After reading Ben Bova's 90s hard SF
Mars and before reading its sequel ("and now, for something completely different..."), I finally read Leigh Brackett's
The Secret of Sinharat/The People of the Talisman, the duo of two Eric John Stark stories set on a very different Mars, which I bought about six years ago. It was worth the wait. If I'd read Conan (still also on the waiting list) I'd probably be reminded of it but it most reminds of three things: a lot of Burroughs and not just Barsoomian adventures, but Tarzan, too. Some of Leiber's Lankhmar in the sense that we have sort of grungy urban settings, in part, complete with a Thieves' Quarter in one of them. And something like, say, Jack Williamson's
Golden Blood or any of a number of
Weird Tales-like spooky demented almost-supernatural adventures. And, for four, maybe a dash of Moore's Northwest Smith stories. And, can she write.
Stark and a friend speak:
Now, just before dawn, Camar the Martian spoke.
"Stark."
"Yes?"
"I am dying."
"Yes."
"I will not reach Kushat."
"No."
Camar nodded. He was silent again.
Take that Hemingway! That's how you write sentimental characters. Camar entrusts Stark with the completion of Camar's mission and we're off. And then there's stuff like this when Kushat prepares for a siege:
It was a waste of time, and Stark knew it. He thought that probably a fair number of men swarming up with them knew it, too, and certainly for the thieves at least it would have been much easier to simply slip away out of Kushat and avoid the inevitable. But he was beginning to have considerable respect for the people of Kushat. To his simple way of thinking, a man who would not fight to defend what was his did not deserve it and would not have it for long. Some people, he knew, professed to find nobility in the doctrine of surrender. Maybe they did. To him it was only making a virtue out of cowardice.
And then there are the innumerable passages of spooky weirdness and violent battles and narrow and clever escapes (and sometimes captures).
One story is 95 pages in my edition and the other's 128 and they both feel like full novels in a good way: they are not afraid of taking time for description or introspection but they never ever waste time either and pack a novel's worth of events into their short spans.
Granted, when these were written in '49 and '51 Brackett could claim she was writing SF because we didn't believe Mars was as forbidding as we now do but, really, this is adventure first, with a dollop of fantasy in science-fictional garb and almost no SF to it at all but, in this case, who cares? Fun stuff and not without depth. Highly recommended.