Pulp Fantasy Library: The Edge of the World

1979 saw the publication of not one but two different stories of Kardios of Atlantis by Manly Wade Wellman: "The Seeker in the Fortress" and "The Edge of the World." The former appeared in Gerald W. Page and Hank Reinhardt's Heroic Fantasy anthology, while the latter graced the pages of the fourth (and penultimate) entry in Andrew J. Offutt's long-running Swords Against Darkness series. Kardios had appeared in every previous volume of Swords Against Darkness, so it's hardly surprising he'd turn up there again. 

"The Edge of the World" receives its title from the "mighty city of Kolokoto," which lay, seemingly literally, at the edge of "a terrifying nothingness" that marked the world's end. Of course, Wellman elicits the reader's skepticism about this supposed fact early on, as he notes that it was "the sixty or so priests who did most of the thinking for Kolokoto's citizens" who declared this to be so. The subsequent unfolding of the story does little to lessen that skepticism.

Kardios enters the story first by word of mouth, as one of the aforementioned priests, Mahleka, has an audience with Kolokoto's "disdainfully beautiful" queen, Iarie. The queen, who is "as dictatorial as she was lovely," sits upon an ebony throne guarded by two tamed monsters.

One of these, the rather molluscoid Ospariel, was carapaced in a green shell, from which peered brilliant eyes above a stir of tentacles. The other, Grob, might be a great crouching ape, if apes had branched horns and were covered with green scales the size of lily pads.

Iarie has summoned the priest to find out the source of a "disturbance among the people," one that she had heard "shouted over the lower market-reaches." Mahleka explains that "the people [have] gathered to welcome Kardios the wanderer."

Iarie has heard the name of Kardios before, who was reputed to have survived the sinking of Atlantis, "overthrown mighty rulers," "conquered monsters," and "brought to an end the worship of several gods." This interests the queen, who asks that the Atlantean be brought before her, but Mihaka, as "her chief and most knowledgeable advisor," is already one step ahead of his mistress. "I've already ordered that done," he explains.

Though initially viewing him with contempt, Iarie soon becomes intrigued by Kardios, especially after learning that he had entertained the people in the marketplace with a song dedicated to the goddess "Ettaire, the bringer of love." She asks him to sing her the same song, which he does. So impressed is she by his skill that she commands him to take dinner with her that very evening, to which Kardios readily agrees. 

Over dinner, Kardios and Iarie discuss the religion of Kolokoto and its chief god, Litoviay, who is "worshipped by acts of mischief." This piques Kardios' interest, causing him to wonder why the god's priests forbid anyone to travel over the mountain range that separates the city from the edge of the world. "Why not let the people go over the range and fall into space? That would be in character." Iarie shrugs off such questions, since she is much more interested in making the Atlantean wanderer "especially happy." She sends away her servants and takes Kardios, along with a flagon of wine, to her bedchamber so that they may "talk, mostly of the love-goddess Ettaire, and how best to worship her."

The next morning, Kardios is awakened by "two burly men in black chain mail" holding curved swords. Iarie explains to him that they are her "most discreet guardsmen ... Safe with my secrets, for both are mute." She adds, "Kardios, I'm sorry you woke. I had hoped you would die happy." 

"You'd murder me so that I would not tell?" he asked Iarie, and her smile grew the more triumphant.

"How accurately you estimate the situation," she answered him sweetly. "I'm a lonely woman, and from time to time I invite a stranger to divert me overnight. Naturally, I can't let such partners go and gossip about it. What would my people think?"

Kardios manages to knock the two guardsmen unconscious. The queen, undeterred, sets Ospariel and Grob on him, which he also defeats, thanks to his star metal sword. With no more tricks up her sleeve, Iarie resorts to crying rape, which summons more guards to her bedchamber. The Atlantean flees into the depths of the palace to avoid capture, succeeding only because a young weaver-girl named Wanendi gives him a place to hide undetected (once again cribbing a page from Conan – and from himself). 

From Wanendi he learns much about the city, its queen, and its place at the edge of the world.

Kolokoto, said Wanendi, had been built many generations ago for the announced purpose of discouraging travelers from falling off the edge of the world. It was a manufacturing city, with a thriving trade in excellent textiles. Royalty and certain merchants got the profits. Weavers like Wanendi managed to live just short of want. Queen Iarie was the latest tyrant to uphold the law of not crossing Fufuna into nothingness, and the mischief-god Litoviay marshalled a line of stone sentinels to enforce that law.

The girl also provides Kardios with some clothing that will enable him to blend in better with the locals. He repays her for this and her other kind deeds with treasure he acquired in Nyanyanya before setting off with the intention of escaping over the barrier mountain range – a feat no one had ever accomplished before. Of course, that's easier said than done ...

"The Edge of the World" is another enjoyable Kardios yarn, engagingly told. I am constantly impressed by how charmingly Wellman spins these tales, filled as they are with the well-worn tropes and clichés of pulp fantasy. It's evidence, I suppose, that a master is capable of producing something worthwhile even out of the basest materials. Once again, I cannot recommend these stories enough. I was very pleasantly surprised by them and I suspect many of you will be as well.

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Guest of Dzinganji

Having enjoyed re-reading Manly Wade Wellman's "The Dweller in the Temple" for last week's installment of the Pulp Fantasy Library, I decided to work my way through his remaining three tales of Kardios and using them as the basis for new posts. Before turning to the third in the series, "The Guest of Dzinganji," which first appeared in the Andrew Offutt-edited anthology, Swords Against Darkness III in 1978, I briefly wanted to make a couple of general comments about pulp fantasy literature that are relevant to all the stories of Kardios (and, by extension, to many similar pieces of fiction).

First, I think it's easy to overlook just how important anthologies were to the survival and growth of sword-and-sorcery literature during the period between the late 1960s and early 1980s. That's because the native form of this style of fantasy is the short story, the publication of which had previously depended on magazines, many of which, like Weird Tales, declined or ceased publication entirely by the start of the '50s. This turn of events left a void in the market that anthologies would eventually fill. Though published less often than their pulp predecessors, these anthologies were nevertheless significant vectors for the transmission of pulp fantasy sensibilities to a new generation of readers.

Second – and this comment is especially relevant in the case of the present tale – there can be little denying that pulp fantasies frequently used and re-used the same basic plots and story elements. How many of them, for example, involve a lone wanderer entering a new place and stumbling upon some problem whose solution has eluded every previous person who's come across it? This is not a weakness in my opinion, as the enjoyment of almost any story lies not in its specific components but in how the author makes use of them. There can thus be multiple stories with the same basic set-up but whose executions vary considerably, some good and some bad. 

In the case of "The Guest of Dzinganji," I feel that Wellman has achieved the former: a good story that makes use of commonplace pulp fantasy elements. These elements are, in fact, so commonplace that Wellman has already made use of them in his previous Kardios yarns. Yet, he somehow manages to use them one more time in this fun little adventure. As with "The Dweller in the Temple," Kardios follows an unknown trail and sings an improvised song as he strums his harp. This time, though, the trail abruptly ends at "an abyss as deep as any he had ever seen."

Down it went, down, down. Standing on the rocky shelf where the trail stopped, he peered. Hazy blue distance below. As he studied that depth, a flat click sounded in the air. He looked up.

Twelve times his length across, another cliff soared into the sky. Against the settling sun moved a dull-shiny something. It hung from chains to a great road or cable that came from far above where the ohter clilff's overhang held it. It was like a great metal basket drifting toward him. He drew back, wondering if his sword would be needed.

Kardios soon realizes that the basket is some kind of conveyance up the cliff-face. As he watches it travel up and down, he hears "a dry voice," which orders him, "Go away and forget." The voice comes from "a man in a ragged gray gown" who sat farther along the ledge between the two cliffs. The nameless old fellow seems to be a seer of some kind, for he knows the name of Kardios, as well as his role in sinking Atlantis. He explains to the wanderer that he has stayed here on the ledge "to warn men to turn back from Flaal. But the tales of treasure draw them. They never return."

The old man urges Kardios not to "let greed tempt you into Flaal."

"What happens to those who go there?"

The white head shook. "My wisdom doesn't reach to Flaal; magic shuts me out. I know only that Dzinganji rules there with a ready ear to listen for visitors and a ready method to entertain them. Dzinganji is a god, Kardios, and an evil one."

"I've met evil gods," said Kardios. "I killed Fith, who oppressed the giant Nephol tribe. I killed Tongbi, who was unpleasantly worshipped in Nyanyanya. What if I kill Dzinganji?"

"I'd be happily amazed. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll never say that," promised Kardios.

This was when Wellman succeeded in completely winning me over. The level of self-awareness that Kardios displays is remarkable, stopping just short of commenting on just how absurd it is that he has yet again run into a so-called god whose villainy demands death at his capable hands. It's a testament to Wellman's skill as a writer that, despite this, the story that follows does not descend into parody; if anything, Kardios's recognition of the situation only serves to make what follows more interesting.

Kardios makes use of the metal basket to reach Flaal, which was "a city, domed and steepled in crystal and gleaming gold and silver. Under the soles of his sandals, the pavement was golden." He had no doubts as to why men were drawn to this place, but it appeared to be completely empty. He called out received "no answer but his own echo." In spite of this, Kardios presses ahead to see what else he might find.

In time, he finds at least one inhabitant of the place.

A superbly proportioned female figure, he saw at once. Her clothing was taut, scanty and many-jeweled. Her pale blonde hair was caught at the temples with a glittering band. Her sandals were cross-gartered in silver to her knees.

"Warm welcome to Flaal, Kardios," said her musical voice. "You're strong and young. You'll be of service to us and your pay princely."

She smiled. Her face was dreamily lovely, her eyes pale blue as the spring sky washed by winter's tears. "My name is Tanda."

Again, the similarities to initial situation in "The Dweller in the Temple" is striking and, in the hands of a lesser writer, would rightly be grounds for criticism, if not outright mockery.  Here, it serves to lull the reader into a false sense of déjà vu so that Wellman might catch him off-guard with subsequent revelations – or so it was for me. 

Tanda is guarded by two towering warriors clad in golden arm and wielding huge, axe-like weapons. This raises the wanderer's suspicions, all the more so when the woman explains that "Dzinganji created them, to perform his will." When Kardios attempts to press on into Flaal without first agreeing to "make submission" to Dzinganji like all "guests" in the city, the two sentinels attack him. During the battle, he notices that his opponents move strangely and do not seem to bleed when struck. When he emerges victorious, Tanda is unhappy.

"Dzinganji will be displeased," said Tanda in a reproachful voice.

"They were trying to kill me," reminded Kardios, bending above the two silent figures. "Did I truly kill them? Where's the blood?"

There showed only a trickle of clear fluid from the wounds he had inflicted. "It looks more like oil than blood," he said.

"They were machines," said Tanda. "Flaal is guarded by machines."

With that, "The Guest at Dzinganji" takes another unexpected turn and it's not the last. Every step of the way, Wellman zigs rather than zags and the result is a pulp fantasy yarn that is familiar without being hackneyed – and original without straying too far from a tried-and-true formula of the genre. It's good fun and exactly what I want out of stories of this kind.

Pulp Fantasy Library: A Hero at the Gates

Tanith Lee is one of those fantasy authors whose existence largely escaped my notice during my younger days. This is in spite of the fact that one of her short stories, "In the Balance," appeared in the third volume of the celebrated Swords Against Darkness series edited by Andrew J. Offutt – the only one included in Gary Gygax's Appendix N. I remember very well reading that volume, several of whose stories made a lasting impression upon me, yet, for the life of me, I can't recall Lee's own contribution. I find that particularly odd, because, if nothing else, Lee is an exceptional stylist; even if one does not like the tales she tells, there can be little doubt that she tells them with aplomb.

Later in life I corrected this lacuna in my literary education and read several collections of Lee's short stories, including one, published in 1982, entitled Cyrion. Cyrion is the name of the protagonist of all the included stories, including "A Hero at the Gates," first published in the pages of the Summer 1979 issue of Shayol, a science fiction and fantasy periodical about which I don't know a great deal. In any case, "A Hero at the Gates" takes place, like all of the adventures of Cyrion, in a fantasy version of the medieval Kingdom of Jerusalem (Heruzala) at the time of the Crusades. I say "fantasy version" primarily because sorcery and the supernatural are incontrovertibly real; in most other respects, the world Cyrion inhabits is simply the 12th century Levant with the names swapped out – "Remusans" for "Romans" and "Hesuf" instead of "Jesus," for example.

"A Hero at the Gates" begins with the arrival of Cyrion at a city in the midst of the desert in which he has been traveling, alone, for some time. 

Cyrion stood and regarded the city. He was tempted to believe it a desert too, one of those hulks of men's making, abandoned centuries ago as the sands of the waste crept to their threshold. Certainly, the city was old. Yet it had no aspect of neglect, none of the indefinable melancholy of the unlived-in house.

Before long, Cyrion recognizes that he is being watched by the inhabitants of this unnamed city.

What did they perceive? This: a young man, tall and deceptively slim, deceptively elegant, which elegance itself was something of a surprise, for he had been months traveling in the desert, on the caravan routes and the rare and sand-blown roads. He wore the loose dark clothing of a nomad, but with the generous hood thrust back to show he did not have a nomad's pigmentation. At his side was a sword sheathed in read leather. The sunlight struck a silver-gold burnish on the pommel of the sword that was also the color of his hair. His left hand was mailed in rings which apparently no bandit had been able to relieve him of. If the watchers of the city had remarked that Cyrion was as handsome of the Arch-Demon himself, they would not have been the first to do so. 

As descriptions of a character go, it's a good one and representative, I think, of Lee's luscious style. At any rate, Cyrion is soon met by a man with "a hard face, tanned but sallow, wings of black hair beneath a shaved crown, and a collar of swarthy gold set with gems." The man, who identifies himself as Prince Memled, explains that he and his subjects "await a savior. We await him in bondage … You, perhaps, are he." 

Cyrion, naturally, is skeptical but nevertheless asks Memled to explain what he wants from him. 

"We are in the thrall of a monster, a demon-beast. It dwells in the caverns beneath the city, but at night it roves at all. It demands the flesh of our men to eat; it drinks the blood of our women and our children. It is protected through ancient magic, by a pact made a hundred years before between the princes of the city (cursed be they!) and the hordes of the Fiend. None born of the city has power to slay the beast. Yet there is a prophecy. A stranger, a hero who ventures to our gates, will have the power."

Upon questioning, Memled admits to Cyrion that other would-be saviors have preceded him – "upward of a score," he explains – and they have all "met an early death." The prince tells him that no one will think ill of him should he refuse to undertake this enterprise. He also adds:

"I can reveal no more. It is a part of the foul sorcery that binds us. We may say nothing to aid you, do nothing to aid you. Only pray for you, if you should decide to pit your skill against the devil."

Despite this, Cyrion accepts Memled's offer to attempt to save his city, in exchange for coin. The prince readily agrees to this, saying, "We crave safety, not wealth. Our wealth has not protected us from horror and death."

I doubt anyone will be surprised to learn that things are not quite what they seem. Fortunately, Cyrion is exceedingly clever, a keen reader of others and an eye for small details. These traits all serve him well in a story that, ultimately, is less a traditional sword-and-sorcery yarn than a mystery. Indeed, Cyrion himself feels less like a Conan than a street-smart pulp detective. There's even a scene, toward the end of the story, where Cyrion explains how and why he was able to discern something that no one else seemingly could. It reminded me of similar scenes in Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories or those of his many imitators, which I rather suspect was the point.

In any event, "A Hero at the Gates" is a good read and a nice change of pace from more traditional pulp fantasy tales. I suspect anyone reading it will soon wish to read more and I heartily encourage that – if you can find them; like so much of Lee's oeuvre, they are currently out of print. 

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Pit of Wings

Ramsey Campbell is generally called a horror writer, because he was deeply influenced by the work of H.P. Lovecraft, whom he first read at a young age. So enamored was he of HPL's tales that he wrote his own pastiches of them as a teenager. He submitted some of them to Arkham House for publication, where they caught the attention of August Derleth. Derleth was impressed with young man's abilities but rejected his submissions, advising him to rework them into stories set in Campbell's native Britain rather than in Lovecaft's New England (if only Derleth had followed his own advice). Campbell did as directed, leading to the publication of The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants in 1964 at the age of eighteen. 

Though the bulk of his work can be called "horror," Campbell has also written a number of fantasy stories featuring the swordsman Ryre. One of these, "The Pit of Wings," appeared in the third anthology in Andrew J. Offutt's Swords Against Darkness series. The series as a whole is well regarded for its inclusion of so many excellent sword-and-sorcery tales, but volume three holds particular interest for roleplayers, as it's singled out by Gary Gygax's list of inspirational and educational reading in Appendix N of the AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide. Precisely why Gygax included only the third volume of the series and not the previous two already available at the time remains a matter of debate among those with an interest in such things. 

What's not up for debate, though, is whether Campbell was as good a writer of fantasy as he was of horror. "The Pit of Wings" begins with Ryre traveling by horseback when arrives outside the port town of Gaxonoi. He sees laves, chained and obviously mistreated by their captors, hard at work along the road. 

Ryre hated slavery as only a man who has been enslaved can. Fury parched his throat. Yet he could not fight a town, or its customs, however deplorable.

He elects to ride past the town but cannot do so without a look of obvious distaste growing across his face. One of the slave-drivers notices Ryre "glare of contempt" and counsels him.

"Yes, ride on, unless you're seeking honest toil. We've a place for you, and chains to fit." His slow voice was viciously caressing as a whip. As he gazed up at Ryre, he licked his lips.

Ryre's grin was leisurely and mirthless. Though he could not battle slavery, he would enjoy responding to this challenge. He stared at the man as though peering beneath a stone. "Ridding the world of vermin? Yes, I'd call that honest."

The man's tongue flickered like a snake's. His smile twitched, as did his hand: nervous, or beckoning for reinforcements? "What kind of swordsman is it who lets his words fight for him?" he demanded harshly.

"No man fights with vermin. He crushes them." 

Despite the growing tension, a fight does not break out between Ryre and the slavers – yet. Instead, they allow him to enter Gaxonoi, where he makes his way down toward its docks. There, he enters a tavern and quickly gets the sense that something is odd about the town and its inhabitants. He later learns just what that is: a procession of cowled figures was making its way amidst the wharves.

Their robes were pale as fungus. They emerged two by two from a wide dark street at the edge of the dock. The slow pallid emergence reminded Ryre of worms dropping from a gap. There seemed to be no end to the procession; surely it would fill the wharf.

Despite its size, the procession was unnervingly silent. A distant flapping could be heard. There was violence amid the ceremony: figures struggling desperately but mutely, which seemed to hover in the air among their robed captors. Ryre distinguished that the victims were bound and gagged, and kept aloft by taut ropes held by robed men. The sight made him think of insects in a web.

 As they get closer, Ryre recognizes one of the cowled men as the slave-driver who'd taunted him earlier. This time, the swordsman is unwilling to stay his anger and a melee ensues, one that sees Ryre not only defeated but left alive so that he too could witness whatever it was that these robed figures planned to do with their captives. Needless to say, it's nothing pleasant and Ryre must find a way to free himself and possibly the others before they all die horrifically.

Like the best sword-and-sorcery yarns, "The Pit of Wings" is short and its action moves quickly. Ryre himself is not particularly memorable as a character; he's a fairly typical pulp fantasy warrior in most respects, certainly nothing special when compared to the likes of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser or Conan. Yet, Campbell's experience as a horror writer serves him well here, elevating the story with his command of rising suspense and hidden menace. Gaxonoi is a genuinely creepy place and the reader can feel Ryre's growing anxiety, which builds throughout the second part of the story until it reaches its unnerving climax – a compelling little story, better than most fare of its kind.