In the Black Pools he found the
50,000-year-lost wisdom of the Ancients.
For a day Red Angus held victory in his
sword-hand. But it was too short a glimpse,
too elusive a thought to bolster the
star-rabble against the Citadel's iron guard.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The pools were like the gaping mouth of space itself, dark andfathomless, extending into bottomless wells, the depths of which thepeople of Karr could only guess. Some said the god Stasor dwelt in theglistening black depths. Others claimed the emptiness was the hollowinterior of the planet. None of them was right.
All men feared the pools. Only a man fifty thousand years old knewtheir incredible secret, and he lived in an invisible city....
Red Angus fled like a frightened hound through the twisted alleys ofthe Lower City. Dim lamplight from the towering white walls of theCitadel threw glowing brilliance across his naked chest, glinted on themetal studs of his broad leather belt, and on the rippling muscles ofhis long legs. He skidded on a patch of slops, righted himself and dovefor the darkness of an arched doorway. He drew back in the shadows,barely feeling the burn of the new brand on his shoulder that stampedhim as a pirate.
Faintly, he heard the shouts and drumming feet of the Diktor's policeas they ravened in the streets, hunting him. His heart thudded swiftlyunder the high arch of his ribcase. Red Angus smiled wryly.
He was a hunted space pirate, just free of the cell blocks below thepalace. But he was more than that to the Diktor of Karr. He was aKarrvan noble who had gone bad, who had fled into space and establishedan eyrie on a wandering asteroid, who had set himself up as a one-mancrusade against Stal Tay, ruler of Karr by the grace of the god Stasor.
"I'll find a way," the pirate swore in the shadows, listening to theshouts and running of the guards, the sharp, barking blasts of theirheatguns.
There was a faint sound behind the thick oaken door. Angus movedhis naked back, still welt and scarred, away from the damp wood. Heclenched a big fist and stood silent, waiting.
He was a tall man, lean in the belly and wide about the shoulders. Hismouth was thin but curved at the corners as though used to smiling.Close-cropped reddish hair gave his hard, tanned face a fiery look.Dark blue eyes glistened in the half-squint of the habitual spaceman.
The oaken door swung open. A cowled form stood in the darkness of thearchway putting out a thin, old hand toward him. Where the cowl hungthere was only a faint white dimness for a face.
"The Hierarch will see you, and save you, Red Angus," said the old man."Come in. He hopes you'll listen to reason."
"The Hierarch?" snorted the lean man in disbelief. "He's hand in armwith Stal Tay. He'd land me back with my ankles in a manacle chain."
The cowled man shook his head and whispered, "Hurry, hurry. There's notime to argue!"
A shout from a street less than sixty feet away decided the half-naked,winded Angus. He moved his shoulders in a bitter shrug and slid insidethe door. The latch clicked on the door and a hand caught his. A voice,gentle with age, said softly, "Follow me."
Two hundred feet from the door the walls began to glow. Angus lookedat his guide and saw an old man, a member of the Hierarchy, a priestlycult of scientists who were honored and protected by the Diktor. Thirtyyears before, when the people of the Lower City had been ravaged bydisease