Star Barbarian

By Dave Van Arnam

Centuries before, the multiwave-drive ships had come to Morkath of the Caravan Stars -- bringing colonists, empires, confederations of plunderers. Finally, the planet was exhausted and left to descent slowly to barbarism.

Now, savage tribal leaders fight over the blighted lands. Among these warriors is the young hunter Jamnar, who vows to reclaim Morkath from the demonic powers that grip it -- the dark god Shaphath, the priestesses of Astaphar, the evil priests called Kvunuvun...

Jamnar will have help in his quest. Prosperon, the interstellar castaway, will lead him to the Forbidden Temple of Telshasoth. But only if Jamnar dares to enter the temple's portals -- and seize the 3,000-year-old secret of a lost civilization -- can he hope to save his people, and his planet, from a still greater terror...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Sep 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781434442550

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

INTRODUCTION

From Qim’s Brief Histories of The Barbary Stars

When, in the twenty-first century of the common era, homo sapiens discovered the multiwave, and shortly thereafter the multiwave drive, the galaxy was opened to the race.

Now some six thousand years later, we have stretched our influence from the poles of Earth to the furthest extremities of the galaxy.

As the first race in the history of the five nearest galaxies to discover a true faster-than-light drive, we discovered life everywhere—yet different on almost every planet. Only the mysterious and still almost-unknown Hub Stars appear to be an exception to this.

How many planets were opened up to our colonization? It is quite possible no authoritative tally will ever be made. For every two suns, approximately, there is an Earth-type planet, almost invariably teeming with life; many of these are not colonizable since the inhabitants have already developed conscious intelligence.

Yet perhaps in half the cases, life has not evolved to the point of intelligence on these Earth-type planets, thus allowing them to be colonized—and colonize we did!

Even in all these thousands of years we have not completed the task, for we hardly even know the total of colonizable Earth-type planets available. The shores of the seas of space are many grains of sand, indeed.

But thus it was that Earthmen became the race that structured the basic politics and culture of much of the galaxy, now and for countless millennia to come; and the affairs of Earthmen are affairs of basic concern to 80% of the known intelligent beings.

And what structures they are! How many of our empires, orthodoxies, confederations rose and fell, how many democracies, dictatorships, scientific and cultural elites, terrible religious hierarchies, struggle now against each other, continually fragmenting and reforming over the centuries and millennia, and ever and forever expanding the sphere of man’s influence further and further! Even now, the first tentative explorations in force of the Andromeda Galaxy are producing a ripple of expansion thence—among those political entities with the leisure for intergalactic expansion and the naïveté to believe they can hold empires together across that billennial void.

On the millions of planets men now inhabit, a hundred thousand different ruling groups hold separate or combined sway, from savage local warlords to planetary democracies to vast empires laxly holding hundreds of thousands of planets.

For example, one small cluster of some 475 stars, over 300 of them having Earth-colonized planets, and known variously as the Barbary Stars or the Caravan Stars at different times in its history, has through the millennia been an intermittent battleground.

Originally colonized only a few hundred years after the multiwave drive was discovered, its first inhabitants were a fleet of planetary raiders who decided to settle down in some secrecy when it became apparent to them that their operations could no longer go on unchecked. They settled several dozen of the choicest planets, and tucked away caches of fabulous loot in obscure hiding places.

The secret of the raiders’ presence could not be kept long; and presently the Caravan Stars, so-named by the retired raiders, acquired the name Barbary Stars instead, and became the target of several burgeoning empires of the time. Eventually the raiders were devastated, though their descendants lived on; and much of their heritage of plunder was itself plundered by the successive waves invaders.

Jutting out in a separate coherent group from one arm of the galaxy, on the opposite side of the Hub Stars from Earth, the Barbary/Caravan stars wore fought over for millennia by many groups. Most recent of these have been: The Mhankal Empire, expanding outward to the Rim after its thrust to the Hub Stars was brutally thrown back; the Liafar Confederation, expanding outward along the spiral arm itself; the fanatic Dgjash religious dictatorship, holding some 600 planets only, on the Rimward side of the Barbaries; the mutated Wio, farther out the spiral arm, one of mankind’s greatest future problems; and the Potentiary Dukedom of the Loyal Old Lands, controlling now a relatively insignificant 175 stars which form a buffer between the Barbaries and the spiral arm.

More than 600 years ago, however, came the Quiet Compact, after a long and bloody war was brought to an abysmally inconclusive end. It was fought over the Barbaries, and after equally savage and brutal losses on all sides, it was tacitly agreed to fight over the Barbaries no longer—a decision made easier by the lamentable fact that after such millennia of disputes, the cluster was no longer particularly rich and desirable.

In this now-neutral region, then, most of the Barbary Stars’ planets began a long slide downward. The Quiet Compact cut nearly all the planets off from all multi-wave-drive contacts and trade. Most of the rest sank back irregularly into a kind of barbarism that more and more justified the name of the region, though many odd and colorful palimpsests of cultures occurred, of many almost-simultaneous levels—an unstable situation to be sure, and one requiring centuries to ever begin to straighten out.

Few of these planets possess any access to multiwave transportation; none have ships of their own, except for the old short-haul pulsephase ships. These are 70%-light-speed ships, originally developed in the childhood of the Galaxy billions of years ago by some long-vanished Hub Star race, and used in the multiwave era only in backwaters such as the Barbaries.

These ships had been imitated by men when they discovered the pulsephase theory, for use in short-haul situations when multiwave ships might be impractical, and only when stellar systems were no greater than two light years distant. Drones and deepsleepers comprise over 99% of such pulsephase ships as exist in galactic inventories. But in the Barbaries the live-ship percentage is far higher than this norm, though there are few enough of them.

The result of this is extremely erratic communications and trade among the planets of the Barbary Stars— meaning in effect almost complete isolation for at least two-thirds of them (as the cluster is some 45 light-years deep along its longer axis).

After the Quiet Compact, then, interplanetary trade and communications disappeared permanently throughout most of the Barbaries. One such isolated planet is iMorkath, with two large land masses between which there has been little communication, since the southern continent, Shan’kath, has long been entirely under the domination of the inward-turning, man-searing Hierarchy of Lashhhalthal. There are some chains of small islands, some individual larger ones. The northern continent, Kathram, has a lowland temperate-zone area where half-civilized cities, city-states, and kingdoms have newly arisen.

Toward the north of Kathram lie the Viadhash Borderlands…

CHAPTER ONE

Sons of the Spear

To Jamnar it seemed as if every man, woman, and screaming child of the tribe had come to spend the day shouting in the marketplace, mingling with as many strangers from nearby tribes, here to trade, thieve, lie, haggle, and incidentally to stink.

Even his older brother Rakav seemed to like the life that had come into being since most of the tribe of Arteleon had settled round the shattered ruins of the ancient city of huThartesh—though Rakav was a hunter born, even as Jamnar. It went with being of the blood of the Kan, the Lord Chief.

Half a dozen men of Paillai jostled by him as he stood for a moment trying to reckon how much time he could spend helping his brother tend Egra’n in the Kan’s Great Tent before he had to return to trailwatch. He looked disdainfully at the degenerate brightly striped garments of the Paillai, and at the faint smell of the sea that clung to them he wrinkled his nostrils. The Paillai in turn gawked momentarily at the tall, bronzed youth with close-clipped black hair and penetrating gray eyes, his garments of supple bamador-skins, brown like the forests he moved through.

Jamnar shrugged; no need to worry about Paillai tribesmen—they stood a full head shorter than his six feet, and had been living in an ancients’ city by the sea-cliffs far to the west for twice the time Arteleon had been gathering about huThartesh. He feared them not, nor any man, but only waited to return to the forests of the northern Viadhash Borderlands. Then, away from this brawling noisy hive of life, he could calm his mind and be alive again…

There was a skirl of pipe and beat of drum and a strange droning music, and he saw three young strangers playing for a small gathering of puzzled but pleased onlookers; northerners liked music.

He liked it too, and was distracted enough almost to bump into a shrunken old man cloaked in black—old Kezile Shaphath, conjurer for the tribe in the rites of that One called Shaphath the Supreme. The wrinkled face of the aged master of inner things glowered at Jamnar, who laughed in his face. Kezile thought himself supreme in Arteleon, a wizard-god, though there were other rites and other deities in the Viadhash; and he hated all the hunters, who would have nothing whatsoever to do with Shaphath and cared not.

Jamnar shook his head again and strode past the old man, who muttered a curse; but Jamnar did not bother to listen to it.

The Great Tent of the Lord Chief, Raham Kan, dominated the market square at its far side. Jamnar hated to look at the great cable-like ropes that held the tent upright, anchored as they were in the metal ribwork of old huThartesh towers. By rights the tent should stand among great woodlands of fyzur trees, cables lashed to thick limbs of fyzur in a natural fashion.

The bitter thought came: the tribe might as well strike all its tents and go to living among the remains of the old structures in earnest.

It had been like this since before he had been born; he knew that. But when he was young the tribe had still journeyed afar several times, and he himself had seen the Great Tent among the fyzur trees, its canvas rippling in the forest breezes.

He muttered to himself, and plunged through a knot of squabbling women, Arteleon slaves captured from Damakku tribe, who were trying to settle among them who should bargain with a slender albino of Mnolu. The Mnolu stood patiently, a thin smile on his startlingly pale features.

The Damakku women scattered away from Jamnar, recognizing by his close-cropped black hair that he was a Son of the Spear.

The Great Tent was just ahead now; bitterness returned. Far better to take Egran out among the trees like a true hunter, and cure him there; no good can come to hunter fallen ill in the stench and clattering noise of huThartesh.

But Egran was the third son of the first son of Raham Kan, and must lie in the Great Tent. It was something to be grateful for, Jamnar realized, that he and Rakav were the sons of the Kan’s third son, hence far enough from the oaken Kan-Spear not to be similarly constrained should they fall ill.

But while Egran lay close to death, Rakav, tending him, was also required to abide in the Great Tent. Some in Arteleon dared themselves a grim smile at Rakav’s plight, for he had been joined with the lovely Tashai’a at noon of that same day Egran had been brought to huThartesh with his hunting-wound already infected. It had been a week and more now, and Rakav had yet to lie with his new mate. Jamnar wondered once more why others found this amusing; then he reached the Great Tent and moved inside with a sigh.

The canvas had been recently wetted clown again, and it was almost forest-cool inside.

He is not well, came a voice from beside him in the dimness. I fear this wound of Egran’s is like to be his last.

It was a powerful saying, once more stabbing Jamnar with regret that he had been only on trailwatch that day, not hunting game with Egran in the Shalaz Forest.

Jamnar turned to face his slightly older half-brother, his father’s son by a slave of his household. Envaro, you were fortunate to be allowed to aid our brother with Egran. I would the Kan had let me remain also.

Envaro allowed a twisted smile to cross his features, so similar to Jamnar’s in their quiet strength. We are neither of us of much account, are we? Had our father lived…

Jamnar closed his eyes a moment in negation, then opened them. Gray eyes saw gray eyes. No more of that. Our positions would be no different, our blood would be no nearer to the Spear. We would still be lesser sons of a lesser son of a Kan with many sons following in his blood before us.

Indeed, a cold voice said. It was Haran, first son of Kymaz haKan; Kymaz was the Kan’s first son. Jamnar was not sure whether Haran, old enough to be his father, disdained and hated Jamnar or Envaro more. If you be somewhat out of favor, look to your selves, lads. You yet live as hunters when the people are content to rest here in comfort unknown since first the tribes were set to wandering—you remind everyone of ways that we are giving over.

No harsh words to you, Haran, said Jamnar, but his voice was chill. We came to see one who is both yours and ours.

Haran straightened even more, and ran his hands with a quick anger across his thinning black hair. That my youngest brother is a hunter is a source of little joy to me, as you may understand. And now that he is come to this… gray path, while pursuing hunter’s ways— Then, surprisingly for him, Haran cut short his burgeoning harangue and turned sharply away with a low curse, and strode through the shadowed coolness of the tent toward the curtained area where he and his women lived when it was the Kan’s pleasure—as if it had been for some months, the Kan being old. Raham was looking to a near time when his tomorrows would be succeeded by those of Kymaz, his eldest son; and he desired those near him in the Spear-blood to see how to stand in his own fierce image when they should face their own inevitable final days.

When Egran had been carried in ten days ago, wounded almost unto death, it had been a sharp blow to the aged Lord Chief. A party of hunters had brought the bleeding man straight into the Great Tent where the Kan was dickering lustily with representatives of a large detachment of irZakkat traders, once deadly enemies in the days Arteleon strove for mastery of the more northerly of the twenty tribes.

The Kan had long foregone the doomed ambitions of his early days more than forty years ago, and of late had concentrated on helping Ms people benefit from the new life of trading and of tending to the new fields of foodgrass.

For ten days Egran had lain close to death in the Great Tent, tended by Rakav as the hunter nearest in true blood to him—since Egran’s brothers and nephews would not hunt. Even Haran could not deny hunters’ abilities with the sick, especially their own sick.

Jamnar and Envaro neared the rough couch where Egran lay motionless in the gloom.

Rakav appeared suddenly through a slit in the side of the Great Tent, blinding them for a moment with the glare. A moment later there was a splash from outside and above; and presently the air freshened as the new deluge of water wetted the near surfaces of porous canvas.

Seeing his two brothers, Rakav signed them to silence and motioned them to step back with him outside the Great Tent.

He has just now fallen asleep again, Rakav said in a low voice as the two blinked in the light. That fool Haran was just here, following his six lads—likely fellows, a few of them, but I made them leave; they were unwilling to stay quiet near a man in Egran’s… state.

It needed no more to tell Jamnar that Egran was certainly dying. One tried not to say the word directly, lest the doom thus be sealed irrevocably; but Rakav’s hesitation fulfilled all the implications of the last few minutes.

I regret I could not spend more time here myself, Jamnar said, and now some cursed illness has laid low a dozen hunters due for trailwatches, so I must soon leave again to fill a place out on the western tradepath.

There was a distant low clang, as if to punctuate his words.

Jamnar cocked his head at the sound. Even now I must leave. I will look on Egran for some moments, however.

And he ducked back inside the tent flap, followed silently by Rakav and Envaro.

Egran still lay motionless on the low dais, his chest rising and falling slowly, unevenly, his eyes closed, his face drawn with deep pain.

Jamnar stood over his cousin’s body, and with an effort calmed himself to hunter’s mind. Haran always had the knack of distracting him terribly from his concentration.

Egran’s eyelids fluttered and he breathed more deeply and evenly for a moment; then the unconscious man gave a sigh and his breathing once more became erratic.

Jamnar also sighed, then turned to leave.

I shall return when free from trailwatch, he said in a half-whisper to his brother and half-brother. Keep him well till then; that I may help him too.

Rakav nodded silently, and Jamnar walked away, unaccustomed sadness tearing at his heart.

* * * *

The sun was high in the morning sky when Jamnar saw distant clouds lying black, heavy, implacable, hiding Mount Kandathash almost entirely. He marked the shadow of the nearer mass of clouds as it flowed above the plains of Varrilan, the home of the tribe to the west of Arteleon. And then the clouds were unleashing terrific downpours.

Across the near plains of Varrilan, now visible, now obscured with the last low hills of Arteleon, jogged a man wrapped in those effete cloths of Paillai, though by the bright orange blue striping he was of the irZakkat, either Terach or Chomech sept.

Jamnar realized with interest that it could be someone he knew—Chomech men had been present at the last intertribate festival, and he had even befriended a few, as was possible for one close to the Spear despite the legacies of intertribate hatred and fear.

It would be half an hour before orange-and-blue arrived at Jamnar’s bothrau-tree niche overlooking the western tradepath—perhaps before the rain, perhaps not, but the rain would be warm.

Jamnar relaxed his attention somewhat and swung easily down to the ground.

Immediately a young groundjumper hopped toward him, landing close by his feet.

Skin quivering eagerly under short brown fur, the groundjumper leaped straight up several times to indicate its fearlessness, and loudly cheeped its honest challenge.

Jamnar remained motionless during this, relaxing his mind. After a moment, there came that familiar tiny ping in the mind; all truly accomplished and clever hunters learned to listen for it and to respond properly with a still mind. It was only the groundjumper’s way of double-checking one’s hostility, after all—the hidden lore said it best, that the mind cannot lie when directly contacted by another, not that such contact was common.

That had startled old Prosperon, Jamnar remembered with a quiet smile as the groundjumper, reassured, began scrabbling around for