CRYPT-CITY OF THE DEATHLESS ONE
By Henry Kuttner
Only once could a man defy the deathless
guardians of the Ancient's tomb-city deep
in Ganymede's hell-forest and expect to
live. Yet Ed Garth had to return, had to
lead men to certain doom—to keep a promise
to a girl he would never see again.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Icy water splashed into Ed Garth's face and dripped down his tattered,grimy shirt. It was a tremendous effort to open his eyes. Fumes of thenative Ganymedean rotgut liquor were swimming in his brain.
Someone was shaking him roughly. Garth's stocky body jerkedconvulsively. He struck out, his drink-swollen face twisted withfrightened fury, and gasped, "Ylgana! Vo m'trana al-khron—"
The hand on his shoulder fell away. Someone said, "That's it, Paula!The Ancient Tongue!"
And a girl's voice, doubtful, a little disgusted.
"You're sure? But how in the System did this—this—"
"Bum. Tramp," Garth muttered, peering blearily at the pale ovals ofunfocused faces above him. "Don't mind me, sister. Beachcomber is theword—drunk, right now. So please get the hell out and let me finish mybottle."
More water was sluiced on Garth. He shook his head, groaning, and sawTolomo, the Ganymedean trader, scowling down at him. The native'sthree-pupiled eyes were angry.
English hissed, oddly accented, on his tongue.
"You wake up, Garth! Hear me? This is a job for you. You owe me toomuch already. These people come looking for you, say they want a guide.Now you do what they want, and pay me for all that liquor you buy oncredit."
"Sure," Garth said wearily. "Tomorrow. Not now."
Tolomo snorted. "I get you native guides, Captain Brown. They know wayto Chahnn."
The man's voice said stubbornly, "I don't want natives. I want EdGarth."
"Well, you won't get him," Garth growled, pillowing his head on hisarms. "This joint smells already, but you make it worse. Beat it."
He did not see Captain Brown slip Tolomo a folded credit-current. Thetrader deftly pocketed the money, nodded, and gripped Garth by thehair, lifting his head. The bluish, inhuman face was thrust into theEarthman's.
"Listen to me, Garth," Tolomo said, fairly spitting the words. "I letyou come in here and get drunk all the time on the cuff. You pay mea little, not much, whenever you gather enough alka-roots to sell.But you owe plenty. People ask me why I let a bum like you come to myMoonflower-Ritz Bar—"
"That's a laugh," Garth mouthed. "A ramshackle plastic flophouse fullof cockroaches and bad liquor. Moonflower-Ritz, hogwash!"
"Shut up," Tolomo snapped. "I let you run up a bill here when nobodyelse would. Now you take this job and pay me or I have the marshal putyou in jail. At hard labor, in the swamps."
Garth called Tolomo something unprintable. "Okay," he groaned. "Youwin, louse. You know damn well no Earthman can stand swampwork, evenwith bog-shoes. Now let go of my hair before I smash your teeth in."
"You do it? You guide these people?"
"I said I would, didn't I?" Garth reached fumblingly for the bottlebefore him. Someone thrust a filled glass into his hand. He gulped thefiery pu