LAIR OF THE DRAGONBIRD

                         By Robert Silverberg

                Nobody on Venus knew if the dragonbird
             was flesh and blood or a robot. But one thing
             was certain--some men would kill to find out!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1956
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Dan Elliot sat in the muggy gloom of the Vestend Bar on the outskirts
of Venus City, and grinned at his reflection in the mottled mirror.

"Congratulations," he said to himself. "You are now the owner of the
_Space Needle II_."

It had taken him five years, but it was worth it. The insurance money
from the crashed _Space Needle_ had just barely covered the down
payment on the new ship, and it had taken five years to pay for the
rest of it.

But now--the ship was his. And he was celebrating. The only trouble was
the final payment had nearly left him penniless, and the only place he
could afford to bend an elbow was a dive like the Vestend.

Suddenly someone lurched against his back, and the drink in his hand
slopped over the bar.

"Why don't you watch what you're doin' buddy?" a harsh voice said.

Elliot turned around. "I didn't--"

"Oh, a wise guy, eh?"

Customers began to draw around the bickering duo. Elliot sized up his
antagonist--a burly, nondescript man with a seam running down from one
ear to his chin.

"I'm not looking for trouble," Elliot said. "But if--"

A fist erupted from nowhere and sent him spinning back against the bar.
He elbowed up and drove a punch into the burly man's stomach, followed
with a ringing blow to the jaw. The other staggered--

And a third entered the brawl. Elliot felt a punch rake across his
face, blocked a kick aimed for his groin, and barrelled across the
room, striking out angrily at his assailants. By now the room was
filled with moving, cursing, gesticulating men, while the bartender
ducked to safety.

Elliot plunged through the mob and found the man who had struck him the
first time. He seized him by the collar and drove him to the floor,
just as someone yelled, "Watch that table!"

He turned--not nearly in time. The flying table caught the back of his
head with a sickening _thunk_, and he dropped unconscious to the floor.

A cold rag splashed wetly on his face, and a heavy voice said: "Bring
him out of it. He's not badly hurt."

       *       *       *       *       *

Elliot opened his eyes slowly. He was no longer in the Vestend, but in
a large, well-decorated office. Behind a gleaming-surfaced desk sat a
short, fat man with jowls that jiggled as he spoke, and standing to
his left was a brawny, not-too-intelligent-looking man with a heavy
spacetan.

"How do you feel, Mr. Elliot?" the fat man asked.

"All right, I guess." He rubbed the back of his head. "What happened?"

"You got in a fight. Fortunately Sam, here, got you out."

Elliot looked at his benefactor. "Thanks, pal."

Sam shrugged morosely.

The fat man steepled his fingers and leaned forward solicitously. "Tell
me--aren't you the Daniel Elliot who cracked up a spaceship in the
jungles five years ago?"

"That's me," Elliot said.

The fat man nodded. "Mr. Elliot, I understand that you were near
the Venusian Temple of Light--that you actually saw the Dragonbird
with your own eyes. Can you tell me if the thing is a robot or is it
actually alive?"

Elliot grinned. He had seen the fabulous bird from the jungle, hidden
from the Venusian priests who worshipped it, but even at a distance he
could tell the thing was alive. No robot could have moved with such
sinuous grace. "It's real," he said.

The fat man smiled unpleasantly. "I had hoped so, Mr. Elliot. I want
that bird. You're the only one who can lead me to it."

Elliot rose to his feet and glared at the fat man. "Not me, mister.
I don't like the jungle--and I don't like the idea of taking the
Venusian's pet god, either."

The fat man's eyes grew hard. "Do you know who I am?"

Elliot shook his head. It was a mistake; his neck was still sore from
the clobbering earlier, and the pain made him wince.

"You're talking to Housten Blayne," Sam said.

Elliot stared silently. He knew Housten Blayne. Blayne was the Venusian
Commissioner for the Interplanetary Trade Board.

"You were in a brawl in a tavern, Mr. Elliot," said Blayne mildly. "I
could revoke your pilot's papers for that. It might even appear that
you were--ah--intoxicated when you smashed up the _Space Needle_.
Naturally we couldn't let you take off in the _Space Needle II_, could
we?"

Elliot saw the picture then. The fight in the bar had been staged.
Blayne had shrewdly framed him in order to get him to lead him to the
Dragonbird. And the fat man could do everything he said he would.
Elliot was in his pocket.

"All right, Blayne," Elliot said stiffly. "When do we start?"

"Tuesday," Blayne said. "And I'd better warn you, Elliot, that we must
protect each other. If I don't come back from this trip, certain papers
in my safe would make things very difficult for you. If we make it,
however, you will be well paid."

"What does that mean?"

Blayne smiled. "I believe ten thousand credits will be sufficient. That
is, of course, if we actually _get_ the Dragonbird."

       *       *       *       *       *

They started the next day from North Venus City, Blayne and Elliot. Sam
followed them as far as the boundary line, then waved and turned back.

The first few days of the journey weren't too bad. The little jeep
went over the mossy undergrowth almost as though a road had been built
for it. It was, Elliot reflected, a hell of a lot better way to travel
than slogging through the Venusian jungle on foot. In four days, they
covered the same ground that had taken Elliot five weeks when he'd
cracked up his ship several hundred miles to the south.

At night, the two men took shifts, one of them sleeping in the rear
of the jeep and the other standing guard, keeping his eyes peeled
for predators. Here Elliot encountered a temptation that was almost
overpowering.

It happened the first night, while Blayne slept. Elliot paced slowly
back and forth, on the lookout. Half an hour before his watch was
due to end, he heard a faint chittering sound coming from one of the
swaying whip-trees overhead.

He glanced up, and swore. One of the grapefruit-sized purple Venusian
spiders was lowering itself stealthily from the overhead branches on
thick, sticky strands of web. It hovered some eight feet above Blayne's
face--the fat, grubby face that looked evil even in sleep.

Elliot felt perspiration bursting out on himself. It would be so easy
just to let the spider descend, to crawl on Blayne's ugly face, to
inject its venom--

No. He fought the temptation, and drew his blaster. A bright spurt of
golden flame split the night, and the spider withered on its web.

Blayne was awake in an instant. "What was that?"

"I've just saved your worthless life," Elliot said tonelessly. "Spider.
Came out of the tree. Go back to sleep; you're not on duty for another
half-hour."

Blayne shuddered, rolled over--and went back to sleep.

During the day, Elliot drove. They moved further and further into the
tangle of foliage that was the Venusian jungle, while the gray clump of
buildings that was Venus City receded dimly behind them.

It was hot in the jungle, hot and moist. Elliot's hair plastered
itself to his forehead, sweat trickled into his eyes, steam fogged the
windshield. After a while, he brought the jeep to a halt.

Blayne wiped sweat from his wobbling chins and looked up. "What's going
on?"

"You drive," Elliot said. "I'm bushed."

"No," Blayne said. "You're doing the driving in this outfit. That's
your job--that's what I've hired you for. Get going. Now!"

Elliot started the jeep up again. He'd been in low straits before, but
this was about the depth in degradation. He had never hated anyone
quite so deeply as he did Blayne--and had never been in so poor a
position to do anything about it.

Pressure began to build up in him. He was a trained rocket pilot, a man
with skilled reflexes and an essential job. Somehow he'd slipped--and
it had landed him smack under Blayne's thumb. It wasn't an easy pill
to swallow. He would cheerfully have killed the fat man--except that
he knew he'd never fly a spaceship again if he returned to Venus City
without the Commissioner. Blayne had him tied up six ways from Sunday,
and it would do no good to strain at the bonds.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the evening of the fourth day, disaster struck. The jeep was
bouncing over the mossy path between the great slime-covered trees
when, quite suddenly, Elliot spied something rope-like slithering down
a vine directly in the path of the car.

"_Snake!_" he yelled, and jerked the wheel to one side. The jeep
swerved.

"Watch what you're doing!" Blayne growled. But it was too late. The
right wheel hit a hidden rock, and the vehicle turned over on its side
with a rending crash.

Elliot was dazed, but he knew he still had to act fast. He sprang from
the overturned jeep, with Blayne behind him. The tree-snake that had
caused him to swerve was still coming toward them, its white fangs
dripping venom.

It sprang forward to strike, but Elliot's hand was faster. He closed
his fingers savagely around the reptile's neck. He held the head at
arm's length.

The snake's twelve-foot body whipped around Elliot's throat and chest,
pinning one arm to his side. The rocket pilot felt the dry, loathsome
odor of the reptile drifting into his nostrils, and retched. He gasped
for air and tightened his fingers on the snake's throat, drawing his
hand together as closely as he could. It was a question of which one
would hold out longer.

Elliot's eyes began to dim. What the hell was that fat fool Blayne
doing?

"_Blayne!_" he shouted.

But Blayne didn't answer. With one desperate surge of power, Elliot
clamped his fingers even tighter.

Something snapped. The snake gave one convulsive shudder and dropped
its lifeless coils from Elliot's body. He stood up, quivering with
tension.

As the snake hit the ground, a pencil beam seared the air, burning its
head off. "That's that," Housten Blayne said in relief.

Elliot whirled to face him. "Why the devil did you stand there? It
could have killed me. Why didn't you use your knife?"

Blayne shrugged. "You were doing all right. Now do something about the
car, will you?"

Elliot repressed a vivid curse and turned away. The sight of Blayne
sickened him, and he wished there were some way of exacting the revenge
Blayne merited without forfeiting the cash for the trip. There wasn't.

He bent and examined the car. "The front axle's broken," he said,
after a moment's scrutiny. "There's nothing much we can do about it out
here."

"Nothing?"

"Not unless you want to lash it together with some twigs," Elliot said
acidly.

"We can't turn back now," Blayne said. "Start loading your pack. We'll
walk the rest of the way. The Dragonbird's lair can't be too far off."

The bright glow of lust was shining in the fat man's eyes. Elliot
stared at him for a moment, then began packing.

       *       *       *       *       *

A day later, they arrived at the banks of the Khathyl River, a
swirling, slow-moving, wide stream that wound lazily through most of
the continent.

Elliot and Blayne kept out of sight in the brush.

"Look out there," Elliot said. He pointed at an island a hundred yards
off shore.

"What's out that way?" Blayne asked.

"That's the temple. See the big white building? The natives never come
to this side of the river, by the way--the hunting's better over there."

"Give me the glasses," Blayne whispered.

Elliot handed the binoculars over and the fat man stared hungrily at
the island.

"See anything?"

"Just natives," Blayne said. He handed back the glasses and Elliot
looked at the little knots of mauve-skinned natives here and there on
the island.

"Don't they have any guards?"

Elliot shook his head. "No. They stick to their belief that the
Dragonbird will protect them from any invaders."

"Good," Blayne said. "So much the simpler for us. When do we get
moving?"

Elliot glanced at the man at his side, saw the desire on Blayne's face,
the greed of the hunter. "Don't be impatient," he said. "It's almost
noon now. Keep your glasses trained on the temple. Unless they've
changed the program, the Dragonbird will make an appearance at noon."

The minutes ticked past slowly. Blayne kept glancing at his watch and
looking eagerly out across the water toward the island.

At the instant the second-hand of the watch brushed past the "12,"
there was a sudden boom, as of a huge kettledrum, and the sound
reverberated hollowly out over the river. A group of natives, carrying
a dark-hued animal the size of a small sheep, marched in orderly
procession toward the temple. They laid the animal on an altar before
the door.

Another muffled boom followed.

"Here it comes," Elliot murmured.

The natives stepped back reverently, and the doors of the temple slowly
swung outward.

The Dragonbird appeared.

Blayne's astonished gasp was so loud that Elliot looked around
apprehensively. "It's _beautiful_," the fat man exclaimed. "More lovely
than I'd ever dreamed."

"It is," Elliot said grimly. He took the glasses from Blayne's
trembling fingers and focused them on the island.

The Dragonbird was walking with dignity across the little square
before the altar. It stood almost the height of a man, half-bird,
half-reptile, walking on powerful claws tipped with diamond-sharp,
gleaming talons. The brilliant sunlight glinted off its metallic
feathers, played over its shining plumage, lent brightness to the
shimmering row of scales that covered its long, swan-like neck.

"Give me back the glasses," Blayne said. He snatched them and stared.
"My God, what a beauty! He'll make a perfect trophy!"

"_Trophy?_" Elliot recoiled in amazement. "Trophy! I thought you were
going to capture it."

"Don't be a fool! How could we take a live bird the size of that one
back through the jungle? We'd need a cage of chrome steel. No, I'm
going to shoot it. We can take the head and skin back--that'll be
enough."

Elliot scowled, and felt sick. The Dragonbird--a trophy! The concept
disgusted him. He looked away, toward the island.

The Dragonbird had begun to feed on the small animal. It was ripping
into it viciously with its talons and powerful beak.

"It'll be easy," Blayne went on. "I'll put a bullet through the bird so
as not to ruin it, and then we'll use ray guns on the natives to get
rid of them."

"You'll _what_?"

"They'll never know what hit them. It's merciful that way. Lord, what a
lovely creature that is!"

Blayne raised his rifle and took careful aim.

       *       *       *       *       *

The rifle hung there a long moment, as Elliot watched Blayne's pudgy
finger tightening on the trigger. Then he lowered it.

"No," he said. "I don't trust my aim. I might ruin the bird, and I'd
never forgive myself."

He handed the gun to Elliot. Elliot took it reluctantly, feeling the
coolness of the barrel, feeling the heaviness of the stock. "_You_
shoot it," Blayne said.

"No I won't," Elliot retorted. "We said nothing about--"

"That doesn't matter," said Blayne blandly. "I'm not asking you to
shoot the bird. I'm _ordering_ you to."

Hot arrows of rage danced before Elliot's eyes. He saw the
Dragonbird--now feasting on its sacrifice--saw that beautiful, noble
head pierced by a rocketing lump of metal, pictured the smoking rifle
in his hands--and he could barely check the impulse to swing the rifle
and bash in Blayne's bloated skull.

"I won't do it," he said. "I will not shoot that bird."

"You're a fool, Elliot. You know that if we don't get the bird, you
don't get paid. Why don't you--"

"_I won't do it!_"

"Very well," said Blayne coldly. "I can't waste further time arguing
with you. The bird may go back inside the temple any minute. Give me
the gun. I'll do it myself--and I'll settle with you later."

Silently, Elliot returned the gun to the fat man. Blayne took it,
cocked it, sighted along the barrel. A second time, his finger began to
tighten on the trigger.

Suddenly, in a flash of bitter insight, Elliot realized he could never
live with himself again if he allowed that finger to close on the
trigger. No matter what the cost to himself, he couldn't let this fat
butcher kill one of the most beautiful things that had ever lived,
as--as a _trophy_.

All the pent-up rage that had been building inside him since his first
meeting with Blayne exploded. Realizing exactly what the significance
of his action was, he threw up his hand and slammed it hard against the
barrel of the rifle just as Blayne fired.

The shot cracked out, breaking the silence, and a native fell. Blayne
looked at him in astonishment.

"You fool!" he shouted.

The fat man leaped up, swinging the rifle around in a buzzing arc
toward Elliot. The pilot side-stepped, and the butt whistled through
the air inches above his head. Blayne, off-balance after the swing,
fell away to one side, and Elliot sprang at him.

       *       *       *       *       *

The fat man sank to one knee under Elliot's attack, but he turned out
to be stronger than the rocket man had thought--under the coating of
fat was solid muscle. Grunting, Blayne forced himself upward and hurled
Elliot away from him.

Livid hate sparkled in Blayne's eyes, and Elliot knew that his own face
was an angry mask. This was going to be a battle to the death, here on
the banks of this sluggish Venusian river.

The two men circled warily around each other. Blayne swung out one
apelike arm in a tentative offensive gesture, and Elliot danced
backward.

"You know what'll happen," Blayne shouted. "You'll rot on Venus for the
rest of your life if I don't get back!"

"I'll take that chance, Blayne. I can't let you kill that bird."

He put his head down and bulled into Blayne's midsection, ignoring
the rain of blows that descended on his neck and shoulders. He forced
Blayne back toward the water's edge, only to have to let go when the
other's fingers clawed into his throat. He pulled away, and Blayne's
fingers left bright red streaks on Elliot's flesh. Blood mingled with
sweat. A cloud of Venusian gnats descended on them, humming gently
around their heads.

Blayne's fist smashed into Elliot's stomach, but the pilot shook off
the blow and landed one in the bowl of lard that cushioned the other's
intestines. Blayne coughed and stepped backward.

Elliot leaped for him and wrapped his arms around Blayne, barely
managing to encircle the fat man's body. Then, slowly, he lifted the
struggling Blayne from the ground.

"Here ... we ... go...." he said, as he heaved the Commissioner's bulk
upward. He got Blayne as far off the ground as he could, and started to
dash him to the ground again, when the other broke Elliot's grasp.

Elliot let him go and he fell heavily. Instantly the pilot was upon
him, and the two rolled one over the other down the side of the bank
toward the river. Just at the river's edge, Elliot managed to check
their fall and broke loose. Blayne was on his feet again in an instant.

Elliot's first punch crashed through Blayne's guard. The fat man reeled
backward, lost his footing, and toppled off the embankment into the
quiet water below, shouting wildly as he fell. As he struck, he shot up
a torrent of water that splashed over Elliot's feet.

Suddenly the water was quiet no longer. There was a swirl beneath the
river's surface, and Blayne's body became the center of a tangle of
dark saurian shapes. Blayne screamed just once before the razor-sharp
teeth dragged him beneath the water. A red stain formed and drifted
slowly down the sluggish stream, and then the water was quiet once
again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Elliot stood on the riverbank, gasping heavily as he fought to recover
his breath, and mopped away the blanket of gnats that had adhered
to him during the fight. He watched the streaks of red drifting
downstream, and knew that his own life was forfeit now for Blayne's.

He shook his head and turned away. There was nothing else he could have
done. He started to walk slowly back away from the river.

There was a rustling sound in the air above him. He looked up, into
the blazing sun, and a moment later was crouching in a huddled ball
on the ground. The Dragonbird was dropping gently toward him. Elliot
remembered only too well what those gleaming talons had done to the
sacrificial animal strapped to the altar.

And then--

_Do not be afraid_, a calm, silent voice said. _You have done me a
great service, Daniel Elliot._

The Dragonbird settled lightly to the ground, and Elliot saw deep
intelligence glowing in the creature's golden eyes. It seemed almost as
if the thing could read his mind.

_I can read your mind, Daniel Elliot_, came the telepathic reply.

"You--you're intelligent, then?"

There was a touch of sorrow in the mental voice as the bird said: _I
am the last of my race. We were the rulers of Venus long before your
ancestors had discovered the use of fire. But--_

After a pause, the bird continued. _Well, no matter. What happened does
not concern you. I permit myself to be worshipped by these natives.
They bring me food and keep me comfortable, and in return, I hypnotize
their enemies and keep their small island safe. It is a pleasant life,
and I am becoming old._

"How old?" Elliot asked.

_Several thousand of your years_, the Dragonbird replied.

"And you--"

The Dragonbird silenced him. _No, Daniel Elliot; I do not want to
answer questions. I am solely concerned with the debt I owe you for
saving my life. This Blayne held your future in threat. I think I can
aid you and punish him doubly by foiling his plans._

_Don't be surprised by anything you see._

The Dragonbird wavered a little, and suddenly it was a bird no longer.
Standing before Elliot, fat, ugly face and all, was--

Housten Blayne!

"Don't look so surprised, Elliot," came Blayne's snarling voice. "You'd
be surprised what a little high-powered hypnosis can do."

Elliot rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was still Blayne, a smug
smile on his heavy lips.

"I'm going to reward you," said Blayne's voice. "You and I will take
the late Mr. Blayne for every credit he's got, and we'll get those
papers out of his safe."

"But--you mean you'll take Blayne's place?" Elliot asked, feeling as if
he were in a dream.

"Temporarily." The fat figure of Blayne wavered and became the
Dragonbird again.

_Get on my back, Daniel Elliot._

Moments later, they were soaring high in the sky, heading toward Venus
City.