My edition has a classic SF cover, with both tagline and image entirely inaccurate. "The Berserkers – hunting is their only instinct; mankind their only prey.' Well, no – much like their contemporaries the Daleks, they're bent on the elimination of all life, not just humanity. And these killing machines can take many forms, but they definitely don't tend to look like a spoddy Terminator. Also, the blurb (and even, in a loose sort of way, the cover) give away a reveal which only comes about a third of the way through the novel: namely, that Hunter's World is not just a former human colony that has fallen into barbarism over the centuries since the great war against the berserkers – rather, its dominant religion secretly worships a berserker who's been hiding out there all this time (so in that sense, they're also a lot cannier than "hunting is their only instinct" suggests – though I suppose when you look at the centuries of fancy misdirection nonces and bullies have expended in the creation of Earthly organised religion, you could argue that ultimately it all counts as hunting). Anyway! As the novel begins, a ship of humans from civilised interstellar society is headed to Hunter's World for a spot of semi-licit big game hunting, taking advantage of the impressive fauna which come along with its long seasons and extreme climate. Meanwhile, the Hunterian* humans are engaged in a lethal tournament to establish who is the mightiest killer among them, and will have the honour of ascending to sit alongside their great god, Thorun**. If you're expecting the story to go down certain well-trodden paths, many of them often to be found in action films that don't get cinematic releases, then congratulations: man really is the most dangerous game (well, OK, except the berserker); the hunter does indeed become the hunted; and verily, some of the contestants in the game of death shall conclude that their real enemy is not the man standing across the ring from them. For further painfully macho credentials, I'm pretty sure none of the Hunterian women even gets a name, let alone agency, while two of the three female characters in the offworld expedition are introduced as "playgirls brought along on this expedition as items for male consumption, like the beer and cigars". But don't worry, there's plenty more description of them than that, all of it exactly the sort on which Twitter would seize were this a more recent or canonical book. What makes this all the more awkward is that alongside the massive sexism, Saberhagen's space travellers, and even his neo-primitives, are determinedly post-racial in a slightly awkward seventies way, so that each warrior who dies in the tournament is promised that in the local Valhalla, finer in its gradations than the classic model, he "will have eternally with him four lovely maids of a beauty surpassing any in this world, two of ivory white and two of ebon black, to satisfy his every wish". See! Equal opportunities!
So this is absolute trash of the sort only the Puppies think modern SF should still be emulating, right? Well...it's not not pulp action. Nor is it on a par with the first Berserker book I read, and still the best, the later The Berserker Throne, which uses the killer machines as the boundary and engine for a very human tragedy, just like many of the best Judge Dredd stories are stories where Dredd is not protagonist, but Nemesis. Still, there are touches which elevate it above the godawful film into which I could easily see it being adapted. Once its components are set in motion, they crash into and refract each other in fascinating patterns, and there's an interest in the psychology of the key players – even, to some extent, the third of the offworld women, Athena Poulson – which raises it above plenty of mid-20th century SF, even some of the more celebrated authors (I never could get along with Asimov). Not just the champions slowly realising they've been gulled or the tycoon seeking the ultimate thrill, either; if anything, Saberhagen seems more interested in men like the priest gradually realising that his church isn't what he thought, and the guy who's pretty much agreed to a date he really shouldn't have***. There's some really cool SF detailing too, whether it be the lovely description of why you can never give an exact time for an interstellar journey, or playing on the way faster than light travel would mean you could sometimes catch radio broadcasts from the heart of great historical battles. All of which is pulled together nicely in a widescreen climax with some ingenious elements, but one still grounded in that psychological element – I particularly liked the detail about the berserker itself, while it may be an omnicidal death machine, only being interested in death proper, but putting up with all the torture and gruesomeness because needless cruelty seemed to keep the human worshippers happy.
*If you know London, the choice of name has some rather unhelpful associations.
**There are plenty of space Viking details here, but all considerably less jolly about it than Love & Thunder, which I'd seen the night before starting the book. And which has one other marked correspondence with a character here, though I'd be very surprised had there been a direct influence.
***This last does verge a little on the Nice Guy at times, though compared to a lot of the other gender stuff, it's nowhere near as noxious as it could have been.