Troyana by Capt. S.P. Meek

Book Details

Troyana (1932) – The second of the “Troyana” series, Nankivell brings the adventurers back to Troyana to save it from a rebellion by the black robed Atlanteans.

From the Introduction in Amazing Stories:
MUCH has been attributed to the possibilities to be found in the so-called Lost Island, Atlantis. Capt. Meek has more than hinted at some of these possible wonders in his “The Drums of Tapajos,” but in this sequel, which comes as a direct compliance with the numerous demands for it, this favorite author gives us ideas and theories galore, weaving all into a plausible science fiction narrative of rare merit.

Part I
Chapter I – The Great Magician
Chapter II – The First Visit to Troyana
Chapter III – Nankivell to the Rescue
Chapter IV – In the Labyrinth
Chapter V – The Sleepers
Chapter VI – Gedaliah Attacks
Chapter VII – In Amos’ Hands

Part II – What Went Before:
Chapter VIII – The Priestess of the Golden Calf
Chapter IX – Escape
Chapter X – The Trial of Nankivell
Chapter XI – The Last Hope
Chapter XII – The Underground Dwellers
Chapter XIII – The Sleepers Wake

Part III – What Went Before:
Chapter XIV – Between Two Fires
Chapter XV – Rescue
Chapter XVI – Balkis
Chapter XVII – The End of the Golden Calf
Chapter XVIII – The New Master

Sterner St. Paul Meek (1894-1972) was an American military chemist, early science fiction author, and children’s author. He published much of his work first as Capt. S.P. Meek, then, briefly, as Major S.P. Meek and, after 1933, as Col. S.P. Meek.

When the United States entered World War I in 1917, Meek joined the military as a chemist and ordnance expert. He served as Chief, Small Arms Ammunition Research, in 1923-1926, and Chief Publications Officer, Ordnance Dept., in 1941-1945. He retired a colonel in 1947, at which point he became a full-time writer.

Troyana has 3 illustrations.

Files:

1. Troyana.epub

Excerpt: Troyana

Chapter I

The Great Magician

“NO, thank you,” I said when Childers had finished. “I appreciate the invitation and all that, but I’ll stay right here on the Rio Xingu.”

All four of them looked disappointed. “Why, Mr. Murdock? We’ll furnish the grubstake and all equipment, pay you a salary, and give you double shares of all gold found, as I told you. We feel that your services are worth that to us. We’ll even make it triple shares, if you insist.”

“No, thank you,” I said again. “Even that doesn’t tempt me. Why are you chaps so insistent on going west? You’re doing pretty well here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, fairly well, but this is chicken feed compared to what we’d get there. Listen, Mr. Murdock-Tom Harley here is a mining engineer and he knows what he is talking about. He says this gold must wash down from the west.”

“I don’t doubt that there is gold west of here. I’ve heard rumors of it before, but I also know that it isn’t to be had. Gentlemen, I’ve knocked around this part of South America for a good many years, and I’ve never heard of a man who went into the Tierra Prohibitiva and came back to tell about it. It’s not for me. I don’t think you’ll find any old-timer who’ll go with you, and I’m positive you won’t find an Indian who will.”

” ‘Tierra Prohibitiva?’ Pete Murchison called it that yesterday when we were talking with him. What does it mean?”

“The phrase translates ‘forbidden land,’ Mr. Childers, and it means just that. Entrance to the section lying between the Rio Xingu on the east and the Rio Tapajos on the west is forbidden.”

“Forbidden by whom?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that no one has ever gone into that section and come out to tell about it.”

“Two parties have gone in since we came here three months ago, and there were others before that, Mr. Murdock.”

“Yes, but none of them has returned. None of them ever will, in my humble opinion.”

“What will prevent it?”

“Again, I don’t know. I have heard all kinds of tales. Tales of deep, impassable swamps, peopled by strange terrible monsters, immune to rifle bullets. Tales of savage unconquerable Indian tribes, who use an especially virulent poison on their arrows. Strangest of all, tales of a race of white wizards who bewitch everyone who enters their domain. Which is right, I don’t know.”

“But that’s all nonsense, Mr. Murdock. There aren’t any wizards, you know.”

“When you’ve knocked around this country as long as I have, you’ll believe almost anything. Where there’s that much smoke, there must be some fire. At any rate. I don’t care to enter it.”

“We’re going in, guide or no guide. Are you sure we couldn’t make terms that would tempt you?”

“Absolutely sure. I have no desire to die just yet. I’m going down to Belem next week. If you have any gold to go, I’ll be glad to take it down on the usual terms.”

“Thanks, Mr. Murdock, we’ll be glad to send down a few pounds. Sorry you won’t join us. If you change your mind before Saturday, just speak up. We’ll be glad to have you along.”

“I appreciate it, gentlemen, but my mind is already made up. I wish you all the luck in the World.”

“Thanks, Mr. Murdock.”

I rose and walked away. Had I wished to pan gold, I would have been satisfied with the workings, there on the upper reaches of the Xingu, but the work was too tough for me. Men worked waist deep in the boiling water with leeches clustering on their legs, with sting rays gashing them, and between times, the piranhas (cannibal fishes) taking nibbles out of places the other vermin had missed. I was well known on the river, and I could make more carting gold down to Belem on a twenty percent commission basis than I could by washing it. Certainly entering the Tierra Prohibitiva was the last thing I had in mind, yet, in the end, I entered it— and lived to come out again too. This was how it came about.

Late that evening an Indian whom I had had with me on trips in the past, and whom I knew to be thoroughly loyal and dependable, came to my tent. He greeted me humbly enough and asked permission to speak to me.

“What is it, Juan?” I asked.

“Señor Murdock,” he replied, looking at the ground while he spoke, “I am come to take you to the west where much gold can be had.”

I laughed outright at the suggestion.

“Into the Tierra Prohibitiva?” I asked. You must think the perro rabioso (mad dog) has bitten me. I have no wish to die.”

“No, Señor,” he protested earnestly, “you will not die. I am told that you are sacred. Those whom the Great Magician takes under his robe do not die until the word is given. Also I am bidden to say that much gold will be earned.”

“Who in thunder is the ‘Great Magician’?” I demanded.

The native shut up like a clam. I tried to pump him, until I was afraid I would lose caste by my curiosity, but not a word beyond what I have told could I dig out of him. I dismissed him at last with the remark that it would be a cold day in March when I left the Xingu behind me and chased after the pot of gold which lay under the setting sun. He left me with a parting word to the effect that I had been sent for and would come whether I wanted to or not. I rose to kick him out at that, but he faded into the darkness without further words.

I lay down to sleep that night wondering what it was all about, but I didn’t have to wonder long. I hadn’t slept more than an hour before I was awakened by having some heavy thing thrown over my head. I tried to jump to my feet, but it was no use. Strong hands caught me and held me down. In a minute I was securely bound and couldn’t move. I opened my mouth to yell, but a fold of the blanket was stuffed into it. I was simply but effectually gagged.

My captors carried me from my tent and dumped me into a canoe. Two paddles started and we slipped along the bank of the river, heading down-stream. Soon we left the Xingu, as I could tell by the sound of the water, and started west up one of its tributaries. It seemed that I was doomed to visit the prohibited land whether I would or no.

Excerpt From: Capt. S.P. Meek. “Troyana.”