Pulp Fantasy Library: The Blade of the Slayer

An aspect of the Golden Age of the Pulps I find especially congenial is the freedom with which its authors borrowed from and included homages to the works of their comrades. H.P. Lovecraft famously encouraged his fellow Weird Tales fictioneers to take whatever they wished from his tales and make use of them as they saw fit; he, in turn, did the same. It was all in good fun and speaks to the easy collegiality of those bygone days (something that, perhaps unsurprisingly, reminds me of the early days of the Old School Renaissance as well). 

I was reminded of this when I recently re-read "The Blade of the Slayer," the fourth of Richard L. Tierney's Cthulhu Mythos-tinged historical fantasies featuring Samaritan gladiator-turned-Gnostic-magician Simon of Gitta. The tale originally appeared in the first issue of Pulse Pounding Adventure Stories (December 1986), a fanzine produced by Cryptic Publications that featured artwork by Stephen Fabian. The 'zine was very short-lived, with only two issues, the second of which (released in December 1987) also included another Simon of Gitta yarn.

"The Blade of the Slayer" takes place in January, A.D. 32, which is relatively early in the career of Simon, as he travels through Parthia on the run from the agents of Rome. The story's action picks up quickly, with Simon evading a band of cutthroats in the desert. While attempting to hide, he encounters an old man, "tall and white-bearded, clad in a dark greenish robe inscribed with the symbols of the Persian Magi." 

"Ho, stranger." The voice of the old man was nearly as thin as the cold wind. "Why do you come here to the site of the First City?"

"The–what?" Simon rose from his fighting crouch and approached the old man cautiously. "What are you talking about–?"

"And you have not heard that the spirit of the First Slayer, who founded it, still lingers about this ridgetop, waiting for unwary strayers?"

Simon glanced about at the numerous worn boulders, at the dry grasses blowing under the chill wind. "Aye, I've heard such tales. But, surely, no city ever stood here–"

"The legend is true. No outsider is safe in this place. You must go."

Simon is more concerned with his immediate safety and so is not put off by the warnings of the Magus. He beseeches the old man to hide for a short time, assuring him he has no interest in anything else. The old man relents, leading him into "a small room carved from the living rock and meagerly furnished with a cot, a wooden table, and two stools." He offers Simon some food, but again warns him about the spirit of the First Slayer, which the old man claims will overwhelm the Samaritan without magical protection. Simon scoffs and boasts that he, too, "[has] been trained in magical arts by Parthia's very own Magi."

"Aye, I know you now," said the oldster, his manner becoming a bit less suspicious. "You are Simon of Gitta, a pupil of the Archimage Daramos. I saw you several months ago, when I and several other priests of my order visited Daramos in Persepolis. Daramos mentioned to us that you were his most accomplished adept."

Simon, too, relaxed a bit more. "Thank you. But your memory is better than mine. I recall your visit, but not your name–"

"I am K'shasthra, priest of the Order of the High Guardians. At least one adept of our Order is always stationed here to guard the secret that–that for now must be kept from mankind. We have kept guard thusly for nearly two years. So much I may reveal to you, who have already been initiated into many secrets of the Magi. Perhaps I shall tell you more–but only with the understanding that the outer world must never know, until the Order has decided that the time is right."

In time, K'shasthra recognizes Simon as a powerful ally and agrees to reveal the secret his Order hides from the rest of mankind. The cave in which the old man dwells is part of a series of underground chambers that were dug beneath the First City, reduced to dust after thousands of years. Despite its name, the First City was actually "a walled fortress, founded by the First Slayer in fear of many who, fired by his example, sought to pursue and slay him."

"But the Slayer was under the curse of the great world-creator Achamoth," K'shasthra went on, "–the Demiurge who has fashioned the First Men to serve him. For his rebellion a Mark was set upon the Slayer; all who saw it shunned him in fear, and he was cursed to leave his city to his followers and wander forever over the face of the earth, hating and slaying, spreading new hatred and death."

"You mean," gasped Simon, "–this was–the city of Enoch …?" 

The strength of the Simon of Gitta stories is the way that Tierney deftly blends the history, myths, and religions of the ancient world – including those of the Bible, as in this case – with all manner of occult and Lovecraftian nuttery to present compelling, almost Howardian tales of blood and thunder. Likewise, Tierney regularly engages in the same kinds of borrowings, homages, and in-jokes as his Weird Tales forebears. In this particular case, he does more than simply have Simon's saga intersect with that of the Biblical first murderer. He brings him into contact with another pulp fantasy character inspired by those same stories. The result is every bit as fun as those of Lovecraft, Howard, or Smith, hence my fondness for "The Blade of the Slayer."

The saga of Simon of Gitta has long been out of print. Fortunately, Pickman's Press has collected them all into a single volume very recently and I highly recommend them to anyone interested in this unusual series of sword-and-sandal stories. 

Pulp Fantasy Library: Bloodstone

I find it hard to believe that, in all the years I've been writing entries in the Pulp Fantasy Library series, I've never written one about Karl Edward Wagner's, aside from this one. That's an oversight that needs correcting, which is why today's post discusses the 1975 novel Bloodstone.

Before jumping in, some introductory words are in order. Kane, like Conan, lives in a grim, fantastical world that precedes our own. He is described as a left-handed, red-haired warrior who is implied to be the firstborn son of Adam and, therefore, cursed by God to wander the world forever for having slain his younger brother. Kane is thus an anti-hero like Elric of Melniboné or Thomas Covenant. It's important to bear this in mind when talking about Bloodstone or any of Kane's other appearances, as he is a mercenary who works for the highest bidder. Though his effective immortality has allowed him to acquire knowledge of a vast array of subject, he remains an amoral slayer of men.

Kane appears in the novel almost immediately.

An ominous black shadow in the leaping firelight, the big man crouched enswathed in his cloak and moodily sipped wine from a crockery mug lost in his huge fist. His close-fitting shirt and trousers of dark leather were freshly stained with sweat and blood, and the right sleeve was rolled back from a scarlet-streaked bandage encircling an arm thick with corded muscle. A belt bright with silver studs crossed his massive chest, holding fast an empty sword scabbard behind his powerful right shoulder. The sword itself stood before him, its point embedded in a gnarled tree root. Absently running a knuckle over the short red beard that framed his rather brutal face, he brooded over the many nicks and red brown smears that defaced the blade and cast shadows of violent by the flickering light. Seemingly he was oblivious to the others as they greedily spread out the loot to divide among themselves.

Amidst the booty these bandits have assembled is a strange ring – large in size and made of a hard metal. More significantly, the ring's setting holds a bloodstone. Kane takes an immediate interest in it, but his companions, particularly their leader, Hechon, are not so keen to hand it over to him, despite Kane's claim that bloodstone "is scarcely a precious gem, and this ring's value is only that of a curiosity." They suspect that, if Kane wants it and is willingly to forfeit the rest of his share of the loot for it, the ring must be quite valuable indeed. Inevitably, a fight ensues over the ring and the red-headed warrior ably demonstrates his prowess at swordplay. Kane leaves the camp with the ring and the novel's real story commences.

As Hechon guessed, Kane does know something about the true value of this ring – or at least he thinks he does. One of the downsides of his immortality is that he often forgets things he has learned; they exist only as vague memories. For this reason, he seeks out Jhaniikest, a winged sorceress with whom he has good relations to learn more. Kane makes use of her "collection of scrolls and strangely bound volumes" and, in time, uncovers the history of the bloodstone. Jhaniikest is appalled and implores him,"Kane! Don't attempt this. I see only death for you in this madness! Let this ancient power lie buried!" His suspicions confirmed, Kane sets off to make use of the bloodstone ring to further his own plans, plans that Wagner does not immediately explain but instead reveals to the reader only slowly through the course of the novel.

I wish I could say that I like Bloodstone but I don't. I like the ideas of the novel, many of which are in the pulp tradition of Robert E. Howard, to whom Wagner was very devoted. Likewise, I like the idea of Kane, but, unlike Elric, he comes across as largely unsympathetic and bloody-minded. That may have been Wagner's point, of course, but, if so, he did his job too well and I found it difficult to care about Kane's exploits. The purple prose and convoluted plot did the novel no favors either and I frequently found myself losing both track of and interest in its action. It's a shame, because I think the ingredients of a good sword-and-sorcery tale are here; they're just poorly assembled.

Before I re-read Bloodstone in preparation for this post, I remembered liking it, but I may have been confusing it with other Kane stories, of which there are slightly more than a dozen. It's also possible that, as I've gotten older, I have simply lost the taste for the hammy, over-the-top style of fantasy that Bloodstone evinces. In the coming months, I might return to Kane and try another story to see if my feelings on the matter have changed.

Pulp Fantasy Gallery: Kane

This is the first author to be featured in the pulp fantasy gallery who was not in Gary Gygax's famed Appendix N, but his contributions to the cause of pulp fantasy deserve recognition nonetheless. Beginning in 1970, Karl Edward Wagner began the saga of Kane, a left-handed, red-headed warrior cursed with eternal life after slaying his brother. As well as being a peerless swordsman, Kane is also a potent sorcerer with a decidedly amoral streak. It's been years since I read them, but these stories always epitomized what I used to call "heavy metal fantasy;" they were the types of tales my friend Mike's older brother probably loved.

Wagner also deserves praise, though, for his formation of Carcosa Press, which sought to preserve pulp authors and tales and present them for a new generation in hardcover form. Even more important, Wagner edited several volumes of Conan stories that were the first to restore the texts to their original form, free from the accretions that had watered them down in the decades after Howard's death. For that alone, we all owe him a great debt.