phadia, isn't it?" The boy nodded, awaiting his pleasure.

"Are we being watched, Phadia?*'

The lad shrugged gracefully, blond curls tumbling over his shin bare shoulders. "I think so, lord. The Lord Varesco is trying to-"

"I know what the Lord Varesco is trying to find out,*' Ganelon grunted uncomfortably. "And I'm really not 'interested in ... well, you know."

The boy pouted, then grinned impishly. "Then what do you want with me, lord?"

"Information."

"All right, we'll just talk. But, lord, there may be eyes watching us ... The Lord Varesco will become suspicious if we just talk . . . '*

"Umm. I guess you're right. Any ideas?"

The lad stretched lazily like a cat, his every movement supple and suggestive. "I'm trained as a dancer, lord. I could dance for you, but stay close enough so we may converse without seeming to do so ..."

90 Lin Carter Ganelon nodded, blushing at the picture he would make. The boy laughed at him silently, eyes sparkling with mischief. Slim hips swaying, he went over to a group of hollow crystal wind-chimes hanging in cl.u.s.ters from a mobile and touched them into motion. To the faint chiming music, he began a graceful improviza-tion on an old folkdance of his homeland.

Pretending a rapt fascination, Ganelon watched the slender, swaying figure attentively, blushing furiously all the while. Long bare legs gliding across the carpet, the boy Phadia floated nearer, casting him provocative glances, yet tantalizingly remaining just beyond his reach. If any eyes watched them from a secret spy-hole, they saw more-or-less the sort of thing they would expect to see. They began conversing in low tones, stealthy whisperings.

Ganelon asked the lad if he could move freely about the palace, to which the boy said yes. "Do you know of a room or doorway in the nether regions of the Palace, marked with an Omega Triskelion?"

"I don't know what that is, lord." Ganelon described the symbol. Swaying on his long, supple legs, bare arms undulating to the faint music of the wind-chimes, the boy said he knew of such a portal located in the very bowels of the palace, beneath the wine-cellars.

"But no one can enter, lord: twelve of the metal men guard it night and day."

Pretending that his attention was riveted on the slim, naked boy who danced gracefully before his couch, Ganelon thought swiftly.

"Do you happen to know how the Enchantress controls the metal men?" he asked on an impulse.

The boy cast him a long, sly, coquettish look. Then: "Yes, I do. Slaves see and hear everything, and n.o.body ever notices they are around," the boy whispered. Ganelon's pulses jumped.

"How does she turn them off? Tell me?"

The boy drifted nearer. "Only if you promise to take me with you when you escape," the lad whispered.

THE ENCHANTRESS OF WORLD'SEND 91Ganelon blinked: the child was more clever and quick-thinking than he had guessed. Then he nodded. The boy's eyes shone and he smiled breathlessly.

Then he floated nearer and whispered three words into the ear of Ganelon Silvermane.

14. THE BOY PHADIA.

While her Automatons laid out a cold buffet supper and her maids attired her for the nightly attempt to

arouse Ganelon, Zelmarine was attended by Varesco of Ning.

"Have you anything to report, Varesco, or have you come merely to feast your eyes upon that which is un.o.btainable?" she asked with sweet cruelty. Averting his eyes from her ripe flesh hastily, the gaunt man flushed a dirty yellow and bowed without speaking.

"Very well, then get on with it."

"Complete failure down the entire spectrum of conceivable perversions," said Varesco in clipped

metallic tones. "Save for this evening, when I went back to using boys. Ganelon Silvermane paid scant attention to the youth in question, but then sent for him again, and-""And?" demanded the Red Queen between stiff lips."Nothing much," admitted the Ningevite. "He exchanged a few words with the boy, then apparently asked him to dance for him. The boy danced before him for a time, but the Zermishman made no further advances, merely watching attentively. The boy left, shortly thereafter."

"Did you observe the incident personally?"

"No-o-o," said Varesco reluctantly. The Enchantress glared at him, with brilliant eyes flashing.

"A pity," she said fiercely. "A mental linkage made at that moment, and you could have read the

emotional reaction pa.s.sing through his consciousness, could you not?"

He nodded without speaking.

93.

"Well, what variety of boy was it he asked for?" she inquired. The question was casual, but her jealousy was perfectly obvious in her heaving bosom and glittering eyes. Varesco described the lad.

"White skin, blond hair, long legs, rouge on-"

"Had Ganelon ever seen him before?"

"I doubt it; the child generally serves the prisoners in the main dungeons their luncheon. I instructed that he attend Ganelon Silvermane because he is about thirteen and girlishly pretty. I had previously exposed the Zermishman to boys in the seventeen to twenty-year-old range, with no response whatsoever. Possibly, he prefers them in their early teens-"

"You interrogated the boy, of course?"

"Not I, but my aide, Quang. He questioned the child immediately after Silvermane dismissed him. He said that Silvermane asked his name, age, homeland; learning him to be of Gorombe stock, he asked the boy to perform the traditional 'Moonwillow Leaves' for him. The boy danced with seductive grace; Silvermane watched him attentively, the boy reports, corroborating Quang's own observances, then he bade him leave before the lad could essay a tentative caress."

The Red Enchantress watched her reflection in the huge mirror with cold, hard, cruel eyes while dusky maids dressed her long, darkly-crimson tresses into an elaborate coiffure.

"And what do you deduce from this, Ningevite?" she demanded at length.

Measuring his words carefully, the gaunt man in the narrow tight robes of blinding blue said: "The native dance of that name is performed by Gorombe virgins, just before the mating rituals. Perhaps Ganelon Silvermane as a boy entertained affection for some lad from Gorombe. Brief, unphysical infatuations are typical behavior during adolescence and normal enough," he said with clinical detachment.

"Why this particular boy, I wonder?" mused the En 94 Lin Carter chantress. "The age factor alone? The color of hair, eyes-?"

"If I might subject the Zermishman to a Mind Probe-"

She said nothing: the subject was one on which they had often had discussions. He adroitly changed the subject.

"-If my hypothesis is correct," he said smoothly, "perhaps this particular boy reminded the Zermishman of some dear little companion of his youth. The experiment, while inconclusive, at least shows more promise than the others." His allusion, of course, was to the parade of men, women, girls, boys and animals which Ganelon had seen in an attempt to find out where his interests lay.

"Have this particular slave attend Ganelon as his servitor from now on," the Red Queen commanded. "Repet.i.tion may either dispel the attraction the boy seems to have for him, or lead to something more concrete."

"I hearken and will obey," said Varesco. Then, slyly: "I remain prepared to conduct a depth probe and erasure of the memory centers at your command. I suggest an artificial memory-"

"Useless, you fool, if Ganelon is interested in young boys!" Zelmarine snapped. "Such a diversion of the mating urges lie deep hi the instinct-centers, of the mind, too deep for you to safely attempt corrective surgery! If necessary, my physicians will extract his spermatozoa and fertilize my ova by artificial msemina-tion. I shall then have his body destroyed!"

The bite of vindictiveness was clear in her deep voice. The Ningevite Mentalist smirked inwardly: artificial insemination, whereby the male fertilizes the female by simple surgical techniques, would have been far easier than this elaborately drawn-out attempt at seduction. But the towering feminine ego of the Queen made it imperative that she succeed in the conquest of her aloof, disinterested superman. She would either conquer Silvermane, or kill him!

Varesco eyed her naked back with hopeless eyes. Whatever happened, his love was futile ...

After his brief questioning by Varesco's chief spy, the boy Phadia made his way swiftly into the Pueratorium, a huge, barracks-like room he shared with some fifty boys, and entered his own private cubicle. Sponging off his body-rouge and slipping out of his loin-cloth, he slid on a pair of white panties and pulled a light tunic of lavender silk on over his head. The tunic was so short that it barely covered his upper thighs, but it was the best he had. He had long ago sewn a pocket un.o.btrusively into the lining of it. Now, he secreted some of his best jewelry and a few favorite cosmetics into this hidden pocket and slid his bare feet into gilt slippers.

He did this while keeping his face expressionless, trying not to attract the attention of the other boys who were a catty lot and loved spreading gossip and carrying tales. His heart was pounding with excitement within his breast. The very thought of escaping from this dreary place after all these years was intoxicating. Then he took one last look around the little cubicle which had been his home for so long, to see if he had left anything behind.

Ah* around him, boys between ten and sixteen napped, played games, read, sunbathed, or cuddled with favorite toys, pets or little playmates. Few of them were friends of his, and there were only one or two whom he would particularly miss. On the whole, they were a spoiled, spiteful, effeminate lot and he was weary of them.

He left the huge open room (perhaps for the very last time!) with no regrets or goodbys. Taking seldom-used side-corridors and back-stairs, the lad made his way quickly, un.o.btrusively to the prison-yard, where captives less coddled than Ganelon Silvermane were sequestered. The few Red Magic sentinels he encountered along the way let him pa.s.s without question: the pert, girlishly pretty, good-natured boy was a favorite 96 Lin Carter of theirs. He had long ago established a friendly, first-name relationship with most of them.

The guards stationed at the entrance to the prison-yard also thought nothing of his presence here. They were accustomed to seeing him come and go. Responding to their friendly, flirtatious sally with a coquettish jest, the lad slipped within and soon found Grrff in a sunny corner, playing a half-hearted game of dice with a couple of bored Ixlanders. The big furry fellow looked up with a happy grin as Phadia glided over to him.

"Hah, my pretty cub! Did you-hrmph-do the favor ol' Grrff asked of you?" the Tigerman inquired, with a friendly slap on the lad's bottom. The boy nodded brightly and came near so they could speak confidentially. At GrrfFs meaningful glare, the two gloomy Ixlanders hastily went off to continue the game elsewhere. .

"The Lord Ganelon asked me where the entrance to the Cavern is," lisped Phadia in his husky soprano. As the Tigerman p.r.i.c.ked up his furry, pointed ears, the lad went on to describe the whereabouts of the portal which led into the hyperspatial labyrinth, and to detail SUver-mane's rough plan of escape.