The Monster-God of Mamurth Read online

  The Monster-God of Mamurth

  Edmond Hamilton

  Hamilton's first story, "The Monster-God of Mamurth," was published in the August, 1926 issue of Weird Tales: the beginning of a 22 year relationship that would see no less than 78 Hamilton stories appear in the magazine. Although the majority of these stories were science fiction, editor Farnsworth Wright included them under the heading of "weird scientific" stories, apparently in an attempt to combine the theme of the magazine with Hamilton's popularity.

  Edmond Hamilton

  The Monster-God of Mamurth

  Introduction

  In the history of science fiction, there are very few authors who were able to make the transition from the early days of pseudo-science into the harsh reality of the post-nuclear world. Of those who made the transition, still fewer were able to adapt to the changing moods of the Cold War or the social upheavals of the 60s. But, there were a very few authors who managed to write stories and novels throughout it all: from the time of the Space Opera through the first landing on the moon and beyond. One of these authors was Edmond Hamilton.

  Edmond Hamilton was born in 1904 in Youngstown, Ohio. A child prodigy, Hamilton completed high school and entered into college at the age of 14 with the dream of becoming an electrical engineer. Unfortunately, the age discrepency between Hamilton and the other students made it very difficult for him to adapt socially to his new surroundings and he never completed his degree. He flunked out during his third year and took a job with the Pennsylvania Railroad while he tried to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

  Hamilton had always been a voracious reader, particularly of the works of A. Merritt and Burroughs. Although he had never shown any inclination towards writing before, he decided in the mid 20s to be an author. Whether this decision was just an intellectual exercise or was borne out of necessity is not known, but his first attempt, the short story "The Monster-God of Mamurth," was submitted to Weird Tales and published in 1926. A second story was accepted with equal ease and within a very short time, Hamilton was an established author, writing both atmospheric horror stories and science fiction stories in the space opera style of E. E. "Doc" Smith for a variety of outlets. The early science fiction stories also gained Hamilton the nickname of "World Wrecker" since most of these tales involved a major menace to the galaxy that had to be defeated by, usually, a space armada and the destruction of a planet or two.

  From the 20s to the mid-40s, Hamilton worked solely as a freelance author and was very prolific, often simultaneously writing several short stories while working on a novel-length serial. He also dabbled in some mystery and detective fiction during slow periods for the sale of science fiction. Some estimates suggest that his short story output alone may have numbered in the hundreds, but, because some of Hamilton's work was published under pseudonyms as well as his own name, the true number of stories may never be known. He also established a number of firsts during this extremely fertile period, including the first use of a space suit in science fiction, the first space walk and the first use of an energy sword, the prototype for what George Lucas, a Hamilton fan, would later dub a light saber. He also found time to travel during this period and visited much of the US and parts of Mexico, often in the company of his friend, author Jack Williamson.

  In 1946, Hamilton's output slowed and with good reason. First, he married author Leigh Brackett and they began to restore a 130 year old house which became their home for many years. Second, Hamilton was contacted by his old friend, and former editor, Mort Weisinger. Weisinger, had been the senior editor for Standard Magazines prior to moving to DC Comics in 1941, just after he and Hamilton had created Captain Future. Back from a 5 year stint in the military, Weisinger was looking up many of the writers he had worked with in the pulps to offer them jobs writing comic books for DC. The pulp market was slowing, Hamilton was interested and thus began his second career.

  Originally hired as a writer for Batman, Hamilton was soon doing Superman and the Batman/Superman stories in World's Finest, as well. In addition, Julius Schwartz, Hamilton's former literary agent, was a DC editor and he started to send assignments to Hamilton. Over the next 20 years, Hamilton proved himself to be prolific as ever, as he juggled his comic book writing, trips to Hollywood (as part of his wife's screenwriting career) and still found time to turn out out novels and short stories on a fairly regular basis, but by no means as quickly as he had in the previous twenty years.

  By 1966, Hamilton decided it was time to think about retirement, so he resigned his position at DC. He and Leigh moved to their second home in Lancaster, California and used it as their base of operations as they traveled to various destinations around the world. Hamilton still found time to write the occasional short story and even wrote a three novel series about the Starwolves in the late 60s that were done in the style of his earlier "world wrecker" days. Yet, his health became increasingly frail and by the early to mid 70s he was confined to their home. Eventually he passed away in 1977.

  "The Monster-God of Mamurth," originally appeared in the August, 1926 issue of Weird Tales. Unlike Hamilton's later output, it is an adventure story with a weird twist: not really horror, definitely not SF, but a fantasy written in a style reminiscent of A. Merritt and the other early genre authors. As a first story, it is quite remarkable and hearkens back to an earlier time when our world was so much larger and lost cities waited to be found.

  Bob Gay

  January, 2005

  Introduction © 2005 by Bob Gay

  Story

  Out of the desert night he came to us, stumbling into our little circle of firelight and collapsing at once. Mitchell and I sprang to our feet with startled exclamations, for men who travel alone and on foot are a strange sight in the deserts of North Africa.

  For the first few minutes that we worked over him I thought he would die at once, but gradually we brought him back to consciousness. While Mitchell held a cup of water to his cracked lips I looked him over and saw that he was too far gone to live much longer. His clothes were in rags, and his hands and knees literally flayed, from crawling over the sands, I judged. So when he motioned feebly for more water, I gave it to him, knowing that in any case his time was short. Soon he could talk, in a dead, croaking voice.

  "I'm alone," he told us, in answer to our first question; "no more out there to look for. What are you two — traders? I thought so. No I'm an archeologist. A digger-up of the past." His voice broke for a moment. "It's not always good to dig up dead secrets. There are ionic things the past should be allowed to hide."

  He caught the look that passed between Mitchell and me.

  "No, I'm not mad," he said. "You will hear, I'll tell you the whole tiling. But listen to me, you two," and in his earnestness he raised himself to a sitting position, "keep out of Igidi Desert. Remember that I told you that. I had a warning, too, but I disregarded it. And I went into hell — into hell! But there, I will tell you from the beginning.

  "My name — that doesn't matter now. I left Mogador more than a year ago, and came through the foot-hills of the Atlas ranges striking out into the desert in hopes of finding some of the Carthaginian mills the North African deserts are known to hold.

  "I spent months in the search, traveling among the squalid Arab villages, now near an oasis and now far into the black, untracked desert. And as I went farther into that savage country, I found more and more of the ruins I sought, crumbled remnants of temples and fortresses, relics, almost destroyed, of the age when Carthage meant empire and ruled all of North Africa from her walled city. And then, on the side of a massive block of stone, I found that which tumed me toward Igidi.

  "It was an inscription in the garbled Phenician
of the traders of Carthage, short enough so that I remembered it and can repeat it word for word. It read, literally, as follows:

  Merchants, go not into the city of Mamurth, which lies beyond the mountain pass. For I, San-Drabat of Carthage, entering the city with four companions in the month of Eschmoun, to trade, on the third night of our stay came priests and seized my fellows, I escaping by hiding. My companions they sacrificed to the evil god of the city, who has dwelt there from the beginning of time, and for whom the wise men of Mamurth have built a great temple the like of which is not on earth elsewhere, where the people of Mamurth worship their god. I escaped from the city and set this warning here that others may not turn their steps to Mamurth and to death.

  "Perhaps you can imagine the effect that inscription had on me. I was the last trace of a city unknown to the memory of men, a last floating spar of a civilization sunken in the sea of time. That then could have been such a city at all seemed to me quite probable What do we know of Carthage even, but a few names? No city, no civilization was ever so completely blotted off the earth as Carthage when Roman Scipio ground its temples and palaces into the very dust, and plowed up the ground with salt, and the eagles of conquer ing Rome flew across a desert where a metropolis had been.

  "It was on the outskirts of one of those wretched little Arab villages that I had found the block and its inscription, and I tried to find someone in the village to accompany me, but none would do so I could plainly see the mountain pass, a mere crack between towering blue cliffs. In reality it was miles and miles away, but the deceptive optical qualities of the desert light made it seem very near. My maps placed that mountain range all right, as a lower branch of the Atlas, and the expanse behind the mountains was marked as 'Igidi Desert', but that was all I got from them. All that I could reckon on as certain was that it was desert that lay on the other side of the pass, and I must carry enough supplies to meet it.

  "But the Arabs knew more! Though I offered what must have been fabulous riches to those poor devils, not one would come with me when I let them know what place I was heading for. None had ever been there, they would not even ride far into the desert in that direction; but all had very definite ideas of the place beyond the mountains as a nest of devils, a haunt of evil Jinns.

  "Knowing how firmly superstition is implanted in their kind, I tried no longer to persuade them, and started alone, with two scrawny camels carrying my water and supplies. So for three days I forged across the desert under a broiling sun, and on the morning of the fourth I reached the pass.

  "It was only a narrow crevice to begin with, and great boulders were strewn so thickly on its floor that it was a long, hard job getting through. And the cliffs on each side towered to such a height that the space between was a place of shadows and whispers and semidarkness. It was late in the afternoon when I finally came through, and for a moment I stood motionless; for from that side of the pass the desert sloped down into a vast basin, and at the basin's center, perhaps two miles from where I stood, gleamed the white ruins of Mamurth.

  "I remember that I was very calm as I covered the two miles between myself and the ruins. I had taken the existence of the city as a fact, so much so that if the ruins had not been there I should have been vastly more surprised than at finding them.

  "From the pass I had seen only a tangled mass of white fragments, but as I drew nearer, some of these began to take outline as crumbling blocks, and walls, and columns. The sand had drifted, too, and the ruins were completely buried in some sections, while nearly all were half covered.

  "And then it was that I made a curious discovery. I had stopped to examine the material of the ruins, a smooth, veinless stone, much like an artificial marble or a superfine concrete. And while I looked about me, intent on this, I noticed that on almost every shaft and block, on broken cornice and column, was carved the same symbol-if it was a symbol. It was a rough picture of a queer, outlandish creature, much like an octopus, with a round, almost shapeless body, and several long tentacles or arms branching out from the body, not supple and boneless, like those of an octopus, but seemingly stiff and jointed, like a spider's legs. In fact, the thing might have been intended to represent a spider, I thought, though some of the details were wrong. I speculated for a moment on the profusion of these creatures carved on the ruins all around me, then gave it up as an enigma that was unsolvable.

  "And the riddle of the city about me seemed unsolvable also. What could I find in this half-buried mass of stone fragments to throw light on the past? I could not even superficially explore the place, for the scantiness of my supplies and water would not permit; a long stay. It was with a discouraged heart that I went back to the; camels and, leading them to an open spot in the ruins, made my camp for the night. And when night had fallen, and I sat beside my little fire, the vast, brooding silence of this place of death was awful. There were no laughing human voices, or cries of animals, or even cries of birds or insects. There was nothing but the darkness and silence that crowded around me, flowed down upon me, beat sullenly against the glowing spears of light my little fire threw out.

  "As I sat there musing, I was startled by a slight sound behind me. I turned to see its cause, and then stiffened. As I have mentioned, the space directly around my camp was clear sand, smoothed level by the winds. Well, as I stared at that flat expanse of sand, a hole several inches across suddenly appeared in its surface, yards from where I stood, but clearly visible in the firelight.

  "There was nothing whatever to be seen there, not even a shadow, but there it was, one moment the level surface of the sand, the next moment a hole appearing in it, accompanied by a soft, crunching sound. As I stood gazing at it in wonder, that sound was repeated and simultaneously another hole appeared in the sand's surface, five or six feet nearer to me than the other.

  "When I saw that, ice-tipped arrows of fear seemed to shoot through me, and then, yielding to a mad impulse, I snatched a blazing piece of fuel from the fire and buried it, a comet of red flame, at the place where the holes had appeared. There was a slight sound of scurrying and shuffling, and I felt that whatever thing had made those marks had retreated, if a living thing had made them at all. What it had been, I could not imagine, for there had been absolutely nothing in sight, one track and then another appearing magically in the clear sand, if indeed they were really tracks at all.

  "The mystery of the thing haunted me. Even in sleep I found no rest, for evil dreams seemed to flow into my brain from the dead city around me. All the dusty sins of ages past, in the forgotten place, seemed to be focused on me in the dreams I had. Strange shapes walked through them, unearthly as the spawn of a distant star, half icon and vanishing again.

  "It was little enough sleep I got that night, but when the sun finally came, with its first golden rays, my fears and oppressions dropped from me like a cloak. No wonder the early peoples were sun-worshippers!

  "And with my renewed strength and courage, a new thought struck me. In the inscription I have quoted to you, that long-dead merchant-adventurer had mentioned the great temple of the city and dwelt on its grandeur. Where, then, were its ruins? I wondered. I decided that what time I had would be better spent in investigating the ruins of this temple, which should be prominent, if that ancient Carthaginian had been correct as to its size.

  "I ascended a near-by hillock and looked about me in all directions, and though I could not perceive any vast pile of ruins that might have been the temple's, I did see for the first time, far away, two great figures of stone that stood out black against the rosy flame of the sunrise. It was a discovery that filled me with excitement, and I broke camp at once, starting in the direction of those two shapes.

  "They were on the very edge of the farther side of the city, and it was noon before I finally stood before them. And now I saw clearly their nature: two great, sitting figures, carved of black stone, all of fifty feet in height, and almost that far apart, facing both toward the city and toward me. They were of human shape and dressed
in a queer, scaled armor, but the faces I can not describe, for they were unhuman. The features were human, well-proportioned, even, but tile face, the expression, suggested no kinship whatever with humanity as we know it. Were they carved from life? I wondered. If so, it must have been a strange sort of people who had lived in this city and set up these two statues.

  "And now I tore my gaze away from them, and looked around. On each side of those shapes, the remains of what must once have been a mighty wall branched out, a long pile of crumbling ruins. But there had been no wall between the statues, that being evidently the gateway through the barrier. I wondered why the two guardians of tile gate had survived, apparently entirely unharmed, while the wall and the city behind me had fallen into ruins. They were of a different material, I could see; but what was that material?

  "And now I noticed for the first time the long avenue that began on the other side of the statues and stretched away into the desert for a half-mile or more. The sides of this avenue were two rows of smaller stone figures that ran in parallel lines away from the two colossi. So I started down that avenue, passing between the two great shapes that stood at its head. And as I went between them, I noticed for the first time the inscription graven on the inner side of each.

  On the pedestal of each figure, four or five feet from the ground was a raised tablet of the same material, perhaps a yard square, an covered with strange symbols — characters, no doubt, of a lost language, undecipherable, at least to me. One symbol, though, that was especially prominent in the inscription, was not new to me. It was the carven picture of the spider, or octopus, which I have mentiond that I had found everywhere on the ruins of the city. And here it was scattered thickly among the symbols that made up the inscription. The tablet on the other statue was a replica of the first, and I could learn no more from it. So I started down the avenue, turning over in my mind the riddle of that omnipresent symbol, and then forgetting it, as I observed the things about me.