Weird Tales volume 36 number 02 Read online

  THOUlHfS

  feu L>an Influence Others With Your Thinking!

  '"FRY IT SCtf-TE TIME. Concentrate intently upon another person seated in a room with you. without his noticing it. Observe him gradually become resllcss and finally turn and fools in your direction. Simple—yd it is a positive demonstration that thought generates a mental energy which can be projected from your mind to the consciousness of another. Do you realize how much of your success and happiness in life depend upon your influencing others? Is il not important to you to have otbers understand your point of view—to be receptive to your proposals?

  Demonstrable Facts

  How many times have you wished there were some way you could impress .mother favorably—get across lo nim Or icr your ideas? That thoughts can be transmitted, received, and understood by others is now scientifically demonstrable. The tales of miraculous accomplishments of mind by the ancients are now known lo be fact—net fable. .TV method whereby these things can be inten tionc!!y. not accidentally, accomplished has been a sccrel long cherished by the Rosicrucians-one of the schools of ancient wisdom existing throughout the world. To thousands everywhere, lor cenhiries. the Rosicrucians have

  •ar!y-lo3t art of the practical use

  privately taught this o[ mind power.

  This Free Book Points Out the Way

  The Rosicrucians (not a religious organisation) hvvrte yi>u to explore the powers of your mind. Their sensible. simple suggestions have caused intelligent men and women lo soar to new heights of accomplishment. They tt'iff show you km lo use your natural forces and talents to do things you now think are beyond your ability. (7« l/ie tnupon beiotv and send for a copy of the fascinating sealed free book. "The Secret Heritage," which expNinj how you may receive this unique wisdom and benefit by Us application to your daify affairs.

  The ROSICRUCIANS

  < A M O R C )

  Scribe tO. A. The Rosicrucians. AMORC. Rosicrucian Park. San Jose, California.

  Kindlv send me a free copy of the W>k. 'The .Secrvl Heritage- I am interested in learning how I may receive instructions about the full use of my natural powers.

  Name

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  (Jailing cAll Fantasy Fans!

  Are there 1000 WEIRD TALES fans who will pay $2.00 per copy for the weird classics of our time — for the best of Smith, Merritt, Quinn, Howard, Bloch, Whitehead, Kuttner, etc., for an anthology of the best shorts from WT? Arkham House will publish them IF the fans will buy each book as it appears, if the fans will trust to our judgment to make the Arkham House Fantasy Library a reality, and not buy only their favorites. One or four books a year — your support will determine how many. The first book in the Arkham House Fantasy Library will be ready October 1—SOMEONE IN THE DAEK, 14 short stories, and 2 novelettes by August Derleth: $2.00 from Arkham House or your bookseller (the best of Derleth from Glory Hand to The Sandwin Compact). If only 1000 fans buy this and succeeding books, the Fantasy Library is assured. (Arkham House have left a few copies of H. P. Lovecraft's giant omnibus, THE OUTSIDER AND OTHERS, at $5.00 the copy—and a second Lovecraft omnibus on the way.)

  Let us know what you think of our plan for the Arkham House Fantasy Library, which books you would like to see us publish. Write us, and send your $2.00 for SOMEONE IN THE DARK today!

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  1 Talked with God

  (Yea, I Did—Actually and Literally)'

  and as a result of that little talk with God a strings Power came into my life. After 42 years of horrible, dismal, sickening failure, everything took on a brighter hue. It's fascinating to talk with God, and it can be done very easily once you learn the secret. And when you do — well — there will come into your life the same dynamic Power which came into mine. The shackles of defeat which, bound me for .rti a-shimmering — and now—?—well, 1 own control of the largest daily newspaper in our County, I own the largest office building in our City, I drive a beautiful Cadillac limousine. I own my own home which has a lovely pipe-organ in it, and my family are abundantly provided for after I'm gone. And all this has been made possible because one day, ten years ago, I actually and literally talked with God.

  You, too, may experience that strange mystical Power which comes from talking with God, and when you do, if there is poverty, unrestj

  unhappiness, or ill-health in your life, well — this same God-Power is able to do for you what it did for me. No matter how useless or helpless your life seems to be — all this can be changed. For this is not a human Power I'm talking about—it's a God-Power. And there can be no limitations to lie God-Power, can there? Of course not. You probably would like to know how you, too, may talk with God, so that this same Power which brought me these good things might come into your life, too. Well'— j ust write a letter or a post-card to Dr. Frank B. Robinson, Dept. 970, Moscow, Idaho, and full particulars of this strange Teaching will be sent to you free of charge. But write now — while you are in the mood. It only costs one cent to find out, and this might easily be the most profitable one cent you have ever spent. It may sound unbelievable — but it's true, or I wouldn't tell you it was. — Advt. Copyright, 1939, Frank B. Robinson.

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  0

  reamer's Worlds

  Surely the world of Thar—its strange cities and enormous mountains,

  its turquoise seas, twin moons and crimson sun — is

  nothing but a dream? And yet. . .

  REINING in his pony on the ridge, Khal Kan pointed down across . the other sands of the drylands that stretched in the glare of the crimson, sinking sun.

  "There we are, my lads!" he announced

  heartily. "See yonder black blobs on the desert? They're the tents of the dry-landers."

  His tall young figure was straining in the saddle, and there was a keen anticipation on his hard, merry young face.

  Swift Fantasy Novelet of a Dreamer and His Dream

  EDMOND

  HAMI LTON

  But Brusul, the squat warrior in blue leather beside him, and little Zoor, the wizened third member of the trio, looked uneasily.

  "We've no business meddling with the drylanders!" accused brawny Brusul loudly. "Your father the king said we were to scout only as far west as the Dragal Mountains. We've done that f and haven't found any sign of the cursed Bunts in them. Our business is to ride back to Jotan now and report."

  "Why, what are you afraid of?" demanded Khal Kan scoffingly. "We're wearing nondescript leather and weapons —we can pass ourselves off to the dry-landers as mercenaries from Kaubos."

  " Why should we go bothering the damned desert-folk at all?" Brusul demanded violently. "They've got nothing we want."

  Little Zoor broke into sniggering laughter. His wizened, frog-like face was creased by wrinkles of mirth.

  WEIRD TALES

  "Our prince has heard of that dryland princess—old Bladomir's daughter that they call Golden Wings," he chuckled.

  "I'll be damned!" exploded Brusul. "I might have known it was a woman! Well, if you think I'm going to let you endanger our lives and the success of our reconnaissance for a look at some desert wench, you-*-"

  "My sentiments exactly, Brusul!" cried Khal Kan merrily, and spurred forward. His pony galloped crazily down the crimson ridge, and his voice came back to them singing.

  "The Bunts came up to fotan,

  Long ago!

  The Bunts fled back on the homeward

  track When blood did flow!"

  "Oh, damn all wenches, here's an end of us because of your fool's madness," groaned Brusul as he caught up. "If those drylanders find us out, we'll make fine sport for them."

  Khal Kan grinned at the brawny warrior and the wizened little spy. "We'll not stay long. Just long enough to see what she looks like—this Golden Wings the desert tribes all rave about."

  They rode forward over the ocher desert. The huge red orb of the sun was full in their faces as it sank toward the west. Already, the two moons Qui and Quilus were rising like dull pink shields in the east.

  Shadows lengthened colossal across the yellow sands. The wind was keen, blowing from the far polar lands of this world of Thar. Behind them rose the vast, dull red shoulders of the Dragal Mountains, that separated the drylands from their own coastal country of Jotanland.

  A nomad town rose ahead, scores of flat-topped pavilions of woven black hyrk-hzit. Great herds of horses of the black desert

  strain were under the care of whooping herdsboys. Smoke of fires rose along the streets.

  Fierce, swarthy drylanders whose skins were darker than the bronze faces of Khal Kan and his companions, looked at the trio with narrowed eyes as they rode in. Dryland warriors fell in behind them, riding casually after them toward die big pavilion at the camp's center.

  "We're nicely in the trap," grunted Brusul. "Now only wit will get us out. Which means we can't depend on you, Khal Kan."

  Khal Kan laughed. "A good sword can take a man where wit will stumble. Remember, now, we're from Kaubos."

  They dismounted outside the great pavilion and walked into it past cat-eyed dryland sentries.

  Torches spilled a red flare over the interior of the big tent. Here along rows, on their mats, sat the chiefs of the desert folk, feasting, drinking and quarreling.

  UPON a low dais sat old Bladomir, their highest chief. The old desert ruler was a bearded, steel-eyed warrior of sixty whose yellow skin was grizzled by sandstorm and sun. His curved sword leaned against his knee, and he was drinking from a flagon of purple Lurian wine.

  Khal Kan's eyes flew to the girl sitting beside the chief. He felt disappointment. Was this the famous Golden Wings, this small, slight, slender dark-haired girl in black leather? Why, she was nothing much —mildly attractive with her smooth black hair and fine, golden-skinned features— but not as pretty by half as many a wench he knew.

  The girl looked up. Her eyes met Khal Kan's. The stab of those midnight-black eyes was like the impact of sword-shock. For a moment, the Jotan prince glimpsed ? a spirit thrilling as a lightning-flash.

  "Why, I ree now why they rave about her!" he thought delightedly. "She's a

  DREAMER'S WORLDS

  tiger-cat, dangerous as hell and twice as beautiful!''

  Golden Wings' black brows drew together angrily at the open, insolent admiration on the face of Khal Kan. She spoke to her father.

  Bladomir looked down frownlngly at the tall, grinning young warrior and his two companions.

  "Watermen!" grunted the dryland chief contemptuously, using the desert-folk's name for the coast peoples. "What do you want here?"

  "We're from Kaubos," Brusul answered quickly. "We had to leave there when the Bunts took our city last year. Being men without a country now, we thought we'd offer our swords to you."

  Bladomir spat. "We of the desert don't need to hire swords. You can have tent-hospitality tonight. Tomorrow, be gone."
>
  It was what Khal Kan had expected. He was hardly listening. His eyes, insolent in admiration, had never left the girl Golden Wings.

  A shrill voice yelled from the drylandcrs feasting in the big torchlit tent. A thin, squint-eyed desert warrior had jumped to his feet and was pointing at Khal Kan.

  "That's no Kaubian!" he cried. "It's the prince of Jotan! I saw him with the king his father, two years ago in Jotan city!"

  Khal Kan's sword sang out of its sheath with blurring speed—but too late. Dry-landers had leaped on the three instantly, pinioning their arms. Old Bladomir arose, his hawk-eyes narrowing ominously.

  "So you're that hell's brand, young Khal Kan of Jotan?" he snarled. "Spying on us, are you?"

  Khal Kan answered coolly. "We're not spying on you. My father sent us into the Dragals to see if the Bunts were in the mountains. He feared that traitor Egir might lead the green men north that way."

  "Then what are you doing here in our camp?" Bladomir demanded.

  Khal Kan looked calmly at the girl. "I'd heard of your daughter and wanted to look at her, to see if she was all they say."

  Golden Wing's black eyes flared, but her voice was silky. "And now that you have looked, Jotanian, do you approve?"

  Khal Kan laughed. "Yes, I do. I think you're a tiger-cat as would make me a fit mate. I shall do you the honor of making you princess of Jotan."

  Swords of a score of dryland warriors flashed toward the three captives, as the desert warriors leaped to avenge the insult.

  "Wait!" called Golden Wings' dear voice. There was a glint of mocking humor in her black eyes as she looked down at Khal Kan. "No swords for this princeling—the whip's more suited to him. Tie him up."

  A roar of applause went up from the drylanders. In a moment, Khal Kan had been strung up to a tent-pole, his hands dragged up above his head. His leather jacket was ripped off and his yellow shirt torn away.

  Brusul, bound and helpless, was roaring like a trapped lion as he saw what was coming. A tall drylander with a lash had come.

  Swish— crack! Roar of howling laughter crashed on the echo, as Khal Kan felt the leather bite into his flesh. He winced inwardly from the pain, but kept his insolent smile unchanged.