The Monster-God of Mamurth

Edmond Hamilton The Monster-God of Mamurth

Introduction

In the history of science fiction, there are very few authors who were able to make the transition from the early days of pseudo-science into the harsh reality of the post-nuclear world. Of those who made the transition, still fewer were able to adapt to the changing moods of the Cold War or the social upheavals of the 60s. But, there were a very few authors who managed to write stories and novels throughout it all: from the time of the Space Opera through the first landing on the moon and beyond. One of these authors was Edmond Hamilton.

Edmond Hamilton was born in 1904 in Youngstown, Ohio. A child prodigy, Hamilton completed high school and entered into college at the age of 14 with the dream of becoming an electrical engineer. Unfortunately, the age discrepency between Hamilton and the other students made it very difficult for him to adapt socially to his new surroundings and he never completed his degree. He flunked out during his third year and took a job with the Pennsylvania Railroad while he tried to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

Hamilton had always been a voracious reader, particularly of the works of A. Merritt and Burroughs. Although he had never shown any inclination towards writing before, he decided in the mid 20s to be an author. Whether this decision was just an intellectual exercise or was borne out of necessity is not known, but his first attempt, the short story 'The Monster-God of Mamurth,' was submitted to Weird Tales and published in 1926. A second story was accepted with equal ease and within a very short time, Hamilton was an established author, writing both atmospheric horror stories and science fiction stories in the space opera style of E. E. 'Doc' Smith for a variety of outlets. The early science fiction stories also gained Hamilton the nickname of 'World Wrecker' since most of these tales involved a major menace to the galaxy that had to be defeated by, usually, a space armada and the destruction of a planet or two.

From the 20s to the mid-40s, Hamilton worked solely as a freelance author and was very prolific, often simultaneously writing several short stories while working on a novel-length serial. He also dabbled in some mystery and detective fiction during slow periods for the sale of science fiction. Some estimates suggest that his short story output alone may have numbered in the hundreds, but, because some of Hamilton's work was published under pseudonyms as well as his own name, the true number of stories may never be known. He also established a number of firsts during this extremely fertile period, including the first use of a space suit in science fiction, the first space walk and the first use of an energy sword, the prototype for what George Lucas, a Hamilton fan, would later dub a light saber. He also found time to travel during this period and visited much of the US and parts of Mexico, often in the company of his friend, author Jack Williamson.

In 1946, Hamilton's output slowed and with good reason. First, he married author Leigh Brackett and they began to restore a 130 year old house which became their home for many years. Second, Hamilton was contacted by his old friend, and former editor, Mort Weisinger. Weisinger, had been the senior editor for Standard Magazines prior to moving to DC Comics in 1941, just after he and Hamilton had created Captain Future. Back from a 5 year stint in the military, Weisinger was looking up many of the writers he had worked with in the pulps to offer them jobs writing comic books for DC. The pulp market was slowing, Hamilton was interested and thus began his second career.

Originally hired as a writer for Batman, Hamilton was soon doing Superman and the Batman/Superman stories in World's Finest, as well. In addition, Julius Schwartz, Hamilton's former literary agent, was a DC editor and he started to send assignments to Hamilton. Over the next 20 years, Hamilton proved himself to be prolific as ever, as he juggled his comic book writing, trips to Hollywood (as part of his wife's screenwriting career) and still found time to turn out out novels and short stories on a fairly regular basis, but by no means as quickly as he had in the previous twenty years.

By 1966, Hamilton decided it was time to think about retirement, so he resigned his position at DC. He and Leigh moved to their second home in Lancaster, California and used it as their base of operations as they traveled to various destinations around the world. Hamilton still found time to write the occasional short story and even wrote a three novel series about the Starwolves in the late 60s that were done in the style of his earlier 'world wrecker' days. Yet, his health became increasingly frail and by the early to mid 70s he was confined to their home. Eventually he passed away in 1977.

'The Monster-God of Mamurth,' originally appeared in the August, 1926 issue of Weird Tales. Unlike Hamilton's later output, it is an adventure story with a weird twist: not really horror, definitely not SF, but a fantasy written in a style reminiscent of A. Merritt and the other early genre authors. As a first story, it is quite remarkable and hearkens back to an earlier time when our world was so much larger and lost cities waited to be found.

Bob Gay

January, 2005

Introduction © 2005 by Bob Gay

Story

Out of the desert night he came to us, stumbling into our little circle of firelight and collapsing at once. Mitchell and I sprang to our feet with startled exclamations, for men who travel alone and on foot are a strange sight in the deserts of North Africa.

For the first few minutes that we worked over him I thought he would die at once, but gradually we brought him back to consciousness. While Mitchell held a cup of water to his cracked lips I looked him over and saw that he was too far gone to live much longer. His clothes were in rags, and his hands and knees literally flayed, from crawling over the sands, I judged. So when he motioned feebly for more water, I gave it to him, knowing that in any case his time was short. Soon he could talk, in a dead, croaking voice.

'I'm alone,' he told us, in answer to our first question; 'no more out there to look for. What are you two — traders? I thought so. No I'm an archeologist. A digger-up of the past.' His voice broke for a moment. 'It's not always good to dig up dead secrets. There are ionic things the past should be allowed to hide.'

He caught the look that passed between Mitchell and me.

'No, I'm not mad,' he said. 'You will hear, I'll tell you the whole tiling. But listen to me, you two,' and in his earnestness he raised himself to a sitting position, 'keep out of Igidi Desert. Remember that I told you that. I had a warning, too, but I disregarded it. And I went into hell — into hell! But there, I will tell you from the beginning.

'My name — that doesn't matter now. I left Mogador more than a year ago, and came through the foot-hills of the Atlas ranges striking out into the desert in hopes of finding some of the Carthaginian mills the North African deserts are known to hold.

'I spent months in the search, traveling among the squalid Arab villages, now near an oasis and now far into the black, untracked desert. And as I went farther into that savage country, I found more and more of the ruins I sought, crumbled remnants of temples and fortresses, relics, almost destroyed, of the age when Carthage meant empire and ruled all of North Africa from her walled city. And then, on the side of a massive block of stone, I found that which tumed me toward Igidi.

'It was an inscription in the garbled Phenician of the traders of Carthage, short enough so that I remembered it and can repeat it word for word. It read, literally, as follows:

Merchants, go not into the city of Mamurth, which lies beyond the mountain pass. For I, San- Drabat of Carthage, entering the city with four companions in the month of Eschmoun, to trade, on the third night of our stay came priests and seized my fellows, I escaping by hiding. My companions they sacrificed to the evil god of the city, who has dwelt there from the beginning of time, and for whom the wise men of Mamurth have built a great temple the like of which is not on earth elsewhere, where the people of Mamurth worship their god. I escaped from the city and set this warning here that others may not turn their steps to Mamurth and to death.