A. E. van Vogt - The Book of Ptath.pdf

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The Book of Ptath
by A.E.Van Vogt
Version 1.0
CHAPTER I
THE RETURN OF PTATH
HE was Ptath. Not that he thought of his name. It
was simply there, a part of him, like his body and his arms
and legs, like the ground over which he walked. No, that
last was wrong. The ground was not of him. There was a
relation, of course, but it was a little puzzling. He was
Ptath, and he was walking on ground, walking to Ptath.
Returning to the city of Ptath, capital of his empire of
Gonwonlane after a long absence.
That much was clear, accepted without thought, and it
was important. He felt the urgency of it in the way he kept
quickening his pace to see whether the next bend of the river
would make it possible for him to turn westward.
To the west was a vast spread of grass, trees and blue-
misted hills, and somewhere beyond the hills, his destina-
tion. With annoyance, he stared down at the river that
barred his way. It had kept winding, twisting back on itself,
forcing him time and again to retrace his footsteps. At first
that hadn't seemed to matter. Now it did. With all his heart
and all his dim consciousness, he longed to be rushing
toward those western hills, laughing, shouting in his glee
for what he would find there.
Just what he would find wasn't completely certain. He
was Ptath, returning to his people. What were those people
like? What was Gonwonlane like? He couldn't remember.
He strained for the answer that seemed to quiver just
beyond reach of his consciousness.
He must cross the river, that much he knew. Twice he
stepped down into the shallow wetness nearest shore; and
each time drew back, repelled by the alienness. The problem
brought the first pain of purposeful thought that he had
known since he came out of blackness. In bewilderment he
turned his gaze to the hills that lay low on the horizon to
the south, and east, and north. They looked the same as the
hills to the west, with one vital difference: He wasn't
interested in them.
He brought his gaze back to the western hills. He had to
go to them, river or no river. Nothing could stop him. The
purpose was like a wind, a storm that raged inside him.
Across the river, a world of glory beckoned. He stepped
down into the water, shrank back momentarily, then waded
into the dark, swirling current. The river tugged at him, and
it seemed to be alive like himself. It too, moved over the
land, and was not a part of the land.
His thought ended as he stepped into a deep hole. The
water crowded hungrily over his chin, tasted flat and luke-
warm in his mouth. Agony stabbed through his chest. He
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struggled, smashing at the yielding water with his hands,
fighting back to higher ground. He stood breast deep, scowl-
ing at the water that had attacked him. He had no fear,
simply dislike, and a conviction that he had been treated
unfairly. He wanted to go to the hills, and the river was
trying to stop him. But he would not let it. If pain there must
be; so be it. He stepped forward.
This time he ignored the agony in his chest and walked
on, straight through the watery darkness that engulfed him.
And finally, as if realizing its defeat, the pain went away.
'The water kept pushing at him, pulling his feet off the soft
muddy bottom, but each time his head broke the water he
could see that he was making progress.
The twisting chest pain came back as he emerged at last
into shallower water. Water sprayed from his lips. He
coughed and retched until tears blurred his vision, and for a
while he lay contorted on the grassy bank. The paroxysm
ended. He climbed to his feet, and for a long minute stood
staring at the dark, rushing stream. When he turned away,
he was conscious of one thing: He didn't like water.
The road puzzled him when he came to it. It stretched in
an almost straight line toward the western horizon; and its
very uniformity gave it character. It was obvious that, like
himself, it had a purpose, but it wasn't actively going
anywhere. He tried to think of it as a river that was not
moving, but he felt no sense of repulsion, no dislike; and
when he stepped on it he didn't sink into it.
A sound drew him out of his mental effort. It came from
the north where the road wound into sight from behind a
tree-covered hill. At first he saw nothing, then the thing
came into sight. Part of the thing's body was like his own.
That part had arms, legs, body and head, almost exactly as
he had. Its face was white, but the rest was mostly dark in
color. And there all resemblance to himself ended. Below
the curious image of himself was a wooden thing with
wheels; and in front of that a sleek, scarlet, four-legged
thing with one horn sticking out of the center of its head.
Ptath moved straight toward the beast, eyes wide, mind
grasping at details. He heard the top part of the thing yell at
him, and then the nose with the horn on it caught him in
the chest. The animal stopped.
Ptath picked himself off the gravel angrily. The man part
of the creature was still yelling at him; and it wasn't that he
didn't understand. It was simply that the thing was standing
up, shaking its arms at him. It wasn't attached. Like himself,
it was separate, different. He heard it say:
'What's the matter with you, walking right into my
dottle? Are you sick? And what's the idea of wandering
around naked? Do you want the soldiers of the goddess to
see you?'
There was too much meaning, too many words piling one
on top of another. His anger faded before his effort to bring
all the words together into one whole.
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'Matter?' he repeated finally. 'Sick?'
The man stared at him curiously. 'Say,' the fellow said
slowly, 'you are sick. You'd better climb up here beside me
and I'll take you to the temple at Linn. It's only five kanbs
away; and they'll feed you and give you medical attention
there. Here, I'll come down and give you a hand up.'
As the dottle started forward the man said: 'What hap-
pened to your clothes?'
'Clothes?' Ptath said curiously.
'Sure.' The man stared at him. 'By the zard of Accadis-
tran, you mean to say you don't know you're naked? Looks
like amnesia to me.'
Ptath shifted uneasily. There was a quality in the fellow's
tone that he didn't like, a suggestion that something was
wrong with him. He glared the beginning of anger and said
loudly:
'Naked! Clothes!'
'Don't get excited.' The man sounded startled. He said
hastily, 'Look—clothes, like this!'
He fumbled at his own rough coat, held up an edge of it.
Rage evaporated out of Ptath. He stared at the man trying
to comprehend that the fellow was not really dark in color,
but that a dark something covered him. He snatched at the
coat and drew it closer the better to examine it. There was a
tearing sound, and a piece of cloth came free in his fingers.
The man let out a yell. 'Hey, what in——'
Ptath turned a puzzled gaze on the fellow. The thought in
his mind was that this creature who made so much noise
wanted him to stop looking at the coat. Abruptly impatient,
he shoved the torn section back. But it didn't seem to be
enough. The man's eyes were narrowed, his lips twisted, as
he said:
'You ripped that cloth as if it was so much paper. You're
not sick. You're——'
Decision hardened his face. His hands jerked up, shoved
furiously. There was no resisting an action that had no
meaning until it was over. Ptath struck the ground with a
jar. He was too angry to be aware of pain. With a grunt he
jumped to his feet and saw that the cart was moving rapidly
along the road to the west. The one-horned dottle was run-
ning in great, galloping strides. And the man was standing
erect in the cart, lashing at the animal with the reins.
Ptath trudged along the road thinking of the dottle and
cart. It would be pleasant to ride in the cart all the way to
Ptath.
It was a long time after that the great beasts appeared on
the road far ahead. He watched them and felt his first
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tightening interest as he saw that men were on their backs.
The trick, of course, was to get up close to the rider and
shove him off fast. And ride rapidly away down the road.
He waited, trembling in his eagerness. Puzzlement came
only when the four animals came near.
They were bigger than he had thought. They towered.
They were twice as tall as he was, and massively built. Their
necks were long and supported small, wicked-looking, three-
horned heads. The bright yellow of their necks contrasted
vividly with their green bodies and the bluish violet of their
long, tapering tails. They pounded up quickly and reared to
a halt in a cloud of dust.
'That's him all right,' said one of the men. 'The farmer
described him exactly.'
'Fine-looking chap,' a second said. 'Just how are we
going to handle him.'
A third frowned. 'I've seen him somewhere. I'm sure of
it. Can't just place him, though.'
They had come for him because somebody had described
him to them. The man with the dottle, of course, his enemy.
The why of it was beyond his comprehension, but it only
stiffened his determination. The long, sloping tail, he
thought carefully, offered the best method of climbing, but
that way the rider would know his purpose. Actually the
best approach would be a variation of the one the man had
used on him.
He said, 'Will you help me up? It is five kanbs to Linn,
and they will feed me and give me medical attention at the
temple there. Come down and give me a handup. I am sick
and have no clothes.'
It sounded convincing in his own ears. He waited, watch-
ing their reaction, alert to every word and gesture, noting
phrases for future study, grim with his purpose. The men
looked at each other, then laughed. Finally, one said toler-
antly :
'Sure, fellow, we'll give you a lift. That's what we're here
for.'
Another said, 'You've got your distances slightly mixed,
stranger. Linn is three kanbs away, not five.' He laughed.
'You're lucky you turned out to be harmless. We thought it
was some rebel stunt. Throw him the clothes we brought
along, Dallird.'
A bundle landed in the grass beside the road. Ptath
fumbled at it curiously, laid each piece out on the green,
studying from the corners of his eyes the way the men were
dressed. There were a few extras in the bundle which he
examined and finally tossed aside as unnecessary. He saw
that the men were watching him with wide grins.
'You stupid idiot,' one said abruptly, 'don't you know
anything about clothes! Look, that's underclothing. It goes
on underneath. You put it on first.'
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Ptath's mind was quicker now. There were more facts on
which to build. In a flash of understanding he grasped at the
words and in two minutes he was dressed. He walked up to
one of the animals and held up his hand to the man,
Dallird, who had thrown him the clothes.
'Up,' he said, 'Help me up.'
The version of his plan that had suddenly occurred to
him was as simple as it was effective. The man reached
down, said:
Take my hand and grab hold of the saddle.'
That was easy. It was all easy. Ptath pulled himself up
with one effortless contraction of the muscles of one arm.
With the other he jerked at the man's hand. Dallird yelped
shrilly as he soared out of his saddle. He landed on his
knees and was crouching there, groaning and cursing as
Ptath pulled himself firmly into the saddle, caught up the
reins, wheeled the animal toward the west and beat at it
with the reins as it ran just as he had seen the man do with
the dottle.
The swift ride fascinated him. There was no jar, no up-
and-down movement, no swaying. The dottle cart had been
bumpy; this was a flow, a dreamlike rhythm. There was no
doubt about it, he would travel all the rest of his journey
this way.
He was watching the galloping motion of the beast's hind
legs, and the way the seemingly heavy tail floated in the air
behind the great animal, when his glance caught a part of
the road behind him. There, a few lengths away, were the
other three beasts, one with two men mounted on it.
They made an interesting, colorful picture, strung out at
full racing gallop. It was absorbing to watch them so near
him, drawing closer, closer. He felt no dismay, no sense of
being personally involved. What finally brought a thin
frown to his face was the way the mouths of the men
opened and shut. The sound of their shouting penetrated to
him above the pounding of the paws of his own beast. Their
yells startled him. They were after him, and it wasn't right.
He had not chased the man on the cart. It was becoming
clear that he had made a mistake.
With a gathering dislike he watched the beasts draw
abreast of him. Whipping his own animal did no good. It
was slower than the others, or else these men knew some
mysterious way of getting speed out of their mounts. Two
of the big beasts were pushing with their long necks against
the head of his mount. It slowed, then began to rear, then
stopped.
Ptath sat angry and nonplused. The situation was abso-
lutely new, different and strange. Unless he could think of
some drastic action, these men might try to force him off
the back of the animal.
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