But what might result from the mass migrations? The time-voyagers already had clairvoyant “histories” of the world in future ages, but mustn’t their collective invasions of this or that future of this or that world negate the previous “precord” of those eras? Some argued that their visions of the future must have already taken their own migrations into account. Others countered that such a notion implied an ineluctable determinism. Of this, Crom-Ya understood nothing. He was not a stupid man, but, like the Great Race themselves, he had his priorities. He was interested only in what he might put to use in battle and in ruling once his mind was reunited with his steelythewed body. He understood enough of what he heard to realize that any knowledge or memory of what he had learned during his time here would be taken from him. The purpose of the Great Race’s abductions was to exploit their hostages to add to their vast archives, not to educate them; much less to share their knowledge with more primitive ages. But Crom-Ya felt quite sure he could frustrate their plans for him.
All the captive intelligences spent some of their time in conversations with fellow inmates (for he had again come to view the Great Race that way, despite their generally humane treatment). All of them were glad enough to share information about themselves, but little of it made any sense to Crom-Ya. He had never heard of the places from which his fellows came. What and where were “Yaddith”? “Barsoom”? “Tond”? “Chicago”? Their personal names were scarcely less strange: “Alhazred,” “Curwen,” “Tillinghast,” “Peaslee.” The revelations vouchsafed by natives of other eras and even other planets, were fascinating, but they seemed to Crom-Ya as tall tales told to spellbound children. On the other hand, the undeniable fact of his presence here attested to the truth of their stories. So the barbarian set about learning whatever he could about the weapons and military tactics of other eras and worlds. If he could take it home with him when his sentence was served, he might be able to use this knowledge to achieve greater victories and greater honor than ever before.
The rest of their hours were perforce occupied in recording in journals all they knew and remembered of the worlds and peoples they came from. The Great Race’s object in all this archiving was ostensibly simply to amass knowledge for its own sake. But the canny Crom-Ya could not help suspecting there was more to it. What must become of this vast store of accumulated information on the day, should it arrive, when, for fear of their fabled nemeses, they should vacate the rugose cone-bodies their alien minds had long inhabited? It would all be for naught. Surely that must be obvious to beings with such great intelligence. Why would they waste the time? Perhaps they weren’t. It seemed more likely they were gathering information about civilizations they might consider as refuges once Doomsday should arrive.
Suppose, then, that the Great Race chose Crom-Ya’s native world and era for their new environment? The very thought amused him. His world was one of ceaseless conflict, battle, and rapacity. From his observations of the Great Race, he surmised that the unvarnished truth about what they referred to as the Hyborian Age would make it an unlikely choice for them. After all, they lived in terror of an ever-threatening, unseen force, preferring to flee rather than to offer the most basic resistance. So in his chronicling of his era, Crom-Ya made sure to regale the reader with the bloodiest, pitiless, atrocities he knew of. The truth must be more daunting to them than any fearsome tall tales he might concoct.
Crom-Ya began to pay more attention to overheard fragments of conversations about the ancient enemies of the Great Race, whom they called the Blind Beings, whose advent they so feared. It seemed they were already present! They dwelt in the cavernous spaces far beneath the massive complexes of the Great Race. This fact placed everything in a new light. He had gathered that these Blind Beings, blind because invisible since sight requires a reflective optical surface, were pursuing the Great Race across time and space for unknown reasons, and that they had not yet discovered their enemies’ hiding place. But if instead they had already reached the retreat of the Great Race, that meant the Race had somehow been able to defeat and confine them. It was not their arrival upon earth but rather their possible escape from captivity that their cone-shaped captors feared.
It was not in the Cimmerian’s nature merely to wait and hope. He now saw a new course of action opening before him: he must somehow find the guarded portal to the underground realm of the invisible whistling octopi.
Gates to the Graves of the Gods
Crom-Ya embarked upon an exhaustive search throughout the domain of the cone race. He hoped to find one of the sealed doors to the subterranean prison. He dared not inquire about it, nor could he locate any map or records. One day it occurred to him that he had never left the confines of the city of the Great Race. He had not even thought about it. As far as he was concerned, he was twice imprisoned: in the repugnant alien body that he bore, and in the dwelling place of his captors. He had no real idea of what might be seen outside the megalithic structures with their peculiar hexagonal floor tiles and great, wide ramps. The place was alien enough; the outside world must be stranger still. But now he found himself of a different mind. The outside environs, so full of mysteries, might be equally replete with resources and opportunities.
No one sought to prevent his touring the world outside the city of the Great Race. All were free to come and go. Ultimately, where could they go? The day came when Crom-Ya, or the thing that had once been Crom-Ya and should be again someday, exited the shaded compound and emerged into the blazing sunlight and the thick, stifling, jungle humidity of what he did not know to call prehistoric Australia. All was extremely strange to him. And yet the strangeness paled beside that of the alien cone race. But what he now beheld at least answered to certain analogies in Crom-Ya’s mind. He had grown up with tales of dragons and giant beasts surviving to his own day, and of the bloody conflicts between them and his heroic ancestors. He had always cherished such sagas but never knew whether to credit them as fact. This uncertainty troubled him not at all, since, however they originated, they served to inspire courage in the hearts of himself and his fellow tribesmen, courage that, together with early-learned battlefield prowess, had quickly led to his rise to the chieftaincy. And now, though he was unrecognizable to himself, he could feel the old flame of courage igniting within him, preparing him for possible conflict w ith t he h uge reptiles he glimpsed among the giant fronds and boles outside the home structure.
At once, the exile from Cimmeria paused in his mollusklike progress along the smooth megalithic runway and cursed himself for a fooclass="underline" in this miserable form, he could not defend himself, much less mount an attack! Surely he or anyone like him must be an irresistible target for these jungle dragons, their great maws lined with dripping, knife-like fangs. One such titan started to emerge from the dense greenery. Crom-Ya felt himself crouch into a defensive stance, though it was of course impossible for his body to assume it. He had the sensation common to men who have lost a limb but still feel it as if present.
To his surprise, the dragon abruptly turned away and bounded with a crash back into the primeval forest. Though relieved, the barbarian was astonished. Why did the monster flee? Knowing the mental abilities of the Great Race, he thought for a second that one of them had sent a note of alarm into the brain of the giant reptile. But none of the conical beings was visible, and he had never been successful in cultivating such psychic abilities while resident in their form. Perhaps their bodies emitted a natural repellant scent, like a skunk’s. But it mattered not. Crom-Ya resolved to get back to his quest.