WARLORD OF KOR by TERRY CARR ACE BOOKS, INC. 1120 Avenue of the Americas New York 36, N.Y. Copyright ©, 1963, by Ace Books, Inc. ONE Lee Rynason sat forward on the faded red-stone seat, watching the stylus of the interpreter as the massive grey being in front of him spoke, its dry, leathery mouth slowly and stumblingly forming the words of a spoken language its race had not used for over thirty thousand years. The stylus made no sound in the thin air of Hirlaj as it passed over the plasticene notepaper; the only sounds in the ancient building were those of the alien’s surprisingly high and thin voice coming at intervals and Rynason’s own slightly labored breathing. He did not listen to the alien’s voice—by now he had heard it often enough so that it was merely irritating in its thin dryness, like old parchments being rubbed together. He watched the stylus as it jumped along sporadically: TEBRON MARL WAS OUR … PRIEST KING HERO. NOT PRIEST BUT ONE WHO KNEW … THAT IS PRIEST. Rynason was a slender, sandy-haired man in his late twenties. A sharp scar from a knife cut left a line across his forehead over his right eyebrow. His eyes, perhaps brown, perhaps green—the light on Hirlaj was sometimes deceptive—were soft, but narrowed with an intent alertness. He raised the interpreter’s mike and said, “How long ago?” The stylus recorded the Earthman’s question too, but Rynason did not watch it. He looked up at the bulk of the alien, watching for the slow closing of its eyes, so slow that it could not be called a blink, that would show it had understood the question. The interpreter could feed the question direct to the telepathic alien, but there was no guarantee that it would be understood. The eyes, resting steadily on him, closed and opened and in a few moments came the Hirlaji’s dry voice. THE GREAT AGE WAS IN THE EIGHTEENTH GENERATION PAST … SEVEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO.
Prev.
Back
Top