Lin Carter "Oh, all right, let's go," sighed the magician. "Might as well have a look at the place. Can't do any harm, I suppose."

"Tally-ho, yoicks, yoicks!" sang the Bird, happily speeding up. She curved about, Istrobian's flying kayak wobbling behind her like an aerial caboose, and flew east towards the strange metal city that Prince Erigon had noticed.

The nearer they got to it, the more curious it looked to them. The City was all metal-streets, towers, buildings, and everything else. And it was a lot smaller and more compact than it had looked from further off: instead of dwindling into scattered suburbs and farms at the edges, like most cities, it just stopped at a certain distance from its center. This termination was very clearly marked; in fact the city was a perfect disk, evenly trimmed around the outer perimeter. The streets that radiated out from its center like spokes from the hub of a wheel, stopped completely at the edges of the disk, ending in purple gra.s.s. There were no roads leading to it. It looked as if some playful or mischievous deity had just picked it up from somewhere and plunked it down here in the middle of nowhere, for a joke.

They flew over it, dipping and swerving to avoid the spires, while the three adventurers peered over the sides of their craft curiously. There seemed to be hardly any people out on the streets, although it was well into mid-morning by this time; you almost would have thought the city uninhabited, if that hadn't been obviously unlikely. Somebody had to keep the city in good repair, and all that metal polished!

Then somebody noticed them. At least, a searchlight went on in the upper tiers of the enormous center most building. The light was a peculiar throbbing green, and it swung around to bathe them in its beam.

This was pretty odd, since it was a bright, clear day.

Then the Bazonga began squawking excitedly and angrily. At the same time she began to lose alt.i.tude in a steep, headlong nose dive.

"Stop! Whoa! What are you doing, you cra2y Bird?" 129demanded the Illusionist, bracing himself against the forward edge of the c.o.c.kpit to avoid falling out."Nothing: it's not mel" the Bird wailed. "Something's pulling me down-"The ungainly winged vehicle hurtled groundward helplessly in the grip of some strange force. It looked as if the Bazonga would crash into the side of the central structure, but just in time an enormous trapdoor opened in the flanks of the curious structure, and the bkd vehicle and her pa.s.sengers were swallowed up.

The huge trapdoor closed with a metallic clang.

The odd green searchlight turned itself off.

About ten minutes later, the whole City rose up from the surface of the plain on a whooshing air-cushion and began moving away in an easterly direction, picking up speed until it was skimming along over the purple gra.s.ses at a pretty good clip.

The City moved along in one piece, because it was built as one unit. Which was very odd, because cities just aren't built that way.

But, then, it wasn't really a City at alL

THE ARMORY OF TIME.

Lin Carter They woke deeply refreshed and somehow inwardly cleansed and renewed. It was the air of this place, thought Ganelon, lazily stretching: it was filled with magic. Dragon Magic. The oldest magic in the world, save only for that older, mightier magic whereby the very world was made.

He looked about, but neither Grrff nor the boy were visible. He must have slept longer than either of his companions, thought he. Rising, he was surprised to find a black leather war-harness, scarlet loin-cloth, girdle, boots and cloak, all laid out neatly beside the place where he had been sleeping. They were the exact duplicates of the clothes he had been wearing and had abandoned when he had fled from the Land of Red Magic. Dragon Magicl, he thought to himself, with a grim smile. Gratefully, he climbed into the familiar harness and buckled the straps and trappings about his mighty torso.

He came out of the cave into a green gjade, dreaming hi a sunlit haze and filled with birdsong. There, by the edge of a fresh, bubbling pool, the Karjixian Tiger-man lay stretched out. The furry fellow had obviously just taken a dip and was sleepily drying his coat in the sun. He looked up as Ganelon came near, noticed the war-harness, and nodded towards a pile of belongings heaped beside him "Grrff too!" he rumbled complacently. Sitting up, he poked through the bundle until he found his weapon, 131.

which he lifted for Silvermane to see. It was a ygdraxel, the traditional weapon of the Tigermen. Ganelon grunted and nodded. Grrff lay back with a yawn.

"Grandfather Dragon is the most thoughtful of hosts," said the Tigerman. "There's breakfast over there on that rock."

Ganelon drank from the small cascade that poured down over the rocks to join the pool; the water was crisp, cold, deliciously pure. Then he ambled over to study the array of eatables. Hot-cakes and syrup steamed amidst melting glick b.u.t.ter; sausages still sizzled in a hot pan; fresh, foaming rnilk stood in a tall frosted tumbler.

"Where's the lad?" he asked, sitting down to eat Grrff nodded over in one direction. "With the Old Dragon," he mumbled, "the cub's fascinated by 'im." Ganelon started to say something else, then saw that the Karjixian was settling into a doze, and returned his full attention to the superb breakfast.

A while later he found the Old One stretched out before the mouth of his cave, enjoying the dim gold sun of Faerie. He was so enormous that parts of him were lost in the forest that grew up almost to the cave's mouth. Ridges and hillocks of his vast length appeared here and there, rising out of the forest like far hills. By daylight his scales, each as huge as a knight's shield, were dark, deep green and sparkling.

Phadia sat on the broad flat nose of the Dragon, leaning back against his nostril-ridges, staring up into the great, sleepy, amused eyes of the Old One. They were chatting, and as Ganelon approached he could hear the lad's bright, clear tones over the subterranean rumble of the Dragon's voice. The giant grinned to himself. The lad was completely in awe of the ponderous old creature, yet thoroughly unafraid of him. Just to look upon a Dragon sent a creepy thrill up the boy's spine, for Dragons were to a child of his era every bit as awful, grand and mysterious as they would be to you or I. They looked up at his approach.

Lin Carter Good-morrow, Silverhazr, the Dragon greeted him affably. Slept you well in my Deep?

"That's the name of his cave, you know," the boy said pertly. " 'Dzimdazoul's Deep.' There used to be myths about it, the cave I mean; but that was three hundred million years ago!"

"I slept-"

"Did you bathe in the pool?" the boy chattered on. '7 did! I was up this morning before either of you. I've been all over-except in the Armory. 'The Armory of Time', that's what he calls it. There are all kinds of magic weapons there, left behind by the famous heroes. Grandfather Dragon has promised to show them to me! You and Grrff can come along if you like."

Ganelon was interested, of course: fighting was, after all, his profession.

"All right," he said. "Let me go wake up Grrff."

They came into an immense gallery, cathedral-like in its reverent hush, its ghostly gleams and echoes, its shadowy and timeless serenity. Above them, a forest of slender pillars soared to join Gothic arches far overhead; the dim glory of Faerie smote through splendid windows of gules and emerald and purple gla.s.s.

The walls were of clean smooth stone, polished marble for the most part, and to these walls there were affixed many swords . . . swords almost beyond the numbering. Old they were, and well-used, their handgrips stained with the sweat, and the blood of heroes, the long gleaming blades bearing many dints. Above the each of these swords was set its name and history, in characters of lapis set in red-gold. And they were very famous names.

All the swords of all the heroes that ever were or will be are hung here, said the Old Dragon softly. Here were they left behind by the heroes of olden myth and legend, who came trooping through the dim ways of Faerie on their way to their Reward. This wall here, below an old and shining banner called the Oriflamme, bears the charmed weapons of the heroes of France.

133.

The Twelve Peers, they were called, and here at their head is bright Joyeuse, that was borne by their Emperor, Charlemagne . . . three years went into the fashioning thereof, and after him it pa.s.sed to the strong hand of William of Orange. And here, beneath it, hangs proud Durandal. Vulcan, the smith of the G.o.ds, forged it for Hector the Trojan in the fires of Tartarus. When that Prince of Troy fell it was taken from his hand by Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons., from whom it pa.s.sed down the generations to her descendant, Almontes, till Roland wrested it away. His dearest friend in all the world was Oliver, and here by Durandal hangs Hautclear: once Closamont the Roman Emperor bore it on the field, but it was more bravely borne by gallant Oliver. Here hang the blades of all the other Peers: Almace that was the Bishop Turpin's sword, and Flamberge that was Renaud de Montau-ban's, Sauvagine the Relentless, Murgles, and bright Gloreuse that cut through the nine swords made by Ansias, and Galas, and Munifican . . . and that world-famous sword, Curtana the Short, that was made by the giant-smith, Brumadant, who forged it twenty times, and twenty times he tempered it in the blood of dragons; 'twas the great sword of Ogier the Dane, who won it from Caraheut, the King of the Saracens. And here, hung in a row beneath them, are the swords of their enemies, the Moors, Tartars and the Saracens: this is Preciuse, once owned by Baligant of Araby, and Tranchera, the magic sword of Agricane, the King of Tartary. Here is hung the thrice-enchanted Balisardo: the sorceress Falerina fashioned it wherewith to slay Roland, but she failed ...

They stared at the nicked and worn old blades that yet shone with the fierce, thirsty l.u.s.ter of sharp steel, and the names of forgotten heroes and dusty, ancient wars echoed once again in the hushed stillness. Mer-veilleuse the Wonderful was there, the sword of Doon de Mayence, Sanglamore and Fusberta, and the Green Sword that had been Amadis of Gaul's. They pa.s.sed on to where beneath a blue, faded banner st.i.tched with Lin Carter thirteen crowns of tarnished gold, swords flashed and gleamed and glittered.

These are the swords of the mightiest of the heroes of Britain, whispered the Old Dragon. And there, higher than them all, hangs that most famous sword in the *world, deathless Excalibur, that was made in Avalon for the hand of Arthur the King. See, see, its shining splendors the long ages have not dimmed! There near it hangs his other sword as well, Clarent, Sword of Miracles . . . the Sword in the Stone! And there below are hung in shining ranks Aroundight, the sword of Lance" lot, and Morddure that wise Merlin made, forging its fierce steel in the fires of Mount Aetna, tempering it seven times in the bitter Styx ... and many another famous sword of England hang nearby: great Ascalon, St. George of Merrie England's sword, and bright Mor-glay that once Sir Bevis of Hampton bore; Corrouge, Sir Otuel's fair blade, and many more.

The swords of the heroes of the North they looked upon: Skofmmg, that the sea G.o.d's daughter got from the dwarves and gave to Hrolf Kraki, the King of the Danes, and Goldhilt, that was young Hjalti's once; and EgU's Drangvandil, that had been borne to wars aforetime by Skallagrim, and Lovi, the charmed longsword of Bjarki, and Laevatein, made with runes of power. Tyrfing, the invincible sword of the Visigoths, that was forged for the hero Angantyr, and Aettartangi, the famous sword of Grettir the Strong; Gram and Nothung, aye, and Rithil; Regjn made it and it cut out Fafnir's heart.

One wall blazed with intolerable brightness, dazzling as the noon sun, and the swords thereon were huger than mortal men might ever bear. Shielding his eyes against the furious light that shone therefrom, Ganelon asked their host of these.

These are the swords that were borne once by the very G.o.ds themselves . . . that mighty brand with edges jagged as a thunderbolt is Chrysaor the Terrible, which Zeus wielded in his war against the t.i.tans . . . and there is Fragarach the Answerer, the sword that 135.

Lugh the Sun G.o.d bore back from the Land of the Living . . . and the swords called Great Fury and Little Fury, that were Manannan mac Lir's . . . and Bal-mung, which Odin gave to Sigurd the Volsung; and Odin's own grim brand, Brimir, that the giants made . . . and Prey's sword, Hundinsbana, Hofud, the G.o.d Heimdall's sword . . . and beyond them, the awful and wonderful Asidevata that was first borne by Shiva, then by Vishnu, and then by Indra . . . and Orna, sword of Tethra, that the G.o.d Ogma took in battle . . . They saw rare and fabulous swords: Philippan, the sword of Marc Anthony, Nagelring, the sword Dietrich of Berne got from the dwarf Alpris, Zulfiqar, the sword called Cleaver of Vertebrae which the angel Gabriel gave to Mohammed the Prophet; Dhami the Trenchant, the sword of Antar, hero of India, and Miming, made by Wayland Smith, the greatest of all makers-of swords. Most were of clean bright steel, but not all: the famous Sword of Sharpness wherewith Sir Jack slew the giants Cormoran, Galligantus and Blunderbore had for its blade a razory-thin shaft of pure diamond, pale as ice; and the sword of Amadis, which they had already seen, was green as emerald; and Crocea Mors, which Julius Caesar used against Ca.s.sibelaunus when he invaded Britain, was as yellow as saffron. Strangest of all, it may be, was Hrunting, the sword of Unferth: the blade thereof was bra.s.s, dyed with drops of poison and tempered in blood; with it, in later years, Beowulf the Great slew the Ogress.

They came to one wide wall at the end of the tremendous hall. These are the swords renowned in tale and story, said Dzimdazoul. Their names can mean little or naught to you . . . but here are hung forever immortal Anduril and Sacnoth, Randir and Rhindon, Glamdring and Llyr, and the Sword of Welleran . . . Graywand and Cat's Claw, Orcrist, Broadcleaver that was...o...b..rt's sword, black, murderous Dyrnwyn, and the twin swords, Stormbringer and Mournblade ... Frostfiret Shadowmaker, Caliburn, and Sting.

136 Lin Carter He blinked fondly at Ganelon, who stood staring at the brilliant glitter of enchanted steel. With a nod of his ma.s.sive head, the old dragon indicated one array of gleaming blades.

Here I shall someday hang your own sword, the Silver Sword, he said, great eyes twinkling. Here with Azlon, Zingazar, and Sarkozan.

As in a dream, they pa.s.sed slowly out of that mighty, shadow-thronged hall, into the sun. Behind them, the famous swords, the enchanted swords, slept on through eternity to dream of old, fabulous wars, and the hands that held them once, long ago.

21. DRAGON'S DEEP.

Time pa.s.sed them by in the Halfworld with an air of dreamlike unreality; never afterwards were they able to figure out precisely how long they were the guests of Dzimdazoul.* I find it difficult to make any sense out of this, myself: Dzimdazoul had told them that here in the Halfworld, which lies outside of the world, they were beyond the reach of Tune and Change. Anyway, although there were dawns and daylight, noons and nightfalls, there was no sense of time elapsing at all ... nothing but a dreamlike, everlasting Now.

They roamed, wandered and explored. Grrff liked the forests best, remembering the jungles of his homeland. The woods were rilled with curious creatures, most of whom could talk and think was well as many men, if not better. He would come back from one of these rambles full of excited stories about unicorns, centaurs, dryads and gnomes, and elves. There were many elves in the woodlands; they were, of course, the * Later on, when he had a chance to compare adventures with the old magician, Ganelon became even more confused than before on this question of how much time had elapsed. It seemed to him that at least ten to twelve days had transpired between the time he flew out of Chx, and the time he left Faerie. But according to the Illusionist, only a day and a half had pa.s.sed. Ganelon was never able,to resolve this curious discrepancy in later years, but the Commentators on this second book of the Epic agreed by consensus that the hyperspatial tube probably collapsed time, as it did s.p.a.ce. Maybe so, but the time equivalencies still do not balance out, even if Ganelon and his friends spent only a second or two in the Half-world of Faerie. I think myself that, by going backwards in the labyrinth, instead of continuing forward, they actually came out several days before they had gone in.

137.

138.

Lin Carter virtual rulers of Faerie, although many old, retired G.o.ds lived here as well. Dzimdazoul patiently explained that it was into the Halfworld that most of the prehuman denizens of the Old Earth had strayed or fled or wandered eons ago, at the end of the Silver Age.

The seas were full of mermaids and tritons and oreads; gnomes and dwarves and trolls lived under the hills; the fairies dwelt mostly in Mommur, their ancient, immortal capitol, but there were troops and tribes of woods-elves that prefered the great green forests and made their camps therein.

Ganelon spent most of his time exploring the illimitable vastness of the Old Dragon's cavern, or "deep" as he called it. There were many marvels there, some of which were from the Dawn of Time, and many of which had never before been seen by men. Besides Dzimdazoul, the caverns were the home of many other creatures, including an old minotaur, cranky from the gout, and an immense Piast which had come from Ireland before the first men came into Europe.

There was also a most amusing c.o.c.katrice, who was a particular friend of the Dragon's and who became an instant favorite of Phadia's. This grouchy old creature, who was sort of like a reptilian rooster, lived in a small side-cave where hot sulphur bubbled up from fiery regions below: the c.o.c.katrice, whose name was Hshenk, had formerly lived in ancient Persia. A relative of the famous Phoenix, he had inherited a tendency towards immortality on his mother's side, and had lived long enough into the Age of Man to win a position of some importance hi the mythology of Zoroaster, which was a matter of considerable pride to the grouchy old monster. He liked his sulphur-pit cave because it was always warm and dry, and he suffered from rheumatism, it seemed.

The c.o.c.katrice taught Phadia checkers, or an ancient form of the game which had been popular with the antique Persians during the days of Sahm and Zal and Rustum. Anytime Ganelon wanted to find the lad, 139.

he would look first in Hshenk's cave; nine times out of ten the boy would be there, lying on his stomach on some old Persian carpets, playing checkers with the c.o.c.katrice.

Finding him there one day, Ganelon stood hi tbe entrance to the warm cave, smiling a little at the scene. Phadia was wriggling on his rummy, kicking his heels in the air and giggling with both hands over his mouth, for he had just won another game from the old c.o.c.katrice and the cranky old fellow was cussing a blue streak. Of course, his notion of swearing was to name half the devils in the Zoroastrian mythology, which meant nothing to Phadia, but it was funny to watch. When Hshenk got mad enough to cuss, his barbed tail curled up tight and his bright red c.o.xcomb, which usually hung down floppily over one eye giving him a rakish air, stood stiffly erect and vibrated.

Between bursts of delighted giggling from Phadia, Silvermane could hear the creaky, shrill voice of the old c.o.c.katrice, complaining furiously.

"Ahriman cook yer gizzard, lad, ye've done it again! Aeshma Daeva broil yer ear-lobes, you've done whupped me for the third time terday! Mitox an* Ver-eno s.n.a.t.c.h ye bald, if 111 letcher win a fourth time ... nosiree! Set 'em up, set'em up, ye little rascal; 111 whup ye this time, Akatasha fry me if n I don't!"

"Oh, Uncle Hshenk! You don't really want to play another game," protested the lad between giggles.

"Paromaiti burn me if n I don't! Set 'em up, ye scalawag, and 111 teach ye to play real checkers! If n it warn't fer this cussed rheumatiz I'd of won 'em all, by Zaurvan's iron liver!"

Watching from the entrance to the cave, Ganelon studied the child with a fond eye. Even a few days away from the perfumed hothouse atmosphere of the Red Queen's palace had brought a welcome change in little Phadia. For the last two days the boy had forgotten to put on any make-up (well, perhaps just a touch of eye-liner, but that was all), and right now he looked adorably boyish-like a real boy, that is. His 140 Lin Carter blond curls were tousled and uncombed, he had a nice scratch on his knee, and his cheek was dirty with a smudge which he had carelessly wiped with the back of his hand. Ganelon regarded the boy with avuncular satisfaction: a little more of this sort of life and the stifling, constricting influence of his former life would really begin to fade, as the lad grew and changed in wholesome, boyish directions.

He hated to interrupt the happy scene, but it was time to go. He had determined that this very morning; wakening from a deep, restful sleep he had lain there looking up at the ceiling, wondering how the Illusionist Nerelon, the girl knight of Jemmerdy and Prince Erigon fared, nd somehow he had known, right then and there, that this brief, pleasant respite from their adven-turings was over. He said as much, as soon as Phadia and the c.o.c.katrice looked up from their game and noticed him.

Phadia sighed, a little depressed, but made no complaints. He worshipped the great bronze giant and was used to doing what other people wanted him to do, without whining or complaining about it. Surprisingly, it was Hshenk who raised the loudest fuss about then* leaving. The grouchy old fellow had become terribly attached to the little boy, but even he saw they couldn't stay forever hi Faerie: mortals could be happy here only for a time, and only to a certain extent.

"By Spenta Mainyu's goldy crown, but 111 be sad to see ye go! This here place ain't been half so lively in a million years, 'afore ye folks come! One good thing about it: Til hafta go back to playin' checkers wif th' Old Dragon; and he let's an ol' feller win a game er two, oncet in a while! (Sniff!) Taint nothin', boy-a cinder in me eye, likely. (Snuff!) Git along wif ye now! An' may Holy Onnazd watch over ye lad, and yew too, big feller. Say goodbye to thet thar cat-feller fer me. (Snmff!) Carmaiti an' Khashathra bless 'e all."

They had a little difficulty finding Grrff, who was up in the hills. And considerably more difficulty in 141.

persuading him to come down. It seems he had struck up a relationship with a friendly lady Sphinx who lived on a cliff-top nearby; half-human female and half-lioness, she was the nearest thing to a Tiger-woman the lonely Karjixian had met in quite a while. The love-smitten Xombolian was on the verge of proposing when Ganelon came climbing up to persuade him to come down. Their yowls of farewell set the canyons to ringing and Grrff came down slowly, grumpily, with many a languishing backwards look, refused to be consoled, and sulked for the next hour and a half.

The Old Dragon was coiled sleepily atop his mound of treasure, just where he had been when they had first encountered him.

/ knew you would be going home soon, anxious to rejoin your friends, he said in his hissy, thunder-nimbly voice. / shall miss thee, manlings; aye, and mightily! So few come into Faerie in these sad, latter days . . .

There were presents for them all, of course: the new clothing and gear they had found beside them that first morning when they awoke, a broadsword for Ganelon, (but not an enchanted one), and a fine knife for Phadia, in a case of genuine dragonskin.* And the Old Dragon had packed a nice lunch. They made thek farewells awkwardly and the boy cried.

Get along with you, now! Your friends are becoming worried as to what has happened, and you have much unfinished business to tend to. Through the archway, as before-but backwards this time, mind you! Two short steps back, then one big step to your left. Farewell, now, for a while. Mayhap we shall all meet againt another day!

His great, pebbly eyelids drooped sleepily, eclipsing the green moon-eyes as, hand in hand, they backed * Dragons shed their scaly hide twice a millennium, you know, as snakes do a couple times a year. So the scabbard for Phadia's knife was probably made from one of Dzundazoul's own castings. (This is a speculation you will find in the Thirtieth Commentary; Bariche agrees it is more than likely correct, and even Nruntha was unable to refute it satisfactorily.) Lin Carter cautiously into the stone arch whose keystone was marked with the Omega Triskelion.

The dimly-lit half-circle that was the Dragon's Deep when seen from the other side of the portal receded from them weirdly, dwindling to a remote point of greenish luminescence before it winked out, leaving them standing in pitch-black darkness. But the last glimpse they caught of him, the Old One was settling down for another million-year nap.

They left him sleeping. And stepped backward, to the left, and into the world again.

Book Four THE MOBILE CITY OF KAN ZAR KAN.

The Scene: The Purple Plain on the Border between Northern Yania-YamaLand and Greater Zuavia; the Machine City.

New Characters: Slioma, Temple, Zilth, and other lomagoths; the City Itself; Fryx again.

SHANGHAIED, OR SOMETHING.

Black, whirling darkness closed down upon the three adventurers and enveloped them. The greenlit archway, with its vista of the Dragon curled in his Deep, receded to a dim spark and vanished.

They stepped backwards in unison. The abysmal blackness was more like a total cessation of the powers of sight, rather than any absence of light itself. And with it came a giddy sensation, a feeling of vertigo, which they could not recall having experienced before. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they were retracing their steps, rather than going forward; at any rate, they took the sideways step as Dzimdazoul had counseled and, very suddenly, with no sense of transition or no idea of quite how they had gotten there, found themselves standing on a level plain, knee-deep in meadow gra.s.s.

Ganelon hefted his weapon and glanced about, blinking at the swiftness of this peculiar mode of transportation. In every direction a featureless plain of purple gra.s.s stretched, from horizon to horizon.

He turned to look behind him. A black vortex hung unsupported in the air, slowly fading. The bottommost whorl of the whirlpool of inkiness was level with the plain itself. Above the upper curve of the vortex of darkness, the Omega Triskelion hung as if suspended in mid-air by an enchanter's art.

The vortex faded and was gone. Now there was 146 Lin Carter nothing behind them but empty leagues of long gra.s.s blowing in the wind.

The hour was early morning, he a.s.sumed, from the dewy freshness of the air and the cold, wet touch of the nodding plumes of gra.s.s that brushed against his bare knees. The sun was a dim, faint red-gold disk at the very edge of the world, in the direction he presumed to be the east.

Ganelon had not the faintest notion of where the hyperspatial tube had deposited them, and he said as much to Grrff when the Tigerman, looking puzzled, inquired.

"Well, wherever we are, it doesn't look like Dwarf-land, or the domain of the Red b.i.t.c.h," growled the Karjixian. "But where are we-and why did we come out here?"

"Nor does it look like Ning, or Holy Horx, or the country of the Chxians," mused Silvermane. "And it certainly isn't any part of the Hegemony, or the Voor-mish Desert, or even Karjixia! In fact, the only country I've ever heard of that's supposed to look anything like this is the Purple Plain itself-"

"The Purple Plain?" grumbled the 'Hgerman, wrinkling his snout distastefully. "Isn't that where the Indigons are supposed to herd? Why would the Labyrinth let us out here? Why, it's way up north, isn't it? Grrffs heard tell of it before."

Ganelon nodded, his face expressionless, black eyes moody.

"What did the Old Dragon say? Something about *your friends will be getting anxious about you,' or words to that effect. I don't know about your friends, but mine ought to be back in Chx, or flying around Dwarfland and the Land of Red Magic, hunting for me; at least, I presume the Dragon was talking about my master, Xarda and that prince fellow. But if this is the Purple Plain, it's way up north as you said, beyond Yombok and all those countries. I can't imagine why master would come here ... we were on our way to the kingdom of Jemmerdy, really."

147.

"And Jemmerdy is down south, next to Parvania," muttered the Tigerman. "Well . . . here we are, and here we're going to stay, Grrfr" guesses! The question is-not why we got transported here-but what we're supposed to do now that we are here?"