The Song Of The Sword
: The DoomsmanIt did not take long for Constans to arouse and collect his men; tired
of inaction, they were only too glad to respond to the summons. And at
the last, Constans, unable to withstand the entreaty in Red Oxenford's
eyes, ordered his release.
"But, with the others, you must wait upon my word," he said, sternly,
and Oxenford, fearful above all things of being left behind, gave ready
assent to the condition.
Under the south rampart of the citadel they halted. There were but two
guards on duty here, and they were easily surprised and secured before
they could give an alarm. As one by one the rest of the company ascended
the scaling-ladder, they were ordered to throw themselves prone on the
flat top of the wall, to await the final signal. Over at the north gate
the clamor grew momentarily--there were blows of axes on wood, and clash
of arms, and the confused crying of many voices.
"The snapping-turtle must be at his work," said Constans to himself.
"Wait until his teeth show through that flimsy wooden screen."
* * * * *
Piers Major had advanced promptly upon receiving the message brought by
his son. The chances of a frontal attack had already been discussed
between him and Constans, and the latter had devised a formation which,
in theory at least, should make such an undertaking feasible. In its
basic idea it was the Roman testudo, described by Julius Caesar in the
Gallic Commentaries. The phalanx of marching men were protected from
arrows, darts, and ordinary missiles by a continuous covering formed of
their ox-hide shields, the latter being held horizontally above the head
and interlocked. The overlapping shields bore a fanciful resemblance to
the scaly carapace of a tortoise--hence its name; and, so long as the
essential principle of unity of action was maintained, it might be
reckoned an effective engine of warfare.
As the testudo moved down the Palace Road and towards the wooden
barrier of the north gate, it was to be observed that the front-rank men
and the file-closers carried their shields in the ordinary fashion, in
order to ward off horizontally flying missiles. Once under the shelter
of the walls, the leaders would immediately discard their now useless
bucklers and begin to ply their axes, protected from overhead assaults
by the overlapping shields of their comrades. The formation advanced
steadily; there was a suggestion of terrific irresistibility in the very
slowness of its progress; to the eager fancy it might have been the
veritable recreation of some prehistoric monster, the illusion being
heightened by the torchlight that flickered uncertainly over the rounded
bellies of the shields of greenish leather and was reflected redly from
their copper bosses.
The defence had been quick to recognize the character of the assault,
and had done their best to repel it. The catapults had been brought
into action, and their huge projectiles hurtled constantly through the
air, but for the most part innocuously, the machines not being in the
best of order and the artillerymen unpractised in their use. It was not
until the testudo had advanced to within fifty yards that a shot
discharged by a machine, worked by Quinton Edge in person, took effect,
the missile striking the testudo on the left wing and disabling three
men. Before the advantage could be followed up the files had been closed
again and the formation had advanced so far that the catapults became
useless, it being impossible to depress them beyond a certain angle. The
front rank had now reached the barrier, and the axes fell furiously upon
the wooden leaves of the gate. The Doomsmen on the walls renewed the
attack with hand-weapons, the slingers and archers hurling their
missiles vertically downward and the spearmen watching their opportunity
for an effective body-thrust. The affair would be short and sharp, for
the testudo could not be expected to hold its position for longer than
a few minutes--it was not in flesh and blood to withstand indefinitely
that fierce and deadly shower. Already there were gaps in the protective
roof of shields--impossible to repair, for in that close-packed mass the
bodies of the wounded and dead impeded the progress of those who would
otherwise have taken their places. Yet the struggle went stubbornly on.
A sharp-eyed youth who was lying next to Constans touched him on the
arm, directing his attention to a squad of the defenders who were
working to dislodge one of the massive coping-stones of the gateway
arch. Already it was oscillating under the heave of the levers; if it
fell, a score of men might be crushed beneath its weight, and the
destruction of the testudo would be a certainty. Constans raised his
rifle. It was a long shot, but he could not wait to take deliberate aim;
he fired.
The bullet had found its mark, for one man was fallen where he stood and
another nursed a broken wrist. The workers at the gate were thrown into
confusion and the stone settled back into its bed. The assailants
redoubled their efforts, and the thunder of the axe-blows became
continuous.
"Through! they are through!" shouted Constans, and sprang down upon the
banquette. In his excitement he entirely forgot about the new weapon
that had but just now rendered such signal service; he threw aside the
rifle for the more familiar sword. And he noticed that his followers had
acted under the same primitive impulse; the fire-stick might be given
the honor of drawing first blood, but it was for cold steel to finish
the work.
Shoulder to shoulder the men raced across the square to the gate. The
attempt to block up the passage, had failed for lack of time, and the
Stockaders were pouring through pellmell, intent on securing foothold in
the open. The Doomsmen, forsaking the now useless walls, met them man to
man; there was the clash of opposing bucklers, and through the din
pierced the keen, clear ring of blades in play--the Song of the Sword.
The diversion in the rear came at the opportune moment. The Doomsmen had
so far greatly out-numbered the Stockaders, and the latter were being
forced back into the vaulted passage, thereby blocking it against the
main body of their comrades. But now the Doomsmen, attacked from behind,
were obliged to devote part of their attention elsewhere, the pressure
at the gateway was relieved, and reinforcements, with Piers Major and
Piers Minor at their head, made their way through and took active part
in the struggle. Even then the defenders were slightly superior
numerically to the invading party, and the issue remained in doubt.
Constans felt himself carried into the thickest of the press; he fought
on mechanically, thrusting and cutting with the rest, and yet hardly
conscious of what he was doing. His mind would not work easily; he found
himself dwelling upon inconsequential trifles--what had become of his
cap? and how tall was that big fellow with the broad-axe who seemed so
anxious to come to close quarters with him? He was not in the least
afraid, but he wondered if it were possible for him to come out of all
this alive. It seemed unthinkable that the ring of steel surrounding him
could be broken by any mortal power; sooner or later it must contract
and crush him. Even the momentary vision of Ulick, stripped to the waist
and with a broad, red streak across his forehead, failed to arouse him.
He could think only of a thresher with his flail as Ulick, bludgeoning
right and left, won clear from the press of Stockader foes surrounding
him and rejoined his own ranks. A confused idea that he wanted to speak
to Ulick suddenly oppressed Constans; he half started to follow him.
Piers Minor, at his elbow, held him back and shouted a caution.
"Keep up your guard, man, or that big chap will have you yet! And let
them come to you--don't rush them!"
In a hand-to-hand encounter there can be but little opportunity for
strategy or leadership, except in the purely physical sense. Yet, on
either side, the men fought as though animated by a common instinct, the
Doomsmen striving to force the Stockaders back into the gateway passage,
and the latter endeavoring to cut their way bodily through the mass of
the defenders and so divide its strength. For a while the tide began to
run with the allies, and the Doomsmen were obliged to fall back slowly
towards the interior barricade on the east side of the square that
protected the women and children. Constans, panting from his exertions,
snatched at this moment of respite to regain his breath. A moment before
he had stumbled against a small keg that was rolling about under the
feet of the struggling men; this he up-ended and mounted for a better
look around.
It was true; the Doomsmen were really giving way, and the victory was
all but won. Yet not quite, for even as he gazed the onrushing line of
the triumphant Stockaders sagged backward at the centre, and the
Doomsman yell broke out. What was it? What had happened?
Emerging from the portal of the White Tower came half a dozen bearers
carrying between them a chair in which sat a man--an old man with a
shock of snow-white hair covering his massive head. And those shoulders
needed no identification from the familiar wolf-skin that lay across
them. This could be none other than Dom Gillian, Chief and Overlord of
the Doomsmen, Father of the Gray People. He wore no armor and carried no
shield, but his hand gripped a great war-mace studded with silver nails,
fit emblem of the authority supreme that its own weight had created.
But that had been full half a century ago.
The old man made a movement as though to rise. Two of the attendants
attempted to assist him, but he waved them back. Ah, the wonder of it as
that huge bulk reared itself to full height! An ordinary man might stand
comfortably under his out-stretched arm and barely join the tips of his
fingers in measuring around the monster's girth. But there was more than
mere bigness with which to reckon. The close observer might notice that
his armpits and the corresponding parts under the knee were not hollow,
as is ordinarily the case, but were filled with a solid mass of muscle
and tendon. And this was Dom Gillian, with the weight of ninety-odd
years upon his back. What manner of man must he have been in the noonday
of his strength!
As though by common consent the conflict came to an abrupt end; the two
lines drew apart and silence fell between them. Dom Gillian took two or
three forward steps. He seemed to be uncertain of where to plant his
feet, as is the natural consequent when one has not walked for a long
time; but once squarely set, he stood solidly--like a column of masonry.
The bent shoulders had straightened up and the chest had filled out;
there was no evidence of decrepitude in the ease with which he
manipulated his ponderous mace, swinging it from side to side in great,
slow circles. Only Constans noticed that he kept his head turned
constantly in one direction, where there was a great flare of light, a
dozen cressets and link-torches burning together. Could it be that his
eyesight had failed save for the mere distinction between light and
darkness? It might be well to know surely, and, stepping down from his
vantage-point, Constans forced his way to the front. Quinton Edge was
speaking, and Constans listened with the rest.
"If there is one among you," he said, with smooth distinctness, "who
thinks himself a man, let him stand forth and make answer to our father,
Dom Gillian, face to face, so that our lord may particularly inquire
concerning these dogs of Stockaders who dare to show a naked blade in
the inmost citadel of Doom the Forbidden. You have tracked the gray wolf
to his lair, now send you out a gallant who will clip his claws."
Constans, intent upon his theory, noticed that Dom Gillian had turned
his head in the direction of Quinton Edge's voice when he first began to
speak, but almost immediately his attention had flagged and his eyes had
wandered back to the lights. Now, as Quinton Edge stopped, the old man's
face changed suddenly, the eyebrows contracting and the jaw setting
itself rigidly. It seemed as though he were about to speak, but there
was only that murmur in his throat, hoarse and unintelligible. Then
Constans understood that this was no longer a man that stood before
them, but merely a wild beast in leash. The monster seemed annoyed by
the silence. He moved forward uncertainly for a few steps and stood
still; one could hear him purring softly like a big cat.
"We are waiting," said Quinton Edge.
A man brushed by Constans and stepped into the open. It was Oxenford the
"Red."
"This belongs to me--to none other," he said, and looked about him.
No man moved.
"I am ready," he continued, and threw his upper coat on the ground
behind him. Constans stood for an instant at Oxenford's ear.
"The old wolf is nearly blind," he whispered. "Take care not to get
between him and the light yonder and you have a chance."
Oxenford nodded. His manner was quiet and collected, and his face,
though pale, had lost the strained look that had characterized it for
these last few days. "Stand clear!" he said, and Constans moved away and
stood watching.
Man to man, Oxenford, though by no means a weakling, was yet outclassed
in every particular of height, weight, and reach. But he possessed one
inestimable advantage--that of agility. Quick footwork should save him
at even the closest pinch--that and his wits. Then, if the giant were
really blind!
Realizing the futility of trying to meet Dom Gillian with weapons
similar to his own, Oxenford had provided himself with a simple
truncheon of lignum-vitae, while in his belt was stuck a broad-bladed,
double-edged knife. The latter was for close quarters, but it would
require some manoeuvring to get there, and Dom Gillian would ask
opportunity but for one clean stroke.
The men faced each other steadily for perhaps a minute. Then Oxenford
rapped his antagonist smartly across the knuckles and sprang back out of
reach. The colossus, with a growl, swung his mace to right and left,
striking at random, for Oxenford had cunningly contrived to turn Dom
Gillian so that the light was at his back. Quinton Edge must have
noticed the ruse, for he beckoned to an attendant and ordered that
every available torch and cresset should be placed about the arena. But
the affair was over long before the command could be obeyed.
Again the giant struck out, and this time so strongly that he came near
to losing his balance. Oxenford, rushing in, discharged a quick half-arm
blow on the Doomsman's right wrist, and the mace dropped from the
suddenly paralyzed grip. Confused and terror-stricken, Dom Gillian
dropped on all-fours, groping about in the darkness for the weapon that
had rolled away and out of immediate reach. Oxenford, drawing his knife,
struck downward, aiming for the angle of neck and collar-bone. But in
his eagerness he overshot the mark, the blade making only a trifling
flesh wound, and the next instant Dom Gillian had him in his clutch. The
two stood up together.
It seemed a long time, hours indeed, that Dom Gillian waited for his
injured wrist to recover its strength, holding Oxenford easily in his
left hand and shaking the other incessantly to restore the interrupted
circulation. Even when at last satisfied that the wrist could be trusted
to do its duty, he did not appear to be in any hurry; he seemed to be
meditating upon the most effective use to which he could apply the
advantage that he had gained. Then, suddenly, Dom Gillian bent down and
grasped his victim by the ankles, swinging Oxenford into the air as
easily as a thresher does his flail. With every muscle starting to the
strain, the Doomsman whirled his enemy's body once, twice, and thrice,
at full sweep about his head, then downward into crushing contact with
the pavement. A final superhuman effort, and the inert mass was hurled
clean over the heads of the on-lookers, falling with the dead sound of
over-ripe fruit against the wall of the White Tower.
A full minute passed, and still every eye remained fixed on Dom Gillian.
He had not moved, except to turn his head again in the direction of the
light--a dumb instinct like to the compass-needle that seeks the
magnetic pole. A colossal statue, but Constans fancied that it was
swaying at its base, then he saw the great chest heave convulsively and
a bubble of reddish foam issuing at his lips.
But the man was dying hard; in another moment he had straightened up,
and was resolutely swallowing back the salty, suffocating tide, beating
the air with his hands as he strove for breath. Only for an instant,
however, for now the tide had become a flood, and, with a little fretful
moan, like to that of a tired child, Dom Gillian, Overlord of Doom, sank
to earth, not falling headlong, as does a felled tree, but quietly
settling into a heap, just as an empty bag collapses into itself.
* * * * *
The fighting had begun again; no man could say why or how. True, the
Doomsmen had been disheartened by the fall of their champion, but they
were not yet ready to yield themselves; they had retreated to the
shelter of the interior barricade, and would make there a final stand.
The Stockaders, flushed with anticipated triumph, drove blindly,
recklessly at the barrier. Constans felt the blood singing in his ears,
then a weight suddenly lifted from his brain; his eyes cleared and the
fierce joy of conflict captured him. He forced his way to the front,
gaining foothold on the barricade. Ten feet away stood Quinton Edge,
and Constans's heart was glad. At last!
A hand caught at the skirt of his doublet, and impatiently he jerked
himself loose. Again the detaining grasp; he bent down to strike and
looked into Ulick's eyes. Obedient to the unspoken request, he knelt
down and tried to move his friend into a more comfortable position. The
crushed chest sank horribly under his hands, and he was obliged to give
over.
"Close to me," whispered Ulick, and Constans bent his head to listen.
"It is of Esmay," he said. "Nanna but just now told me--a
prisoner--Arcadia House--you will go to her?"
"Yes," said Constans.
But Ulick had followed the direction of his eyes and seen that they
rested on Quinton Edge.
"At once; it must be now--else too late."
Constans did not answer.
"Now!" reiterated Ulick, insistently.
"I cannot."
"Yes."
"I will not."
"Yes."
Constans's voice was hard; he rose to his feet.
"I have been waiting upon this chance for years--you do not understand."
"Yes--I understand."
"All along; it was you who loved her."
"But you--whom she loved."
"No," said Constans, sullenly.
"It is--true."
"No!" again cried Constans. Then, suddenly, it seemed that a great
light shone about him. But the wonder of it lay not in this new
knowledge of Esmay's heart, but in the revelation of his own. He loved
her, he knew it now, and not as in that brief moment of passion at
Arcadia, when even honor seemed well lost. For this was the greater love
that draws a man to the one woman in the world who has the power to lift
him to the heights whereon she herself stands. A supreme joy, that
humbled even while it exalted, swept over Constans. "I will go," he
said, and took Ulick's hand in both his own.
The storm-centre of the fighting had moved away from them; above their
heads the stars shone serenely. Constans could not speak, but he pointed
them out to his friend.
* * * * *
Piers Minor, fighting in the press at the gate as became his stout
breed, chanced to rescue a boy from being crushed to death. The lad had
been crowded up against a projecting angle and was quite breathless when
the Stockader, arching his back against the pressure, broke the jam by
sheer strength and pulled the stripling out of his dangerous position.
But what a fine color came back into the white cheeks as the twain
recognized each other!
"You!" said Nanna, and at that moment she would have given all she
possessed in the world for just a skirt.
"You!" re-echoed Piers Minor, and immediately a horrible dumbness fell
upon him.
The thunder of the captains and the shouting filled their ears, but they
heard not, the red light of battle danced before their eyes, but they
saw not. Some miracle swept them clear of the struggle, and guided them
to the shelter afforded by a half-completed barricade of ox-carts. And
here Piers Minor, seeing that she trembled and edged closer to him like
any ordinary woman, took on a wonderful accession of courage.
"Little one!" he murmured, in his big, bass voice, and laughed
contentedly, just as though death were not standing at his other elbow.
But then Piers Minor was not a man to think of more than one thing at a
time.
"I have seen Ulick," whispered Nanna, "and he promised to give the
message to Constans. Surely he will do so--tell me?"
Piers Minor put his arm around her. "Of course," he answered, stoutly,
without comprehending in the least who Ulick was or what the message
could be about. But he did understand that she wanted comfort in her
trouble, and so he said and did precisely the right thing. All of which
was exceedingly clever for Piers Minor.
Some one brushed rudely against them, and Piers Minor turned in anger.
But Nanna laid her hand upon his arm. "Hush!" she said, "it is Prosper,
the priest."
The old man stood motionless for an instant surveying the wild scene
before him.
"It is the third day," he muttered, "the day of Doom. The day and now
the hour. So be it, lord; it is thy will, and I obey."
With the last word he wheeled and disappeared into the shadows. An
intuitive sense of the impending peril seized the girl. "Come!" she
panted, and dragged at her companion's sleeve. "It is the vengeance of
the Shining One. But there is a chance--if we follow."
Piers Minor did not hesitate. "As you will," he said, briefly, and Nanna
flashed back at him a brilliant smile, hand-in-hand they sped through
the now deserted passageway of the north gate.
* * * * *
For the last time Constans bent his lips to the ear of the dying man.
"Ulick!" he called. There was no answer, and Constans felt that the hand
that lay in his was growing cold. Then for one brief instant the soul
looked out from the hollowed eyes.
"The sun!" he said, and smiled as one who, having kept the watches of a
long night, looks upon the dawn. "The sun!" he cried again, and his
spirit went forth to meet it.
* * * * *
Constans rose unsteadily to his feet.
The sun! A vivid glare beat down upon him. The sun! and rising in the
west!
A vast shaft of fire shot upward to the zenith, and all along the
western horizon pinnacles and roof-line stood out etched in crimson.
Constans saw that the entire quarter of the city west of the Citadel
Square was in conflagration, and the flames, borne on the wings of a
northwest gale, came driving swiftly down. A rain of red-hot cinders
fell about him.
A shout of terror went up from Doomsmen and Stockader alike, and the
fighting ended abruptly. Then began a rush for the gate, victors and
vanquished mingled indiscriminately together, constrained only by the
one common impulse to seek refuge in flight. To add to the confusion,
fresh explosions were heard on the north and south, followed almost
immediately by the appearance of flames in these latter quarters. Where,
then, led the path to safety?
Constans, running towards the southern rampart, where he knew he should
find his ladder, saw a tall figure just ahead of him. He recognized
Quinton Edge, but the Doomsman had reached and scaled the wall before
Constans could overtake him. Yet he caught a glimpse of his enemy
proceeding rapidly in a northeast direction. Constans followed
immediately, tightening his belt for the hard run that lay before him.
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Constans remained motionless at the window. Every instinct of self-preservation urged him onward, but yet he stopped and listened to a girl's laughter. It ceased, and he sprang forward--too late! for already the blood-hounds were upon him. Fang... The Sinister Bonanza
They were taken to a small, drab internment room. A half hour passed and still no word from the Major. From the moment the Patrol crew had boarded them, everything had seemed like a bad dream. The shock of the arrest, the realization that the Capt... The Sisters
A young girl sat before a magnificent fireplace of cut stone gazing into the fire of drift-wood that burned diffidently upon a hearth whose spaciousness would have been more fittingly adorned by Vergil's "no small part of a tree." Out-of-doors the... The Six Tubes
One night, just as I entered my house, the telephone bell in the hall rang sharply. I picked up the receiver impatiently, for I was tired with the long day's work. "Is that Dr. Harden?" "Yes." "Can you come down to Charing Cross Station at... The Sky Trap
Lawton enjoyed a good fight. He stood happily trading blows with Slashaway Tommy, his lean-fleshed torso gleaming with sweat. He preferred to work the pugnacity out of himself slowly, to savor it as it ebbed. "Better luc... The Slowing Rotation
It might have been a million years later, that I perceived, beyond possibility of doubt, that the fiery sheet that lit the world, was indeed darkening. Another vast space went by, and the whole enormous flame had sunk to a deep, copper color. Gra... The Sly One
THE SAGOTHS WERE GAINING ON US RAPIDLY, FOR once they had sighted us they had greatly increased their speed. On and on we stumbled up the narrow canyon that Ghak had chosen to approach the heights of Sari. On either side rose precipitous cliffs ... The Song Of The Sword
It did not take long for Constans to arouse and collect his men; tired of inaction, they were only too glad to respond to the summons. And at the last, Constans, unable to withstand the entreaty in Red Oxenford's eyes, ordered his release. "But... The Soul Of Number 13
Scarcely had the Ithaca cleared the reef which lies almost across the mouth of the little harbor where she had been moored for so many months than the tempest broke upon her in all its terrific fury. Bududreen was no mean sailor, but he was short... The Sound Of A Tumult
Graham's last impression before he fainted was of a clamorous ringing of bells. He learnt afterwards that he was insensible, hanging between life and death, for the better part of an hour. When he recovered his senses, he was back on his translu... The Soundings Of The Susquehanna
Well, lieutenant, and our soundings?" "I think, sir, that the operation is nearing its completion," replied Lieutenant Bronsfield. "But who would have thought of finding such a depth so near in shore, and only 200 miles from the American coast... The South Pacific Sailing Directory
67. I cannot say the world greeted the end of the North American continent with either rejoicing or regret. Relief, yes. When the news of the last demolition was given and it was clear the Grass was unable to bridge the gap, the imaginative could ... The South Pole
I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs--a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green,... The Southern Hemisphere
Exceedingly narrow and exceedingly fortunate had been the escape of the Projectile. And from a danger too the most unlikely and the most unexpected. Who would have ever dreamed of even the possibility of such an encounter? And was all danger over?... The Southern Hemisphere
The projectile had just escaped a terrible danger, and a very unforseen one. Who would have thought of such an encounter with meteors? These erring bodies might create serious perils for the travelers. They were to them so many sandbanks upon ... The Specimens Escape
Knowing well that conversation with its fellows is one of the greatest needs of any intelligent being, the Nevians had permitted the Terrestrial specimens to retain possession of their ultra-beam communicators. Thus it was that Costigan had been a... The Star
It was on the first day of the new year that the announcement was made, almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets that wheel about the sun, had become very erratic.... The Star
It was on the first day of the New Year that the announcement was made, almost simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the planet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets that wheel about the sun, had become very erratic. Ogilv... The Star Hyacinths
On a bleak, distant unchartered world two ships lay wrecked and a lone man stared at a star hyacinth. Its brilliance burned into his retina ... and he knew that men could easily kill and kill for that one beauty alone. The r... The Star In The East
It was in October of the same year that Constans and Esmay stood one day in the court-yard of the Greenwood Keep, now restored and rebuilt. His father's blood friends had helped generously in the rehabilitation of his fortunes, and Constans had ... The Stars My Brothers
He was afraid--not of the present or the future, but of the past. He was afraid of the thing tagged Reed Kieran, that stiff blind voiceless thing wheeling its slow orbit around the Moon, companion to dead worlds and silent space. ... The Stillness
My first act before I went into the pantry was to fasten the door between the kitchen and the scullery. But the pantry was empty; every scrap of food had gone. Apparently, the Martian had taken it all on the previous day. At that discovery... The Stockade
When Oliver and Felix started, they left Philip, the third and youngest of the three brothers, still at breakfast. They turned to the left, on getting out of doors, and again to the left, through the covered passage between the steward's store and... The Stolen Document
The last ordinary train to Antwerp had gone long before Heideck reached the station. But a short interview with the railway commissioner sufficed, and an engine was at once placed at the Major's disposal. When he had mounted to the stoker's place ... The Storm
On the little stern seat of the boat Mercer and Anina sat side by side, the girl steering by a small tiller that lay between them. They were well out in the middle of the river now, speeding silently along with its swift current. They made extraor... The Straits
The passage contracted there to little over half a mile, but these narrows did not continue far; the shores, having approached thus near each other, quickly receded, till presently they were at least two miles apart. The merchant vessel had passed... The Strange Bravery Of Miss Blank
Telescope, rifles, and shields were tumbled into the projectile pell-mell, and without stopping to close the port-hole, we steered towards the city as we mounted rapidly. When the soldiers, weary of running, saw us start, they were stricken with a... The Strange Face
WE left the cabin and found a man at the companion obstructing our way. He was standing on the ladder with his back to us, peering over the combing of the hatchway. He was, I could see, a misshapen man, short, broad, and clumsy, with a crooked b... The Strange Man's Arrival
The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved h... The Strategy
General Sebastian MacMaine, sometime Colonel of Earth's Space Force, and presently a General of the Kerothi Fleet, looked at the array of stars that appeared to drift by the main viewplate of his flagship, the blaster-boat Shudos. Behind him, G... The Strife Of Giants
As it happened, it was a fine, cold wintry day that dawned as the two great fleets drew towards each other. As Denis Castellan said, "It was a perfect jewel of a day for a holy fight," and so it was. The French fleet was advancing at twelve knots.... The Stutterer
A man can be killed by a toy gun--he can die of fright, for heart attacks can kill. What, then, is the deadly thing that must be sealed away, forever locked in buried concrete--a thing or an idea? Out of the twenty only one managed to... The Submarine Coal-mines
The next day, the 20th of February, I awoke very late: the fatigues of the previous night had prolonged my sleep until eleven o'clock. I dressed quickly, and hastened to find the course the Nautilus was taking. The instruments showed it to be stil... The Subterranean Pit
Another week came and went, during which I spent a great deal of my time about the Pit mouth. I had come to the conclusion a few days earlier, that the arched hole, in the angle of the great rift, was the place through which the Swine-things had mad... The Success Machine
Mechanical brains are all the rage these days, so General Products just had to have one. But the blamed thing almost put them out of business. Why? It had no tact. It insisted upon telling the truth! The Personnelovac winked, chit... The Super-ship Is Launched
After weeks of ceaseless work, during which was lavished upon her every resource of mind and material afforded by three planets, the Boise was ready for her maiden flight. As nearly ready, that is, as the thought and labor of man could make her. R... The Swine-things
It was evening, a week later. My sister sat in the garden, knitting. I was walking up and down, reading. My gun leant up against the wall of the house; for, since the advent of that strange thing in the gardens, I had deemed it wise to take precauti... The Sword And The Atopen
The conversion of light into electricity by spectrum is an interesting possibility. The idea of using foreign proteins on the human system to repel enemies, is also interesting. Do you get it? We didn't either until we read the story. ... The Telegram
Mrs. Forbes entered Jewel's room after speaking with the doctor. The little girl looked at her eagerly. A plan had formed in her mind which depended for its success largely on the housekeeper's complaisance, and she wished to propitiate her. "I w... The Telescope Of The Rocky Mountains
On the 20th of October in the preceding year, after the close of the subscription, the president of the Gun Club had credited the Observatory of Cambridge with the necessary sums for the construction of a gigantic optical instrument. This instrum... The Temple Of The Sun
There was nothing for it now other than to fight; nor did I have any advantage as I sprang, sword in hand, into the corridor before the two therns, for my untimely sneeze had warned them of my presence and they were ready for me. There were no ... The Tempting Of Larry
We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur of many voices. They parted; out came two--ushers, I suppose, they were--in cuirasses and kilts that reminded me somewhat of chain-mail--the first armour of any kind here that I ha... The Termite Queen
The slope of the upward-leading tunnels had become less noticeable, from which fact the two men reasoned hopefully that they were near ground level. And now they began to see termite workers bearing a new sort of burden: termite eggs, sickly looki...