Zenya

Book 0: DUMAREST SAGA

by E.C. Tubb

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Earls Dumarest's quest for his homeland - the legendary planet Earth - had been long and dangerous. Trekking across the galactic wastelands of the Milky Way, he had been pursued and hindered at every step by the deadly Cyclan. Now, just as his search seems to be nearing its close, Dumarest is once again side-tracked - forced to lead an army for Zenya in the deadly feuds of the alien planet of Paiyar . . . (First published 1974)

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 157

Sample

Also by E.C. Tubb

The Dumarest Saga:

1: The Winds of Gath (1967)

2: Derai (1968)


3: Toyman (1969)


4: Kalin (1969)


5: The Jester at Scar (1970)


6: Lallia (1971)


7: Technos (1972)


8: Veruchia (1973)


9: Mayenne (1973)


10: Jondelle (1973)


11: Zenya (1974)


12: Eloise (1975)


13: Eye of the Zodiac (1975)


14: Jack of Swords (1976)


15: Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun (1976)


16: Haven of Darkness (1977)


17: Prison of Night (1977)


18: Incident on Ath (1978)


19: The Quillian Sector (1978)


20: Web of Sand (1979)


21: Iduna’s Universe (1979)


22: The Terra Data (1980)


23: World of Promise (1980)


24: Nectar of Heaven (1981)


25: The Terridae (1981)


26: The Coming Event (1982)


27: Earth is Heaven (1982)


28: Melome (1983)


29: Angado (1984)


30: Symbol of Terra (1984)


31: The Temple of Truth (1985)


32: The Return (1997)


33: Child of Earth (2008)


The Cap Kennedy (F.A.T.E.) Series (E.C. Tubb writing as Gregory Kern)

1: Galaxy of the Lost (1973)


2: Slave Ship from Sergan (1973)


3: Monster of Metelaze (1973)


4: Enemy Within the Skull (1974)


5: Jewel of Jarhen (1974)


6: Seetee Alert! (1974)


7: The Gholan Gate (1974)


8: The Eater of Worlds (1974)


9: Earth Enslaved (1974)


10: Planet of Dread (1974)


11: Spawn of Laban (1974)


12: The Genetic Buccaneer (1974)


13: A World Aflame (1974)


14: The Ghosts of Epidoris (1975)


15: Mimics of Dephene (1975)


16: Beyond the Galactic Lens (1975)


17: The Galactiad (1983)


Alien Dust (1955)


Alien Impact (1952)


Journey Into Terror (originally published as Alien Life (1954, rev. 1998))


Atom War on Mars (1952)


Fear of Strangers (first published as C.O.D. – Mars (1968))


Century of the Manikin (1972)


City of No Return (1954)

Death God’s Doom (1999)

Death is a Dream (1967)

Dead Weight (first published as Death Wears a White Face (1979))

Escape into Space (1969)

Footsteps of Angels (2004) (previously unpublished work written c.1988)

Hell Planet (1954)

Journey to Mars (1954)

Moon Base (1964)

Pandora’s Box (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)

Pawn of the Omphalos (1980)

S.T.A.R. Flight (1969)

Stardeath (1983)

Starslave (2010) (previously unpublished work written 1984)

Stellar Assignment (1979)

Temple of Death (1996) (previously unpublished work written 1954)

Fifty Days to Doom (first published as The Extra Man (1954))

The Life-Buyer (1965, 2008)

The Luck Machine (1980)

World in Torment (originally published as The Mutants Rebel (1953))

The Primitive (1977)

The Resurrected Man (1954)

The Sleeping City (1999)

The Space-Born (1956)

The Stellar Legion (1954)

To Dream Again (2011)

Venusian Adventure (1953)

Tide of Death (first published as World at Bay (1954))

E. C. Tubb (writing as Arthur MacLean)

The Possessed (revised version of Touch of Evil (1957))

E. C. Tubb (writing as Brian Shaw)

Argentis (1952)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Carl Maddox)

Menace from the Past (1954)

The Living World (1954)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Charles Grey)

Dynasty of Doom (1953)

The Extra Man (first published as Enterprise 2115 (1954) & then as The Mechanical Monarch (1958))

I Fight for Mars (1953)

Space Hunger (1953)

The Hand of Havoc (1954)

Secret of the Towers (originally published as The Tormented City (1953))

The Wall (1953)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Gill Hunt)

Planetfall (1951)

E. C. Tubb (writing as King Lang)

Saturn Patrol (1951)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Roy Sheldon)

The Metal Eater (1954)

E. C. Tubb (writing as Volsted Gridban)

The Green Helix (originally published as Alien Universe (1952))

Reverse Universe (1952)

Planetoid Disposals Ltd. (1953)

The Freedom Army (originally published as De Bracy’s Drug (1953))

Fugitive of Time (1953)

She was tall, with a mass of golden hair raised and crested in an aureole above her head. Thick strands ran from her temples,
cut and shaped into upcurving points which accentuated the high bones and slight concavity of her cheeks. Her jaw was round,
with a determined hardness, and her lips were full, the lower pouting in betraying sensuosity. Her eyes were deep-set, glowing
amber, wide-spaced beneath arching brows, their upward slant giving her the appearance of a watchful cat.


She had, Dumarest realized, been studying him with unusual interest.

Slowly he turned the page of the ancient volume lying before him on the reading desk, not looking at the crabbed text beneath
its transparent coating, but concentrating on the girl.


She wore a dress of luminous gold, rich fabric falling from throat to knee, cinctured at the waist, and tight against the
contours of her body. Her arms were bare, coiled bracelets in the design of serpents rising from wrists to elbows, gems bright
against the precious metal. Her fingers were long, tapering, devoid of rings, the nails painted to match her dress. Her skin
was a lustrous bronze.


She was young, obviously wealthy, and completely out of place. Such a woman would not haunt the musty confines of the Archives
of Paiyar. Her type would be found at the stadium, at fashion shows, at parties, at the auctions where debtors were sold into
bondage, at the market where merchants offered jewels and rare fabrics, perfumes from a dozen worlds, unguents, and titivating lotions. Not even the lowest of courtesans would waste her time in such a place.


Dumarest turned another page. The volume was the log of some old vessel, boring in its listing of minutiae, devoid of the
information he sought. He closed it, added it to a pile of others, and took the entire heap to a desk where a woman checked
them against a card.


Smiling, she said, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice held genuine regret. “I’m afraid they are the oldest logs we possess. There is another, that of the
Merle—a trading vessel which touched on several worlds. It is of interest because the ship encountered an electronic storm which
threw it far from its designated path. Perhaps …?”


“Thank you, but no.” Dumarest returned the smile. “What I am looking for is something much earlier. A log made at the time
when navigational tables were not as they are now. Or a set of tables as used before the present system became established.
Apparently you have nothing like that.”


“No,” she admitted reluctantly, “we haven’t. But would such tables exist? I know little about spacial navigation, but surely
the tables used now are the same as they have always been?”


“Perhaps, but I was hoping …” Dumarest broke off, shrugging. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It was a thin hope at best.”

But one which had to be investigated. Old logs read and records searched, as he had done before on too many worlds. Books,
microfilms, all examined and crosschecked, to be finally discarded as valueless to his search. And yet, somewhere, had to
be the answer.


The woman said, “I have no wish to be curious, but if you could tell me just what it is you are looking for, I might be able
to help.”


“A place. A world,” said Dumarest. He added bleakly, “You would call it a legend.”

“Legendary worlds?” She frowned, thinking. “I’m sure that we have something in that field. A volume compiled by an old scholar. His name is …?” The frown deepened. “Sazy … Dazym Negaso! That’s the one! He spent a lifetime correlating
old myths. I’m sure the book would contain the information you are looking for. I could find it if you would care to wait.”


“No, thank you.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“No,” he said again. “I’ve read the book. It was interesting, but of no real value. A collection of rumor and wild speculation.”

And another hope gone, but he was used to that.

“That will be all, then?”

Dumarest nodded, and as the woman busied herself assessing the charge, turned to examine the gallery. At one of the tables
a thin-faced man scowled as he made copious notes. At another a matron snuffled as she searched through a pile of recent publications.
A young couple whispered from behind the shelter of reproductions of rare and valuable Sha’ Tung art. An old man dozed in
a remote corner. The girl in the golden dress was nowhere to be seen.


Her absence was disturbing. Dumarest did not like to be an object of interest, especially on a world that could contain hated
enemies. It was, he decided, time to be moving on.


“Will you be back tomorrow?” The attendant was hopeful. Old though she was, she could still dream, and the tall man had touched
something within her. It wasn’t just his clothes—the tunic high about the throat and falling to mid-thigh, the pants, and
high boots, all in somber gray. Rather it was the hard lines of his face, which spoke of privation, the haunting something
in his eyes, the mouth which, she guessed, could so easily become cruel. This man, she knew, had traveled, had seen other
worlds, other suns, and something of what he had experienced rode with him. So she added, almost pleadingly, “I could take
another look at the file. Maybe there is something which has been overlooked. A scrap of information which could be of value.”


Caution dictated a lie. “I’ll be back,” he said. “But don’t bother looking for anything just yet. I’ll think about it and
let you know.” He counted out money, the cost of the charge. Casually he added, “There was a girl here a short while ago. Tall, blond, wearing a golden dress. Did you see her?”


For a moment she hesitated, and then said curtly, “Yes, I saw her.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“Her name, no. I’ve never seen her before. But she belongs to the Aihult. She wore serpents,” she explained. “It is their
device.”


“A powerful house?”

“One of the most powerful on Paiyar.” She glanced down at the symbol she wore on her blouse, the interlocked rings of the
civil authority, and Dumarest could sense her resentment. Like himself, she lacked the protection of house, guild, or clan,
but at least she did belong to an organization. She was not wholly alone.


He said, “Did she ask about me? The books I asked for?”

“No. She merely came in and watched you.” The attendant thinned her lips. “I didn’t see her leave.”

She was waiting outside in a long, musty corridor thick with shadows, the odor of wood merging with that of dust and hanging
like a miasma in the air. Without preamble she took his arm, the scent of her perfume strong in his nostrils, replacing the
odor of ancient things with that of summer blooms. The aureole of her hair came a little below his eyes.


She said, “I am Aihult Zenya Yamaipan. You are Earl Dumarest. My grandfather wants to talk to you.”

“Do I want to talk to him?”

“Does that really matter?” Her eyes were cool, faintly mocking. Her voice was a rich contralto, each word clearly enunciated.
“When the master calls, the servant obeys; and in this world, my friend, I assure you, Aihult Chan Parect is very much a master.
Shall we go?”


Dumarest resisted the tug at his arm. Flatly he said, “Let us get one thing clear. Your grandfather is not my master, and
I am not his servant. Also, I have more important things to do.”


“Nothing is as important as talking to my grandfather.”

“That is a matter of opinion.”

“Yours or his?” Abruptly she laughed, mellow echoes ringing from the paneled walls, the low ceiling. “You know, there isn’t a person on Paiyar who wouldn’t fall over themselves
to answer such a directive. To be summoned to talk to the head of the house of Aihult! They would run barefoot over broken
glass to be there on time. And yet you refuse! Refuse!”


Dryly he said, “You find that amusing?”

“Incredible, rather, but refreshing. I like a man who knows his own mind and who doesn’t jump because he is told to do just
that. Tell me, have you ever fought in the stadium?”


He said formally, “Why do you ask that, my lady?”

“Friends call me Zenya. Are you a friend?”

“That rather depends on you, my lady.”

“Zenya. Have you?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Of course you have, it’s obvious. Do you know how I can tell? You have
the look of someone who has faced the necessity of having to win or die. The way you walk, the way you look—I’ve seen it before.”


“In your other friends?”

“Some.” She met his eyes, her stare direct. As she faced him, head tilted, he could see the smooth column of her throat, the
tiny pulse beneath the skin. “Would you fight for me if I asked you to? One bout, naked blades, to the death?”


“No.”

“Just like that, Earl? No qualification, just a flat refusal?”

“That’s right.”

“Why not, Earl? Afraid?”

He said flatly, “Of dying, yes. Who isn’t?”

The full lips pouted like those of a spoiled child. And that’s what she was, he thought. Rich and spoiled, and, perhaps, jaded.
On the surface, at least, but there could be more, far less apparent. Why had she sought him out? Why was she apparently alone?
The rich and pampered daughter of a powerful house did not seek out strangers, and it was incredible that she should be unattended.
There would be guards somewhere, men within call, force ready to be used in case of need.


And force directed by whom? Dumarest had the uneasy feeling that he was within the jaws of a closing trap.

“You disappoint me, Earl,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have said that. A fighter never admits to being afraid of anything, even death. And I don’t think you meant it.
Tell me the real reason why you wouldn’t fight for me.”


“You talk like a child,” he said harshly. “Fighting isn’t a game. That’s real blood you see in the ring. Real wounds and real
pain. For you it might be the thrill of a moment, but for those taking part, it’s a matter of life or death. It’s ugly, vile
and …”


He broke off, remembering. The crowd, the ring of avid faces, the roar as they anticipated blood. The stink of sweat and fear,
the savagery, primitive emotion unleashed, yelling men and shrieking women, and, always, the chance that this time he would
not be able to walk away. So many little things could do it. A slip, a momentary indecision, an accident, a snapped blade,
the running out of luck, anything.


She said softly, “Yes, Earl? And …?”

“Nothing.” He recognized the expression in her eyes, the look of an emotional vampire eager to feed on tales of blood and
violence. He had seen it before, too often, on the faces staring down from the expensive seats, those who thronged the dressing
rooms, finding in sweat and wounds an aphrodisiac for jaded appetites. Some fighters were tempted to cater to such women.
Those who did failed to live long.


“Please, Earl!”

Flatly he said, “Somehow, my lady, we seem to have left the subject. If you will excuse me?”

She caught up to him as he strode down the corridor, slim fingers digging into his arm.

“My grandfather?”

“I’m sure that he will survive without the pleasure of my company.”

“Perhaps, but will I?”

He paused and turned to look into the slanted amber of her eyes. “You must have many friends, my lady. And I am sure that
you mus. . .