The planet of peril
"Have a care, my worthy Zueppa. It is not necessary to shout. I hear
quite well, you know, and some one might be loitering in the corridor.
Are you sure the four men who are to constitute her personal bodyguard
will not fail us?"
"Their loyalty to your highness, Prince Destho, is beyond question. If
they fail they will die, rather than betray us."
"They must not fail. There is too much at stake. After all, the task is
not too difficult. They have only to hide her in the northern mountains
for a year--a short year, mind you--then none will dare to question
my title to the throne. And you, my faithful Zueppa. I will make you
supreme commander of Reabon. The wealth of a king shall be yours, even
though you may not wear the color of royalty. Second only to myself,
you will hold the greatest office in Zarovia."
"May I not again remind your highness that there is a much easier and
simpler way to attain our ends? A deadly bullet, a quick thrust of the
knife or scarbo in the confusion of battle--"
"Stop, fool! Do you take me for an assassin? My ambition is great, but
my desire for this woman is greater. You must detain her for a year.
Then return her to me unharmed. She has spurned me, ridiculed me,
mocked me, but as Emperor of Reabon I can dictate terms. She will come
to my arms with willingness when she finds me ruling in her stead, for
law is law, and no ruler may remain outside the capital for a year and
retain the throne. If she remains obdurate, then will I have the power
and, believe me, the will, to bend her to my wishes."
"Your highness's plans shall be carried out to the letter. Farewell,
your highness--your imperial majesty that is to be."
In the great outer court, Vernia reviewed her army of ten thousand
picked soldiers. She was clad from head to foot in a suit of shining
scarlet leather, and wore a chain-belt which supported a small golden
tork on the right side, and a short, light scarbo with jeweled hilt on
the left.
Beside her stood the armored car which was to conduct her to the
field of battle. It could not be said to bear any resemblance to a
terrestrial car unless the fact that it had a wheel might be called
a resemblance. This great wheel, which was a full twenty feet in
diameter, supported the car, not above but inside it. The tire was a
trifle over a foot in width and covered with a resilient material that
was both tough and springy.
The entire vehicle was kept erect by a rapidly revolving gyroscope
in the center of the boxlike car, while the box itself was kept from
revolving by an inner idling wheel on which it was supported. Four
small gears which extended from the car at right angles from each
other, connected with the great inner gear wheel and with the power
mechanism. This was driven by the same kind of highly-explosive gas as
that used in the torks, and was capable of a speed of more than two
hundred miles an hour on a level road.
The machine was impractical for use in the forests and mountains but
would serve to convey the princess across the level plains to the
borders of Uxpo. From then on she would have to walk like her soldiers,
or ride in a litter. The driver sat just in front of the gyroscope, the
cushioned seat of the princess was immediately behind it, and an armed
guard stood in a small inclosure at each of the four corners of the car.
She mounted to the door on a small metal stairway, gave the command
to march, and stepped within and the guard raised the stairway and
fastened it in place, then resumed his position as the heavy vehicle
lumbered away at the head of the army.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIGHTING TRAVEKS.
Grandon halted. There was nothing else for him to do. As he did so, the
leader ordered his men to lower their torks, for it was plain to be
seen that he was unarmed. The leader advanced toward him.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Are you friend or foe of Uxpo, and what do
you in these woods at this hour, unarmed and alone?"
The Earth-man first thought of giving the name of Prince Thaddor, and
was on the point of doing so, but checked himself in time when he
remembered that these men apparently did not know him, and replied:
"I am Grandon of Earth."
"Grandon of--Erg?" said the leader. "I have never heard of that
country. It must be a great way from here. You wear the color of
royalty, yet you travel alone and unarmed. It is strange."
He turned and held a whispered council with his men for a few minutes.
Then he swung on Grandon.
"My men are of the same opinion as I," he snapped. "You have not told
us the truth, and you masquerade in the color of royalty. However, that
is not what principally concerns us. We wish to know if you are friend
or foe of Uxpo."
Grandon thought quickly before he replied,
"Since I know nothing of Uxpo or its people, I cannot truthfully say
that I am either."
"Very well. You may go your way in peace if you so desire, or you may
remain with us by demonstrating your fitness to associate with the
Fighting Traveks. We have no weaklings in our ranks. No doubt you are
aware that, in the shadows about us, lurk the hahoes, and hundreds
of other man-eating monsters for which, unarmed, you would be a most
tempting and easily dispatched morsel. Make your decision quickly.
"In what way may I prove my fitness to bivouac with the Fighting
Traveks?" asked Grandon.
The leader seemed surprised.
"Indeed you must hail from a far country," he said. "There is only one
way and that is by demonstrating your ability with the scarbo. You may
choose which one of us you shall fight. All are expert scarbomen, with
many dead warriors to their credit."
"In that case, I choose the scarbo, and shall feel honored if you will
consent to be my opponent," said Grandon boldly.
If the leader was either pleased or displeased by this decision he gave
no sign. One of the men handed a scarbo to Grandon and a circle was
formed.
* * * * *
As he grasped the hilt of his weapon and stood facing his opponent,
Grandon tried to recall the various tricks of Zarovian swordsmanship
that had been taught him by Vorn Vangal, but it seemed that they had
been totally obliterated from his memory. Instead, he beheld a vision
of Le Blanc, his old fencing master, who had instructed him in his
early youth.
Fencing, as it is practiced on Earth, was an unknown art in Zarovia.
The scarbo, as its shape indicated, was primarily a cutting weapon, and
the point was seldom used in combat.
How the Earth-man was enabled to parry the bewildering rain of blows
that followed the first clash of metal, he never knew. For several
minutes he fought as one in a trance, often escaping the death blow
by the merest fraction of a second. It seemed that some alert,
subconscious force from within directed his sword-arm.
Gradually, however, he regained complete control of his faculties. He
found himself combining the sword-play of Vorn Vangal with the fencing
technique of Le Blanc. A look of bewilderment came over the face of
his opponent as Grandon made several quick thrusts, any one of which
would have terminated the duel had he held a straight-bladed sword.
It was this change in the style of fighting that turned the tide of
battle in Grandon's favor. He was not slow to follow up his advantage,
and shortly after, a well directed lunge stretched the leader of the
Fighting Traveks at his feet.
Two men picked up their fallen commander and carried him to a couch of
moss which had been prepared near by. He was breathing faintly, and one
of the band, evidently a surgeon, stated that while the wound was not
necessarily a mortal one, the man would not wield a scarbo for many
days to come, if ever.
Then, to Grandon's surprise, a personage who was apparently an officer
of rank, came before him and saluted, while every man in the band stood
at attention.
"What is the will of our new mojak?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I don't quite get your meaning," answered Grandon.
"You have overcome our mojak--our leader--in single combat. By so doing
you have won the right to command in his place. I am the second in
command. I await your orders."
"Let each man go about his camp duties as before. We will remain here
for the night. See that your former captain has the best of medical
attention."
The lieutenant saluted. "Did you say your name was Grandon of--Urgg? I
cannot pronounce it!"
Grandon thought quickly, remembering, for some reason or other, a few
tag-ends of Latin. Earth--_terra_. "Well, you may call me Grandon
of Terra," he suggested. There was no use in making his leadership
needlessly difficult for the Fighting Traveks, simply because of their
habits of speech. Besides, Grandon of Terra had a ring to it--it
could, he reflected as he looked about this band of fighters, become a
resounding war-cry.
"Grandon of Terra!" the lieutenant repeated. "We salute you."
In a moment the band was busily preparing for the bivouac as if nothing
of consequence had happened. The men were divided into three groups,
one to prepare a shelter, one to bring moss for couches, and a third to
build fires and cook the evening meal.
It was some time before Grandon could compose himself for slumber, and
it seemed to him that he had slept but a minute or two when a deafening
din assailed his ears. He sat up, bewildered for an instant, while a
hail of tork bullets pattered against the tree-trunk. All about him men
were fighting, shouting, cursing, groaning.
"What is up?" he asked the man nearest him.
"It's the Reabonians," replied the man, stanching the blood from a cut
in his shoulder. "We are surrounded by the soldiers of the princess."
CHAPTER VIII.
SURROUNDED.
The instant Grandon learned they were being attacked by Reabonians,
he was on his feet directing the fighting. First at one point, then
another, his blade drank blood as he momentarily filled a gap where
a man had been cut down. The little circle of Traveks was narrowing
swiftly. They fought bravely, but the odds were in favor of the
Reabonians.
The battle cry of the attackers was "For Vernia, for Vernia!"
"For Grandon of Terra!" answered the Traveks, defiantly.
Suddenly a cry came from one of the leaders of the Reabonians. "Truce!"
Instantly the fighting ceased. Grandon's men lowered their weapons as
the soldiers of Vernia withdrew a little way.
"Where is your captain?" shouted the Reabonian commander.
"Here," replied Grandon.
"I offer you the alternative of surrender or complete annihilation,
Grandon of Terra," said the officer. "Two-thirds of your command lie
bleeding on the ground. You can save the others from a like fate by
laying down your arms."
"What say you, men?" asked Grandon, looking around.
"We are Fighting Traveks!" was the proud reply from a score of throats.
A surge of pride swept over him at these gallant words, and with it
came a wave of pity as he reflected that they must soon be butchered
like sheep in a slaughter pen. If there were only some way--he racked
his brain for a feasible plan. Like a flash there came to his mind a
vision of old football days. He lowered his voice and issued a few
swift orders. The men formed a circle once more, and Grandon shouted
defiance to the Reabonian commander.
The fighting had all taken place by the flickering light of the camp
fires. Each Travek, as he took up his position, pushed a quantity of
loose moss before him with his feet. The soldiers of the princess were
closing in on them when Grandon issued a sharp command. Simultaneously
every fire was smothered under a heap of moss.
Another command, and the men had formed a flying wedge with Grandon