CHAPTER IV

Revelation

Chuck Lafferty yelped, "Oh, boy! Fun!" and started from the room. Steve halted him with a word.

"Chuck! Where do you think _you're_ going?"

"Why--why, I dunno. Topside, I suppose. There's a scrap going on somewhere around here, ain't they?"

"_A_ fight," said Steve. "But not _our_ fight. I don't exactly understand--" To the Mother he said--"Just who _are_ these 'Wild Ones,' O Mother? Fierce beasts?"

"Beasts, yes, O Dwain," replied the matriarch. "But of the two-legged variety. They are the foul males who some say are a brutish branch of our own human race--though it is hard to credit that theory. Matted, hairy creatures dwelling in the junglelands of Tizathy. They have no females of their own, as we have drone-men to impregnate our breeding-mothers, so when need and nature tightens their loins, they make raids upon our encampments to capture Women, that they may replenish their race."

The priestess Beth was standing before Steve, eagerness brightening the steel-blue of her eyes.

"It was for this, O Dwain," she cried, "you wakened! To rid us once and evermore of these who prey upon us. Come! Come with me and see how brave Women vanquish their foes!"

Steve glanced at von Rath. The German nodded.

"It were well to learn what sort of enemies we shall meet in this time, _Leutnant_ Duane."

"Right!" agreed Steve. "Very well, priestess. Lead the way."

The way carried them again upward from the bowels of Fautnox, debouching at last into a walled enclosure which, at some dim period of the past, may have been a courtyard. Ages had taken their toll, however, of the once-sturdy barricades. Their firmness had been breached in a dozen spots; gray piles of stone and detritus were strewn beneath wide openings which a barbarian clan with no knowledge of cement had found no way of mending.

It was before these entrances the battle raged most fiercely. Within the court, no breeders or pet males were to be seen; apparently they had all been removed to safer spots. The workers and the warriors defended the citadel. Of these, the warriors did the actual fighting; the workers acted as an auxiliary corps, bearing fresh supplies of lances, arrows and bows to the fighting-women when their stores were depleted or broken, rallying the Amazons to weakened salients when danger loomed, dragging the wounded from the field of conflict.

This much saw Duane at a glance. Then his eye swung to the attackers, and his body stiffened.

In some respects, Beth had told the truth. The Wild Ones _were_ dirty, hairy, unkempt. Their garments and weapons _were_ crude as compared with the golden equipage of the Women. But there ended their brutishness, their loutishness. Though they fought savagely, it was clear to the most un-military eye that their main effort was not toward wholesale slaughter and destruction--but to capture!

When a Wild One fell, perhaps suffering from only a minor wound, all feminine adversaries within sword-thrust were upon him in an instant, his body was literally hacked to bits before it was abandoned. But when a Woman fell--then it was a different story! Attackers surged forward _en masse_, with a sort of savage desperation, recklessly braving death in order to take, unharmed, their prisoner!

And incredible as it might seem--those who bore the captured warriors clawing and screaming from the fray, did so with an almost hallowed tenderness!

* * * * *

But this was the tide of battle only as seen through unprejudiced eyes. At Steve's shoulder, the priestess Beth's golden body was tense with rage and hatred, her hands gripped his arm hotly.

"You see, O Dwain? Behold how the vandals lay waste the flower of our womanhood; Vengeance, Eternal One! Cast a spell upon them; yea, call down the fury of the Ancients upon those who would despoil our--"

Steve turned to Chuck.

"Well, chum? You still itching to get in the war?"

Lafferty's eyes were mirrors of surprise.

"Who--me?" he gasped. "Hell's imps, no! Why, them guys ain't wild animals at all. They're not matinee idols, I grant you, but they're no worse than--well, than a couple of hundred pro wrestlers from our own time. Steve, they're men! Like--"

Steve said, "What do you say, von Rath?"

"I am confused," admitted the German, "but I believe your friend is right. These are barbarians, but nevertheless true members of the genus _Homo sapiens_. This battle is stark madness! _Gross Gott!_ Women against men--"

The priestess had drawn away, was staring at them as one aghast.

"In the Name of Jarg," she whispered awfully, "what blasphemy is this? Men! You compare these hideous creatures with our sacred charges? Am I mad?"

"Not mad, honey," grinned Steve suddenly, "just sort of befuddled. You and the rest of your gang. And it's about time you snapped out of it. I think I can turn the trick. I don't think those 'Wild Ones' ever got around to studying the Greek wars, so it ought to work.

"Can you issue commands to your warriors? I thought so. All right, then. Tell the fighting-women to withdraw to the protection of the walls, out of sight, and the workers to retreat toward this building."

"What! You bid me--_Here_!" The priestess Beth drew from her girdle a long, slim, golden knife, handed it to him. With a sob she clenched her fists upon her cupped breasts.

Steve stared at her in astonishment.

"What the--?"

"Strike!" she begged from between white lips. "Strike hard and true, O Slumberer. For I must defy even you, a god. What you bid me do is treason, and rather death than I should betray my Clan!"

Von Rath's eyes were admiring. He said raptly, "But what _eine fraulein_!" Duane was less impressed with her histronics. He said, "Oh, nuts!" and tossed the dagger back to her. "Look, sister," he said wearily, "skip the mellerdrama. You want to win this fracas, don't you?"

"But--but, yes, O Wise One--"

"Okay, then. Do what I say. This isn't 'a sell-out; it's what we gods call the 'Trojan horse' trick. Magic, see? The good old ousemay-aptray."

The priestess seized on the one word she understood. "Magic! _Aie_, Thy forgiveness, O Eternal One. I leap to obey Thy commands."

"Well, get going--" commented Steve gloomily--"before there aren't any Wild Ones left to capture. Well?"

* * * * *

Chuck scratched his head as the priestess ran to the warrior captain, Jain, and transmitted Steve's orders.

"I don't get it," he complained. "I don't get it at all. Whose side are you playing on, anyway?"

"I'm tired explaining," said Steve. "Wait and see!"

He hadn't long to wait. The scheme of wily Odysseus worked as well in the Thirty-fifth Century as in pre-historic Troy.[2] Better, perhaps. The Trojans had their Cassandra; the Wild Ones had no soothsayer to warn them against a ruse. Men who had never won a battle against their better-armed adversaries leaped eagerly through the breeches abandoned by the retreating women.

[Footnote 2: The original "Trojan Horse" was a huge, hollow effigy of a horse, built at the command of Odysseus (Ulysses), and left outside the gates of seven-years-besieged Troy by the apparently retreating Greeks. The exuberant Trojans, unable to wheel this gigantic testimonial to their victory through the gates of their city, broke down a portion of the walls, though warned by the "mad prophetess", Cassandra, that this was a trick. That night a Greek "Fifth Column" crept from within the Trojan Horse and opened _all_ gates of Troy to the returning Greek armies, who laid waste the city.--Ed.]

In a solid swarm they flooded half-way across the open courtyard, leaving flanks and rear exposed. And then:

"_Warriors!_" cried Steve. "Close the openings behind them! Your foes are trapped!"

And it was so! The Wild Ones were caught in a vise; their thin ranks were hopelessly sandwiched between divisions of warriors and workers. The very portals they had fought so hard to win were now closed avenues to freedom.

As they stared wildly about them, muttering, milling in aimless circles, preparing to sell their lives dearly, the golden voice of Beth rang out over the court.

"Upon them, Women of Tucki! Destroy the invaders ... strike and kill till the last lies drowned in his blood! The gods have blessed us with victory! Kill! _Kill_--"

"Whew!" said Lafferty. "Gentle wench, ain't she?"

But Steve had no time to bandy words. In an instant golden lances, arrows of barbed death would fill the air, and his plan would end in a massacre. He shouted again, drowning out the maiden's lesser voice.

"Nay, hold! Stay your wrath! Hear our command: Let not another drop of blood be shed! These 'Wild Ones' are not beasts or fiends, but humans like yourselves! _Men_--and your rightful mates!"

* * * * *

The silence which greeted his words was sudden and devastatingly complete. Steve seized that moment to whisper to his companions, "Come on! Let's get down there before the dam busts!" and swiftly the three moved toward the center of the courtyard.

Then the moment was shattered by a howling simoon of sound. The hoarse gasps of the workers merged with strident cries of wonder ripped from the throats of the warriors; with these mingled a grateful roar of acclamation from the trapped males.

But--overwhelming tribute to the awe in which these Women held their gods--not a spear was cast, not a bow bent. All held their positions save one: the priestess Beth. Dust-gold flame in motion, she burst her way through the throng to confront Steve with blazing fury.

"Wherefore, O Dwain, this untoward mercy? Can it be you do not know the Law? It is written that all Wild Ones be slain, nor their mildest stripling spared!"

There was only one language this beautiful, but barbaric, creature could understand. Steve employed it. With a shrug he cast her hand from his arm as if its touch defiled him; in a voice of thunder he said:

"Woman, you question _me_? I _am_ the Law!"

Then, having tossed in his raise, he held his breath. If she called his cards--

But the bluff worked. Color fled from the priestess' lips; she stared at him strangely for a moment, then sank to one knee. In a low voice:

"Yes, O Eternal One!" she whispered. "Thou art the Law!"

"Then listen," bade Steve, "and learn, O priestess!" And he turned to the awestruck captives. "Which of you calls himself leader of this band?"

One stepped forward hesitantly. He was covered with sweat and blood, grimy, bearded, but his features were fine, his eyes those of a reasoning creature.

"I am the leader, O Mighty One."

"You call yourself--?"

"Jon, O Heaven-sent."

"Tell me, then, Jon, and tell this Woman. Are you a man, or are you not?"

A subtle straightening lifted the Wild One's breast, his chin, his eyes. He said firmly:

"I am a Man!"

"But--" protested Beth.

"Shut up, sister!" snapped Steve. "Jon--why do you make war upon the Women?"

"We do not make war upon them, O Firm-of-Hand. Only when our need of mates becomes acute do we seek to linber[3] new mothers for our children that our seed may live on."

[Footnote 3: _Linber_: to kidnap. From "Lindbergh"?--Ed.]

"Blasphemy!" screamed the priestess. "I will listen no more! He is no Man. Men are weakling creatures who serve only to enripen our breeding-mothers. This beast--"

"Quiet!" ordered Steve. "Jon, why have you not _told_ these Women you are Men?"

The bearded one shrugged. "It has been tried, Great Chieftain. Many times has it been tried in ages past, but no Woman will listen. They hunt us with packs, they dig pits to trap us and line the pits with sharp sticks, they do not heed our cries for truce and understanding--"

"It is forbidden," defended Beth haughtily, "that a Woman should hear a Wild One's speech. He is no Man--"

Steve's patience snapped.

"He _is_ a Man, O priestess--even as _I_ am a Man, and my comrades also!"

* * * * *

The priestess Beth fell back a pace, her eyes glazed with something akin to horror. "Thou art ... a ... _Man_?"

"Not only I," Steve told her, "but the very gods you worship, O puzzled one. You cannot believe? Then come!" He spoke gently. "Come with me to the Mother, Beth. You cannot doubt her. She will tell you I speak the truth. You, Jon--come with us!"

Eager to settle this matter once and for all, he led the way back into the citadel, down the corridors to the _hoam_ of the Mother. Under stern command to maintain a truce they left the warrior band and the knot of captive Wild Ones. Jon followed hopefully, the priestess like one stricken. At last they reached the room wherein waited the matriarch. She rose and hobbled forward to greet them.

"The battle is done, O Wise Ones? You have destroyed our foes? Aye, I see it is so. But--but you bring one with you? Why is this?"

The priestess broke her silence, bursting forward to kneel trembling before the old woman.

"Mother, doom is upon us! The legends erred. These are no Deliverers who have risen from the tomb to aid us, but mocking demons! He, the one called Dwain, has confessed that he is no god, but a _Man_! And with horrid blasphemy--forgive me, O Mother!--he said that, yea, even our gods were Men!"

The eyes of the Mother clouded, her lips moved in an unintelligible phrase that might have been a prayer. And she stared at Duane beseechingly.

"O Slumberer," she said, "you--you have told? Then the time for the Revelation has come?"

"It has come," said Steve quietly. "Speak, Mother."

The Mother laid a trembling hand on Beth's dust-gold hair. And:

"Then hear, O my daughter," she said, "and learn the Great Secret which until now no common Woman has been allowed to suspect, which no priestess has ever known until after she has made the sacred pilgrimage to the Place of the Gods.

"The Gods--great Jarg and solemn Taamuz, lean Ibrim and far-seeing Tedhi--are not Women like ourselves. Deep in the shadowed grottoes of far 'Kota I have looked upon them; I have seen their faces strong and fine, covered with the crisp Man-hair. The Gods of the Ancients, O Beth--_are_ Men!"

Chuck glanced at Duane curiously.

"She's _seen_ the gods, Steve?"

Steve nodded. "So have we, Chuck--in the modeling. I'm not surprised these women worshipped their statues. They must be impressive to a civilization so backward as this. In the Black Hills ... the side of a mountain carven in a gigantic work of art ... don't you remember? George ... Thomas ... Teddy ... Abraham...."

"Mount Rushmore!" gasped Chuck. "_That_ is the 'Place of the Gods'!"

[Illustration: Mt. Rushmore was the Mecca of this future world.]

"Exactly!"

"But--but how--?"

"Listen," suggested Steve. "I think we can learn much from the Mother's words."

For the Mother had closed her eyes. In a recitative monotone she was intoning a message to the dazed priestess at her feet.

* * * * *

"Thus say the holy records: '_And in those days were Men the Masters of humankind, and Men were truly in the image of the gods. And mighty were the works of men; over highways of creet and steel they raced swift chariots which took their sustenance from vapored liquid; they spoke to each other from afar over wires that hummed and goblets that glowed; in those days none wanted for food, they spent their days in laughter, their nights in gaming and magic._

"'_But it came to pass that some Men, zealous to rule all others, made war upon their brothers. Great and terrible were the weapons of their destruction: great catapults, which hurled fire and flame and exploding death; snarling hand-bows which shot steel arrowheads; with gases they wreaked woe, and with waters that burn the flesh._

"'_On earth and sea they made these battles, and even in the air. For in those days, the Ancient Ones were winged, like the birds. They soared high, making great thunders, and when they warred they dropped huge eggs of death._

"'_For many years this battle waged, and, lo! neither side could gain a victory. In those days, it was the Men who fought while the Women kept the hoams. So the Men fought and died till their number was as the sands of the sea. Until at last there came a day when the Women despaired and cried out, "Alas! Alas!"_

"'_Then joined the Women in conclave; great was their sadness. And they vowed to rid themselves forever of war and of the brutal Men. They stopped sending fire-eggs to the Men who battled on Earth's five seas; they built walled forts and hid themselves therein._

"'_Then the Men cried, "Give us weapons!" and behold! there were no more weapons, and the men cried, "Give us food, lest we perish of hunger!' and lo! the Earth was parched. So the Men came back to their hoams, seeking their Women._

"'_Then the Women would not receive them, and now was bitter warfare again between Men and Women. But the Women in their walled cities vanquished the brutal males, and they did flee to the hills and jungles._

"'_Thus it was in the old days._...'"