Anderson Poul - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Vol. 4

(4/15) The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IV: An Anthology of 50 Short Stories Various

Series:	15 [4]
Published:	2010

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Product Description
This Halcyon Classics ebook collection contains fifty science fiction short stories by fifty different authors. Many of the stories in this collection were published during the heyday of popular science fiction magazines from the 1930s to the 1960s.

Included within this work are stories by Poul Anderson, Phillip K. Dick, Randall Garrett, Harry Harrison, Frank Herbert, Murray Leinster, H. Beam Piper, Robert Silverberg, Algis Budrys, Fritz Leiber, Edmond Hamilton, and many others.

This collection is DRM free and includes an active table of contents for easy navigation.

Contents

THE VALOR OF CAPPEN VARRA, by Poul Anderson
THE ISSAHAR ARTIFACTS, by Jesse Franklin Bone
EARTHMEN BEARING GIFTS, by Fredric Brown
CITADEL, by Algis Budrys
SENSE FROM THOUGHT DIVIDE, by Mark Clifton
ALARM CLOCK, by Everett B. Cole
THE SCALPEL OF DOOM, by Ray Cummings
THE CRYSTAL CRYPT, by Philip K. Dick
DISQUALIFIED, by Charles L. Fontenay
A TRANSMUTATION OF MUDDLES, by H. B. Fyfe
A SPACESHIP NAMED McGUIRE, by Randall Garrett
AND DEVIOUS THE LINE OF DUTY, by Tom Godwin
THE GOLDEN JUDGE, by Nathaniel Gordon
THE WORLD OF THE CRYSTAL CITIES, by George Griffith
RAIDERS INVISIBLE, by D. W. Hall
THE MAN WHO EVOLVED, by Edmond Hamilton
THE UNDERSEA TUBE, by L. Taylor Hansen
NAVY DAY, by Harry Harrison
THE BEGINNING, by Henry Hasse
OPERATION HAYSTACK, by Frank Herbert
I'LL KILL YOU TOMORROW, by Helen Huber
THE LONG VOYAGE, by Carl Jacobi
THE MAN WHO PLAYED TO LOSE, by Laurence Mark Janifer
THE GREAT GRAY PLAGUE, by Raymond F. Jones
THE PLAGUE, by Teddy Keller
THE ADVENTURER, by C. M. Kornbluth
GREYLORN, by Keith Laumer
THE CREATURE FROM CLEVELAND DEPTHS, by Fritz Leiber
ATTENTION SAINT PATRICK, by Murray Leinster
THE CALM MAN, by Frank Belknap Long
A PLACE IN THE SUN, by Stephen Marlowe
PIPE OF PEACE, by James McKimmey, Jr.
B. C. 30,000, by S. P. Meek
ALL CATS ARE GRAY, by Andre Norton
BEAR TRAP, by Alan E. Nourse
CROSSROADS OF DESTINY, by H. Beam Piper
THE THIRST QUENCHERS, by Rick Raphael
COMBAT, by Mack Reynolds
DEAD MAN'S PLANET, by Joseph Samachson
TREES ARE WHERE YOU FIND THEM, by Arthur Dekker Savage
AN INCIDENT ON ROUTE 12, by James H. Schmitz
SURVIVAL TACTICS, by Al Sevcik
MINOR DETAIL, by Jack Sharkey
RESURRECTION, by Robert J. Shea
THE LEECH, by Robert Sheckley
THE CLEAN AND WHOLESOME LAND, by Ralph Sholto
POSTMARK GANYMEDE, By Robert Silverberg
THE MOST SENTIMENTAL MAN, by Evelyn E. Smith
SUBJECTIVITY, by Norman Spinrad
IN THE ORBIT OF SATURN, by R. F. Starzl

Halcyon Classics Series

THE GOLDEN AGE OF SCIENCE FICTION VOLUME IV:

AN ANTHOLOGY OF 50 SHORT STORIES

Contents

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THE VALOR OF CAPPEN VARRA

By Poul Anderson

"Let little Cappen go," they shouted. "Maybe he can sing the trolls to sleep--"

The wind came from the north with sleet on its back. Raw shuddering gusts whipped the sea till the ship lurched and men felt driven spindrift stinging their faces. Beyond the rail there was winter night, a moving blackness where the waves rushed and clamored; straining into the great dark, men sensed only the bitter salt of sea-scud, the nettle of sleet and the lash of wind.

Cappen lost his footing as the ship heaved beneath him, his hands were yanked from the icy rail and he went stumbling to the deck. The bilge water was new coldness on his drenched clothes. He struggled back to his feet, leaning on a rower's bench and wishing miserably that his quaking stomach had more to lose. But he had already chucked his share of stockfish and hardtack, to the laughter of Svearek's men, when the gale started.

Numb fingers groped anxiously for the harp on his back. It still seemed intact in its leather case. He didn't care about the sodden wadmal breeks and tunic that hung around his skin. The sooner they rotted off him, the better. The thought of the silks and linens of Croy was a sigh in him.

Why had he come to Norren?

A gigantic form, vague in the whistling dark, loomed beside him and gave him a steadying hand. He could barely hear the blond giant's bull tones: "Ha, easy there, lad. Methinks the sea horse road is too rough for yer feet."

"Ulp," said Cappen. His slim body huddled on the bench, too miserable to care. The sleet pattered against his shoulders and the spray congealed in his red hair.

Torbek of Norren squinted into the night. It made his leathery face a mesh of wrinkles. "A bitter feast Yolner we hold," he said. "'Twas a madness of the king's, that he would guest with his brother across the water. Now the other ships are blown from us and the fire is drenched out and we lie alone in the Wolf's Throat."

Wind piped shrill in the rigging. Cappen could just see the longboat's single mast reeling against the sky. The ice on the shrouds made it a pale pyramid. Ice everywhere, thick on the rails and benches, sheathing the dragon head and the carved stern-post, the ship rolling and staggering under the great march of waves, men bailing and bailing in the half-frozen bilge to keep her afloat, and too much wind for sail or oars. Yes--a cold feast!

"But then, Svearek has been strange since the troll took his daughter, three years ago," went on Torbek. He shivered in a way the winter had not caused. "Never does he smile, and his once open hand grasps tight about the silver and his men have poor reward and no thanks. Yes, strange--" His small frost-blue eyes shifted to Cappen Varra, and the unspoken thought ran on beneath them: Strange, even, that he likes you, the wandering bard from the south. Strange, that he will have you in his hall when you cannot sing as his men would like.

Cappen did not care to defend himself. He had drifted up toward the northern barbarians with the idea that they would well reward a minstrel who could offer them something more than their own crude chants. It had been a mistake; they didn't care for roundels or sestinas, they yawned at the thought of roses white and red under the moon of Caronne, a moon less fair than my lady's eyes. Nor did a man of Croy have the size and strength to compel their respect; Cappen's light blade flickered swiftly enough so that no one cared to fight him, but he lacked the power of sheer bulk. Svearek alone had enjoyed hearing him sing, but he was niggardly and his brawling thorp was an endless boredom to a man used to the courts of southern princes.

If he had but had the manhood to leave-- But he had delayed, because of a lusty peasant wench and a hope that Svearek's coffers would open wider; and now he was dragged along over the Wolf's Throat to a midwinter feast which would have to be celebrated on the sea.

"Had we but fire--" Torbek thrust his hands inside his cloak, trying to warm them a little. The ship rolled till she was almost on her beam ends; Torbek braced himself with practiced feet, but Cappen went into the bilge again.

He sprawled there for a while, his bruised body refusing movement. A weary sailor with a bucket glared at him through dripping hair. His shout was dim under the hoot and skirl of wind: "If ye like it so well down here, then help us bail!"

"'Tis not yet my turn," groaned Cappen, and got slowly up.

The wave which had nearly swamped them had put out the ship's fire and drenched the wood beyond hope of lighting a new one. It was cold fish and sea-sodden hardtack till they saw land again--if they ever did.