Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [73]
“A golem!” Malador exclaimed for it seemed to him that he remembered such man-made creatures from legends. “What sorcery created you!”
The golem did not reply but its hands—which were in reality composed of four spikes of metal apiece—began slowly to flex themselves; and still the golem grinned.
This thing, Malador knew, did not have the same amorphous quality of his earlier visions. This was solid, this was real and strong, and even Malador’s manly strength, however much he exerted it, could not defeat such a creature. Yet neither could he turn away.
With a scream of metal joints, the golem entered the hall and stretched its burnished hands towards the earl.
Malador could attack or flee, and fleeing would be senseless. He attacked.
His great sword clasped in both hands, he swung it sideways at the golem’s torso, which seemed to be its weakest point. The golem lowered an arm and the sword shuddered against metal with a mighty clang that set the whole of Malador’s body quaking. He stumbled backwards. Remorselessly, the golem followed him.
Malador looked back and searched the hall in the hope of finding a weapon more powerful than his sword, but saw only shields of an ornamental kind upon the wall to his right. He turned and ran to the wall, wrenching one of the shields from its place and slipping it onto his arm. It was an oblong thing, very light and comprising several layers of cross-grained wood. It was inadequate, but it made him feel a trifle better as he whirled again to face the golem.
The golem advanced, and Malador thought he noticed something familiar about it, just as the demons of the labyrinth had seemed familiar, but the impression was only vague. Kaneloon’s weird sorcery was affecting his mind, he decided.
The creature raised the spikes on its right arm and aimed a swift blow at Malador’s head. He avoided it, putting up his sword as protection. The spikes clashed against the sword and then the left arm pistoned forward, driving at Malador’s stomach. The shield stopped his blow, though the spikes pierced it deeply. He yanked the buckler off the spikes, slashing at the golem’s leg-joints as he did so.
Still staring into the middle-distance, with apparently no real interest in Malador, the golem advanced like a blind man as the earl turned and leapt onto the table, scattering the scrolls. Now he brought his huge sword down upon the golem’s skull, and the brass studs sparked and the hood and head beneath it was dented. The golem staggered and then grasped the table, heaving it off the floor so that Malador was forced to leap to the ground. This time he made for the door and tugged at its latch-ring, but the door would not open.
His sword was chipped and blunted. He put his back to the door as the golem reached him and brought its metal hand down on the top edge of the shield. The shield shattered and a dreadful pain shot up Malador’s arm. He lunged at the golem, but he was unused to handling the big sword in this manner and the stroke was clumsy.
Malador knew that he was doomed. Force and fighting skill were not enough against the golem’s insensate strength. At the golem’s next blow he swung aside, but was caught by one of its spike-fingers which ripped through his armour and drew blood, though at that moment he felt no pain.
He scrambled up, shaking away the grip and fragments of wood which remained of the shield, grasping his sword firmly.
“The soulless demon has no weak spot,” he thought, “and since it has no true intelligence, it cannot be appealed to. What would a golem fear?”
The answer was simple. The golem would only fear something as strong or stronger than itself.
He must use cunning.
He ran for the upturned table with the golem after him, leapt over the table and wheeled as the golem stumbled but did not, as he’d hoped, fall. However, the golem was slowed by its encounter, and