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Roy Glashan's Library
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Fantastic Adventures, July 1947, with "Secret of the Yomar"
WHERE the high, red hills of the Yomar Range dip down to meet the lush, purple foliage of the canal country, there was sadness, with an undercurrent of excitement among the people. Death was running a foot-race. Karr was dying, and his son had but a few hours to reach the old man's side.
Word had gone out with the runners, and Stron, son of Karr, had been summoned from the dry, dusty valleys of the Yomar Range. By smoke-telegraph, Stron had said that he was coming.
Along the canals, people were already mourning, for Karr said that he would die, and they did not question him. Karr had lived long, but his going would still be a great blow to his beloved friends. Karr lay down in his hut, a low, thatched abode with clean rushes on the floor and the odor of sweet canal grass making his bed a pleasant place to rest.
Karr's great head, half hidden under thick red hair and heavy rust colored beard, rolled slowly from side to side. The village herb-woman was present, but her brews no longer killed the pain that filled Karr's chest. His lips were burned and cracked by fever. His arms, once as strong as steel bars, lay limply at his side.
He tried to speak, but only a choked whisper came from his throat. A willowy, superbly built young girl arose from her place near the wall and ran to his side. She crouched beside him, her pale cheek close to Karr's lips. She listener intently, struggling to understand his words.
"Is it—long—before—Stron...?"
She understood, and smiled at him tenderly, placing a gentle finger on his lips. She shook her head, and crimson hair billowed about her soft neck and shoulders.
"Please be quiet, Father. Stron will come soon. Yomar is a vast place, and even speed and distance cannot conquer it in an hour."
There was pity in her voice. Twin spots of color touched her lips. There was great love in the girl for the old man and for Stron, her brother, who was on his way home.
Karr's head moved again and feverish lips begged for water. She rose and ran from the hut without seeing the people who waited outside the door. When she had her jug full of the fresh sweet water from the canal, and had returned to the hut, Karr was asleep. She placed the jug at his side and returned to her place. She sank down upon the rush floor and her head drooped forward with sheer exhaustion. It was soon dark, and they both slept. The man waiting to die, and the girl to start her adventure of living.
The village herb-woman arose silently, shook her head as though all this had stunned her, and left the hut.
NIGHT had fallen over the sun-parched hills and deep valleys
of the Yomar Range. The youth did not falter in his stride. So
great an effort had never been asked of Stron before today, and
his rippling, brown flesh and mighty muscles cried out in pain
against the thing he was doing.
Since morning, he had never stopped running. The pace was swift and his long, piston-like strides made every inch of his body glisten with sweat. Dust covered him until his lungs rebelled at the stuff. He did not try to follow the ridges, although he knew that the valleys might hold death for him. Home was in a straight line, and he went there without avoiding the sharp ledges and pitted, black holes.
The leather "cantung" slung at his side, was half empty of the dust filled, filthy water found near the last hole. In the darkness he could not be sure that the valleys were empty of death. The lights of Phobos and its weaker sister, Deimos, were higher, sending weak beams across the still hills. His feet felt hot in the sand, and he heard the tiny sounds of it as it spurted behind him in billowing clouds. Stron had time to think.
Never had Karr summoned him like this. The herding places of the "sheed" were high in the hills. He had not planned to come back to the lush canals before another season passed. Then came word that Karr's day was close. Karr had often told Stron he had one trust. He must always protect Laura, his sister, and keep her at his side. When Karr died, that would be Stron's only vow.
Then why did Karr call him now?
He had come a hundred "milos" since morning. He must travel an equal distance in the night. He did not regret that the runners called him to Karr's side, but he was amazed that Karr asked for him. That was not Karr's way.
Stron hesitated momentarily at the crest of a ridge, tried to pierce the shadows of the valley with his sharp eyes, and could see nothing. His feet carried him down a long, sharp incline into those shadows. He was swallowed up in the blackness. It closed about him like a hideous, crouching beast. He clutched his long, bone handled knife, and it filled him with new, secret power. A contented, determined grin touched his lips and revealed strong, white teeth. Sensing rather than actually seeing the deep pit ahead, he leaped into the air, twice the height of a man and cleared the opposite edge of the pit easily.
He was half way across the valley now, with the smooth, soft surface of the hills just ahead.
"Wheeeeeee."
The weird, screeching call of the 'Darz,' echoed through the valley. Stron's blood ran cold for an instant, and then anger and resentment flooded through his body. The Darz, killer "bird-tiger" of the Yomars, had scented him. He ran onward steadily, staying on that straight line. His knife was gripped in his right hand. It was heavy, and the long, curved blade threw him slightly off balance as he ran.
HE SAW the bird-tiger even before it struck. He saw it in his
memory-pictures of past battles. The wide, batlike
wings—the gleaming, scaly cat-body. Then came the
swish of wings, and Stron dropped to his knees. He swung
the long blade over his head in a wide sweep. The beating wings
passed over him. This wasn't the attack. The bird-tiger had meant
to throw him to the sand and place him in a position for the
strike.
He could not afford to stop. Time was far too precious now. On his feet, Stron dashed forward once more. Atop the sandy ridge in the light of the tiny moons, he heard the Darz come in for the kill. A long, glittering body with four talon-tipped legs, shot downward. Stron sank to his knees.
The tiger-bird swooped down on Stron with its many-taloned legs
ripping and tearing at his flesh. Stron waited this time, blade held ready...
This time he waited, timing the blow carefully. The body of the Darz covered him like a sinister storm shadow. The lightning thrust of the talons came. Stron crouched low and struck upward with all his strength.
The blade penetrated a spot between the scales and buried itself to the bone hilt. The force of the lunge threw Stron off balance and he rolled in the sand.
The Darz shot straight aloft as though it hardly felt the sting of the blade. It flew faster and faster, up toward the twin moons. Suddenly the beaked mouth opened and a death cry hurtled across the hills and rebounded in a thousand echoes, splitting the silence of the night. Wings flapped emptily against the air. The huge body hurtled downward and flopped on the sand. Stron's aim had been perfect.
He reached the body of the bird-tiger and ripped the knife from its body. He pivoted and without great trouble, relocated the direction of his home. He must run even faster, for he had lost time, and Karr could not wait long.
THE canal people knew that Stron, son of Karr, had come home.
The watchers in the foothills had signaled with the smoke-beacons
that Stron was near. He would reach the village soon. Dawn came
like a red blaze that burned over the land, and friends of Karr
gathered to see Stron's coming.
In twenty seasons, Stron had proven his strength and prowess. He was in every sense, a man, and a son of whom Karr could be proud. The story of Stron's journey had come before him, by the tales told by the smoke-beacons.
The story told much of Stron's courage.
"He has traveled two hundred milos," the smoke-beacons whispered softly into the sky. "Without effort, he slaughtered one of the mighty bird-tigers."
"His lungs have been as strong as leather, his muscles like iron. He has run swiftly, and in a straight line, and his feet carry him as though on wings, straight down from the Yomar Range."
With the coming of Stron, the girl who sat in the hut, washed and carefully combed her long hair, until it gleamed in the sun, outdoing the color of the splendid copper ball in the sky.
She made Karr as comfortable as she could.
Stron had only kind words for his friends, and when they had told him how loyal he had been to come, he entered the hut and went to his father. He smiled at Laura, and patted her soft curls. There was no fear in his eyes, and she found in his presence greater comfort than she had felt in her eighteen years. She was proud of the man, and of the heaving chest and the dust and perspiration that covered his tired body.
Karr's eyes opened, and in spite of the haze of pain that filmed them, he smiled with a fierce pride for his son. He lifted one hand with great effort and put his arm about Stron's shoulders.
"You—have come far," he said. "I heard reports of your journey. I am glad that my son knows his duty."
Stron tried not to betray the pity he felt for the huge man on the reed bed.
He saw the hollow cheeks and the paleness that crept through the once deeply burned skin. He could feel the weakness of the arm that held him at Karr's side.
"I came as fast as I could, father," he said.
They remained silent for a while, seeing only admiration in each other's eyes. Then the old man shuddered. His eyes were suddenly afraid.
"There is little time," he said. "I have battled the Gods of darkness, to remain here until you came. Now we are together, they call me strongly. I have something to say. Something I hoped in my heart that I would never have to say."
"I am listening, father."
Karr's arm slipped from the boy's shoulder and fell at his side.
"Listen carefully," he begged. "Your sister will listen also, for the two of you will carry out my request."
The girl came and stood by their side. Her shoulders were held high with pride. Her eyes, cool and softly brown, were moist.
"I am here, Father," she whispered.
"I will die today," Karr said. His voice grew stronger with the will to speak. "When I am gone, you will leave me in the hills. The Darz will come for my useless corpse."
The boy nodded.
"As you will it."
Karr nodded.
"You and Laura will leave the canals," Karr said. "You will journey to the city of Novark."
Stron's breath sucked in sharply, and Laura's face went white.
KARR'S heart was pounding so fiercely that they could watch
the chest above it flutter in its last terrific battle. His voice
sank to a whisper. "I cannot tell—I have no time to
tell you what you must know. At Novark, you will search for a man
called Fanton. He was the Court Physician at the Palace of Nova.
He is in hiding. Ask for him among the lower people on the
streets."
"It is a long, terrible journey," Stron said softly. "I could go alone, but—Laura...?"
"Silence!"
A semblance of power came into Karr's voice. "Remember that you are a faithful son, and I am still your elder. You will not question me. You will both do as I direct. See the man, Fan-ton. He will make all things clear to you."
"You are tired, Father," Stron said gently. "Remember that I have never seen this Fanton. Laura would suffer in the hills of the Yomar Range. It would be..."
"Enough!"
Karr struggled up slowly, his elbows carrying the weight of his body.
"I will not listen. Where Laura goes, you go. She must never be left alone. You and the girl are one, always. You are charged with her safety."
Stron nodded helplessly. His mind was cluttered with bewildering questions that he knew he must not ask. If the city of Novark could bring only torture and death, then it was Karr's wish that they die together.
"We will go to Novark—together," he said softly. "Now—rest, Father. You cannot die. Your strength will not fail you."
A smile touched Karr's lips. He seemed content. He sank down again, licking his dried lips with parched tongue.
The girl remained motionless. She could not understand that a giant like Karr, could die like a helpless child. Yet, she wasn't able to prevent his going. If Stron experienced any fear, he did not betray his emotions.
"You feel better now, father?" he asked after a time.
Karr ignored his question.
"I have trained you to outwit and outrun every beast, whether man or animal, in the Yomar Range," he said. "I do not doubt your ability to face any odds."
Stron knew that his Father was evading the question.
"I am but a child as compared to Karr, the giant of the canal people," he said simply.
Karr's eyes were filled with dream-stuff. Tears welled up and blinded his once clear eyes.
"Once I was a mighty warrior," he said dreamily. "You are better than I. Remember, when you are afraid, I have taught you to ignore fear."
His voice faltered and he knew that Stron had got to his feet and was bending over him, rubbing his chest. Stron's fingers were strong and supple, and his warm hand felt good against the aching, pounding flesh. He made an effort to speak.
"I—will always—be—proud..."
The heart forgot to beat, and the blinding pain covered Karr with perspiration. He stiffened and cried out:
"Carry me to the Darz."
Those words were choked and wasted, for although they formed in his throat, there was no life to carry them beyond his lips.
STRON arose slowly and went to the door. He stared across the
lush plains and beyond the wide, blue canals. He rubbed his bare
arm across his eyes, for they were blinded.
He re-entered the room and picked his father up in his arms. Laura sank back in the corner and buried her face in her hands. She made no sound. Without faltering, Stron carried his father's body from the village and into the foothills beyond. In the valley of death, he placed the corpse tenderly upon a giant, sun-warmed slab of stone. Without looking back, he strode homeward.
Tonight, he thought, the great Darz will sweep down and carry the shell of Karr away to the hills of the Yomars. It was the custom, this consigning of the body to those monsters. It was Karr's last request. Without soul, or beating heart, Karr wanted his shell cast away as a useless thing, to be quickly forgotten.
THE crimson, thirsting sun shot down with slanting rays against black, blistering shoulders. It sought every bit of moisture to quell the horrible thirst of the red-hot ball. Here, one the very edge of the city or Novark, the sun seemed even angrier, for at the bottom of the ebony rock ridge, where the blue canals fed life to the city, the sun could not do harm. The sun gave up its battle where the cold, sweet water ran, and man took his place.
Once Mars had been a wild, untamed hell of heat and thirst. It was dominated by the sun. Then the Sacred Nova came. Nova, first king of Mars, who came from a far-off place and with infinite patience and skill, started to construct the canals and build the irrigation system.
From the polar caps, water thawed and flowed down the vast network of man-made rivers. The canals, built by the Martians under the leadership of Nova, sucked greedily of the new-found water and nursed the sick land back to life.
The Sacred King of Nova never betrayed his origin. Perhaps he was an Engineer, come from Earth with a dream. There were records, long lost and existing only in legend, of a Nova who came in a strange, fire-propelled ship and landed on the parched desert. Of a Nova who talked with the people and showed them how he could make them strong and happy. There are legends which tell of tons of red earth tossed away and of long, wide canals of pure, snow melted water that brought back health and put Nova above all the Gods who ever lived.
The Sacred Nova was long since gone, but his family still existed, and his entire line was worshipped as Gods are worshipped. The fairest maidens of Mars went into wedlock with the Gods who sprang from Nova's family, and the city of Novark came into being. One great city, the center of Martian strength and life.
SAD days came to Mars. At last there was a Nova who betrayed his own people.
The name was still worshipped in the land, but the man, Nova XX, brought a new meaning to the name. He brought fear and terror to all but a few who fawned at his feet. A great pall fell like a cloud over the sacred family.
This was Nova XX and the city he ruled, Novark.
THE trip through the Yomar Range had been a terrible
experience, and only raw strength and courage had brought Stron
and his sister through alive. Without the girl, Stron would have
made the journey with less hardship. She forced him to travel
slowly, for she could not stand the long marches. The sun,
isolating these two humans, and trying to beat them down to the
red earth, had not succeeded. They sat on the ridge above Novark
and stared down at the towers and streets of the city.
Stron touched his sister's hand gently, for they had grown very close to each other, and strange sensations gripped at their hearts. Stron looked at his sister with a curious feeling of mixed love and admiration. He felt disgust at himself, for he tingled at her very touch. It should not be so, but he could not master the feeling of affection he felt toward the slim, bronzed girl. He wondered at the blush that turned her cheeks softly pink. She sighed.
"It has been a hard journey," she said.
He nodded, drawing his hand away.
"The worst of it lies ahead," he said. "I cannot understand why our father sent us here. Why should we leave the peaceful land for this..."
He waved his hand in a sweeping motion, indicating his hatred for the richly endowed city and its hated ruler.
"Once it was a good place," the girl said. "The Sacred Nova I, was a great ruler. We cannot forget our debt to the family."
Stron scowled. "Now it is a city of misery and hate," he said scornfully. "It is a city of lust and slavery. Even the sight of it sickens me."
Laura was not a child. She had heard often of the slave-marts that dealt in soft flesh and caressing beauty. Girls of her village had been stolen for the King's harem.
She stared straight ahead of her, down at the city.
"It will be a strong slaver who sells my body to a harem," she said coolly. "I would not submit to..."
"My sister." Stron interrupted harshly.
She gave him an amazed glance. "I am not a baby, that I do not know of such things. You need not worry about me. I will fight at your side, as a man would fight."
Then she was acutely aware of her tattered clothing and the soft expanse of firm flesh visible along her thigh. Quickly she drew the dress about her, and again Stron swore under his breath because of his longings. Shame filled him, and he arose quickly.
"We will enter Novark after dark," he said roughly. "I do not know how to find Fanton. I heard from the agents who stole from our village that in Novark there is an underground where men gather who fight against Nova XX. If Fanton is among the common people, then he will be best found in the underground, for the commoners dare not be seen in the streets. We will search for them at night."
The girl nodded, grateful for the change of conversation. She studied the lovely towers and spires of Novark, bathed in rainbow colors by a retreating sun.
"Stron," she said with wonder in her voice, "why has Karr sent us here?"
He shook his head.
"My head throbs with pain over the problem," he admitted. "Karr has never been to Novark himself. His friends told me that. His only contact has been with the agents of Nova XX. Yet, he seems to know this man Fanton, and thinks we must go to him."
"It was Karr's wish," the girl said simply.
"And that was enough," Stron admitted. "I would be a thousand times worse than a coward to betray my father."
They said no more. The sun gave up its last grip upon that side of the planet. When it came again to Novark, these two bits of humanity would be out of its grasp. Then, perhaps, they would be fighting against an even more horrible enemy....
NOVARK was a strange, colorful place after darkness fell. In
the glow of many-colored lights, it came alive with garish of the
canal people, the slave traders, mysterious, veiled women and the
splendid uniforms of the Palace Honor Guards.
The women moved softly, quietly, through the streets, all escorted by harem masters or their own men. Night brought them into the streets, seeking the only fresh air and exercise they were allowed. The watchful eyes of the slave traders missed no shapely hip or shining, eager eye.
Into this moving tide of humanity, Stron led his sister. He had placed hi? cloak about her shoulders to hide the smoothness of her step, but the honest, eye-arresting face had no veil to protect it. She felt a strange excitement in seeing for the first time the city that her friends had labelled with so many frightening titles.
They moved with the crowd, and were caught up by the spirit of the place. There was a soft, glowing beauty in the buildings of Novark that hid for a time the slime and filth locked in the thoughts of the men who walked in the streets. This was not Mars. It was the dirty hole in which the parasites gathered. It was the hiding place of the thief and the harlot who lived on the clean flesh of an innocent and hopeless, helpless people.
Hunger came first into Stron's stomach, and he knew that they had not eaten for hours. They must find a place to sit and partake of food that would give them the needed strength to go on. With his arm tightly about the girl, he pushed his way out of the swirling crowd and found a shop where the sign of the roasting sheed was displayed above the open door. Odors of cooking flesh mingled with the perfume and stink of the street. Stron drew Laura after him into a doorway. He stopped short, confronted by two tall, strongly built men dressed in the blue and gold uniforms of the palace Honor Guard.
He stood quite still waiting for them to step aside, and knew that their eyes and their voices were suddenly excited and made alert by Laura's presence. His fingers sought the handle of his knife, hidden under the wide belt.
Before he could detain them, the first guard stepped past him and put his hand on the soft roundness that Laura's cloak could not hide.
The girl's hand shot out, hitting his cheek a resounding blow. The guard, taken aback by the sudden fury of the girl, forgot his goal and swore at her. His companion laughed.
Stron's blood was sudden, seething fire. As automatically as he would have saved himself from the death plunge of the Darz, he whipped out the long blade in his belt and buried it to the hilt in the Honor Guard's stomach.
The man stood there, clutching at the handle of the knife, his face colorless with sudden horror. He struggled, trying to draw the knife free, and went to his knees. No one moved as he sank on his side, blood gurgling from his partly open mouth.
His companion sprang forward. At the same time, he shouted loudly.
"Hurry the Guards of Nova! Murder has been done!"
His voice carried above the sounds of the street and a hushed silence fell over all within hearing. Stron, calculating every move, sank to his knees and twisted the knife free. He sent the second guard backward with a blow from the hilt of the knife. Then the silence was lost and a howling, roaring flood of humans were twisting and flowing like angry water through the Streets. A trumpet sounded not far away, and the sound of hurried commands came clearly above the general noise.
"Quickly," Stron urged the girl. "There are too many."
He grasped her wrist and pulled her into the street. The crowd parted from them as though they were marked by the hand of death. But there was nowhere to run, and they were hemmed in by a circle of wild eyed people.
A path opened in the mob and a squad of blue and gold guards rushed toward them. A huge, black-bearded guard led them, his electro-sword unsheathed, his eyes cold as ice-diamonds.
"Where is the one who dares murder a guard?" he shouted.
STRON, standing alone with the girl, pushed her gently behind
him. She stood there, her hand gripped in his with the strength
of steel. She watched him with the love and faith that she had
grown to feel under every moment of fear.
A voice came from the mob.
"There he is. Be careful of the slave. He carries a knife!"
Then fingers were pointing and Stron knew that he would fight—and probably die. He would never run.
The man with the black beard closed in slowly, the electro-sword thrust before him. His face mirrored certain respect for the man he was facing. Stron saw something in that face that surprised him. The pleasure of a battle, and more. He saw the honest grin and gentlemanly respect for an antagonist who was his equal.
The guard moved slowly, shifting and feinting. He saw the long bladed knife appear as though by magic in Stron's hand.
His eyes widened momentarily, and he dashed at the boy. Stron pushed Laura away from him in one motion and ducked swiftly to one side. Strange memories flashed swiftly into Stron's mind. Memories of words spoken once by Karr's lips.
"Some day you will be forced to battle with the King's agents. Remember that the lightning sword is death in their hands. Evade the tip of that hellish weapon."
Even now, a violent shower of sparks fell over his head, shooting from the electro-sword brandished in black-beard's hand. Stron rolled over swiftly and came to his feet with the speed of a fanged cat. He twisted around like a dervish and slashed the cord that held black-beard's cloak at the neck. The rich cape fell to the street.
Black-beard caught his balance and pivoted, the grin gone, his teeth pressed tightly together and visible between slightly parted lips.
The man was no fool. He danced about lightly, a half dozen steps that took him well away from the knife blade. He saw Stron's gleaming skin, and admired the muscles that worked like well oiled leather under that flesh.
"So," he spoke with some effort, "you wish to play?"
Stron grinned in spite of himself. There were huge odds against him, but the blood of Karr had become almost his blood. Don't let the tip of the lightning sword touch you, his mind repeated over and over.
Black-beard came in again, slowly, yet with his body ready, his eyes alert. Always, when the rush came, Stron was out of his way. The flesh on the guard's forearm was flecked with blood droplets where the blade had touched. The wound lost him his temper and the battle.
"An end to this!" he shouted, and rushed the man with the knife. An angry shower of sparks shot toward Stron. He waited for the final thrust as easily as he had so often waited for the last blow of the bird-tigers.
HE SAW the sparks come straight at him, and dropped to his
knees.
The sword was above him. He shot upward so swiftly that Black-beard could not escape the blow. His sword met the full impact of steel, and went twisting through the air. Stron was in front of him, his left arm locked about his waist, the knife blade pricking his chest through the gold-braided uniform. Cold fear dilated his eyes and opened his lips in a short outcry.
"Now," Stron whispered through set teeth. "Are you ready to feel the blade?"
The men about them were hypnotized by what had happened. No one had the power to cry out or to attack.
There is horror in death faced at close quarters. Horror that the strongest of men cower away from when it leaps.
"No—no!" The black-bearded guard stopped struggling and stood very still. His hands dropped at his sides. "You are the better man. I deserve death, but I would be a fool to welcome it. Release me, and I will promise you fair treatment."
The fear was gone, for that moment when black-beard had lost control, had passed. They had reached an impasse. Stron could not kill, for there was something about black-beard that was different. He had good qualities that Stron recognized even beneath a hated uniform. He hesitated. Alone, he might kill again and escape. With Laura to depend on him, he could only expect death for himself and torture and shame for his sister. He looked at her, and saw terror in her eyes. Perhaps he could save her.
"You promise by the Sacred Nova that I will not be punished?"
Black-beard nodded.
"By the Sacred promise of Nova," he panted.
There was new horror in the man's face now. Horror in the realization that he had dared promise in the name of the King. But there was the knife to be taken into consideration, and the threat there was real.
Black-beard was suddenly ashamed of himself, for showing such weakness in the face of death. His eyes fell and he stared at the pavement. Stron knew that the promise had been given in good faith, and he released his prisoner.
THE two stood opposite each other within the circle of men.
The guards moved in slowly, awe in their expressions, not knowing
just what the next move would be. They looked to black-beard for
their orders. Hands were poised on weapons.
Black-beard was suddenly himself again. He picked up his sword and thrust it into the scabbard. He turned and roared at his men.
"Fall in." He sounded very grim. "You have seen a better man than yourselves tonight. You heard me promise safety to him, for sparing my life. It happens that, although I may be a coward, I am man enough to realize that I am worth more to myself alive—than I would have been dead. Remember what I promised and if you touch him, you'll answer to Draco."
He turned on Stron.
"You are under my protection," he said, and then noticing Laura at Stron's side, "if one of my men insults the girl, I'll have my sword into him faster than you knifed that ungrateful swine in the door of the food house."
The guard who had felt the sting of Stron's fist, started to protest.
"He is a murderer. He must go before the King."
Draco, the black-beard, swung on the speaker and the man cowered back.
"Then he goes before the King," he snapped. "But, I go with him. I, Draco, will speak for him. No man who fights so cunningly, and yet has room for mercy in his soul, can fail to impress the Sacred King."
Somewhere, a guard chuckled. Another shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
With Stron close to her, his arm about her waist, Laura waited for them to form ranks and march on either side. Her head was held high now, for she knew that Stron would always keep his promise to protect her. If these men knew they were taking to King Nova XX, a rich, perhaps the richest of all, harem prizes, they did not betray themselves by so much as a glance at the girl. Stron was there, with the knife that struck faster than an electro-sword. That was enough to keep them marching with eyes straight ahead.
THE great room was so vast that it carried echoing voices
among the pillars hundreds of times, until they were lost in the
dimness. There were a thousand pillars in the great throne room,
each of them a glittering golden symbol of Nova's power.
Nova XX, King of Mars, was seated on the marble throne in the direct center of the vast place. No one stood near him. He was alone, his thin, healthy face brooding, jet-black eyes narrowed in thought. He waited while the detachment of guards marched smartly the length of the room and paused before him. Nova XX had his left arm poised on the edge of the massive throne, his right elbow crooked so that the palm of his hand rested under the sharp chin. He did not move.
Draco stepped smartly forward and saluted. Behind Draco, Stron and the girl stood alone. King Nova XX glanced at the girl and for a brief instant his eyes betrayed interest. Then his attention was for Draco alone.
"I hear that you have embroiled yourself in a bloody feud with a slave," he said coldly.
Draco said:
"Bad news travels on wings, Your Sacred Majesty."
There was, perhaps, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. Say what you will, Stron thought, this Draco is a fighter, and no coward.
"And are you in trouble, also, Queen of Beauty?"
The King was addressing Laura. Her eyes did not evade his steady look. She only held Stron's arm more tightly.
"I am no queen," she said in a steady voice. "My brother speaks for me. I am a peasant girl who would not dare speak at length to so high a personage."
Nova frowned. It was evident that he did not enjoy her rebuff, but that he was fascinated by her spirited reply. He looked at the youth at the girl's side. He saw only another slave, run amok.
"Speak, brother," he said angrily. "I have little time for you. Tonight you murdered one of my Royal Guards. You know the punishment?"
Stron met his stormy gaze and did not flinch.
"The man insulted my sister and laid hands upon her. I would kill any man who did as much."
The King's eyebrows lifted.
"Draco, is this true?" he asked.
Draco moved forward two paces and spoke fervently.
"Your Sacred Majesty," he said, "it is. I challenged the boy with my weapon and he out-fought me. He would be a valuable and honest addition to the Guards. He comes from brave stock."
King Nova XX stood up slowly. His eyes were glowing like living fire.
"You also promised the boy freedom—in my name?"
"I did," Draco said. "I thought that..."
The King's fist came down with a thud against the arm of the throne.
"You aren't allowed to think for me, Captain Draco," he roared.
"I have won the highest title in the Honor Guards," Draco said, his face turning pale. "I deserve some consideration."
The King spat full in his face. He stood there, his arms folding slowly across his chest.
"That, Captain Draco, is the consideration you have earned from me."
Draco's face betrayed nothing. His eyes burned. His mouth was suddenly a straight, white gash of shocked anger.
"I believe, your Sacred Majesty," Draco said with words that burned with fury, "that your method of repaying your loyal servants, clearly indicates the correct station of your life. Even a King can be a low-born fool."
Nova XX seemed about to lose his temper. Instead, he spoke softly, with the velvet of smooth steel in his voice.
"Brave man, Draco, to face death from me without flinching, and yet cower at the feet of a slave who holds a knife."
Draco had gone beyond reasoning.
"I face a coward and why should I fear him? Tonight I faced a brave man, and had a right to fear such bravery."
Nova XX turned his back on them. He walked toward the throne, his shoulders thrown back, hands balled into fists at his side.
"Take them to the cells," he shouted. "Wait—leave the woman here."
A guard grasped Laura's wrist and pulled her away from Stron. When the girl left his side, a hell-fire of hatred burst inside the boy's head. Like a' crazy man he jerked the knife from his belt and sprang. He heard Draco call to him, but the black-beard's cry was unheeded. Laura sobbed and fell away from the guard as Stron landed on the man's shoulders. The guard screamed, once...
The knife flashed and the guard no longer cried. His head rolled on the floor in a bath of blood.
Stron pivoted, facing the King.
"Burn him down," Nova XX shouted. "Burn him without mercy."
Stron heard the voice, and focused his attention upon the thing. He rushed toward the narrow-faced man who stood near the throne. He took two steps and felt something hit him between the shoulders. It was the shocking blow of the electro-swords. He seemed to twist suddenly half around and darkness rushed at him. He tried to hold his hands before the thing that sought to destroy him, but he could not hold back the fire that showered in his face. Then he knew no more.
STRON was amazed that he was still alive. He sat up slowly,
his head still spinning. He looked around him. He was in a tiny,
metal-walled cell. The cubicle was no more than six-feet square,
without openings visible to the eye. He tried to force himself
erect, but the pain was so great that he fell back, the hard
surface offering no protection to his aching body.
He turned his head and stared at the fuzzy vision of a man who stood near him.
"Draco?" he said slowly, wonderingly.
"I'm here," the voice said.
His vision cleared slowly. Draco was stripped to the waist. His chest was criss-crossed with deep, blood clotted wounds. His face was bruised and the skin had been broken in a dozen places. His eyes, filled with pain, were still burning with anger.
Stron tried to smile.
"We are both alive," he said. "In life there is some comfort."
Draco regarded him steadily.
"I betrayed you," he said. "I am a coward, and a fool as well. You will always bear me a grudge."
Stron shook his head.
"You were bewildered, but not really frightened of me," he said slowly, as though thinking the whole thing out carefully as he talked. "No coward could face the King and speak as you spoke. We both have made mistakes. We are friends."
Draco moved to the hard bunk and took Stron's hand in his. He gripped it without speaking. There was warmth and new strength in their hand-clasp.
Stron suddenly felt better. Then he remembered the King's chamber and Laura. He sprang to his feet, felt the old pain return and sank down, his hands over his face.
"My sister? I am so weak that I cannot even protect myself. What has happened to her?"
Draco put his hands on Stron's shoulders. He gripped them tightly.
"You must be calm. The girl is safe for a time. I will try to tell you what happened."
Stron listened for there was no choice. He could not escape this metal coffin of a cell.
"You should be dead," Draco said. "Nova ordered your death. Then when they had dropped you with their electro-swords, and you did not die, he changed his mind. Nova XX is a sadist of the lowest kind. He ordered that you would remain alive, only to suffer by a more fitting method of torture when you are able to stand.
"We were dragged from the chamber. I was whipped and pounded until I could no longer cry out. I only awakened a short time ago. You have been paralyzed for two suns."
He wet his lips and released his grip on Stron's shoulders.
"We will be thrown into the arena as soon as they see us both on our feet again."
"Laura," Stron said softly. "What of her?"
Draco knew the answer without having witnessed what happened. He had often watched Nova XX's harem girls dragged away to bondage. His eyes had not been wasted on Laura's youthful loveliness.
"She was taken to the slave quarters." he said. "She will be dressed, and prepared for the harem. They will tell her what can be said in the King's presence. It will take a week for them to administer small doses of drug, so that she will do the King's bidding, and yet not lose the essential strength and clarity of mind to entertain the King in a fitting manner."
Stron stared up at the guard with pleading, hopeless eyes.
"I must reach her."
Draco swore softly.
"For myself, I would ask nothing more than to rescue your sister and run a knife into Nova XX's ugly belly, in the same hour. We are not the ones to choose. The arena is our last battle, unless miracles are showered upon us. The bird-tigers will tear us apart like silken cushions."
FROM Stron's eyes shot a last hopeful gleam. He grasped
Draco's arm, gripped it tightly.
"We—fight against the Darz?"
Draco looked bewildered.
"But of course. Nova XX's greatest sport is to watch the bird-tigers make bloody meat of his slaves."
Suddenly Stron laughed aloud. A great, impossible burden was cast from his mind.
"Then I do see opportunity to escape, and perhaps save Laura before it is too late."
Draco seemed stunned. Never had he heard a man laugh bitterly—or even laugh at all, because he was to be murdered by the talons of the Darz.
"You hope to conquer the Darz?"
"I do," Stron said confidently. "If we can escape this arena alive, can you take me to Laura?"
Draco nodded, only half hearing the boy's crazy words.
"The tiger-birds have never been killed. Their legs are like sword pointed steel. There isn't a spot on their body where a weapon can penetrate."
Stron smiled.
"Listen to me," he said. "I have killed the tiger-birds many times. Karr taught me...."
"Karr?"
Draco's voice was filled with great respect. Stron nodded.
"You were taught by Karr, the giant of the canals?" Stron said:
"Laura and I are the children of Karr."
Draco gained sudden courage.
"I knew him well. All fighting men knew him. Never was there a more powerful enemy or more steadfast friend. I believe now that you can battle the Darz. I wish that I could say as much of myself."
"I will teach you," Stron said simply. "The skill remains in your own doing."
Draco nodded eagerly. His eyes were full of the old gleam once more.
"I ask only for knowledge," he said. "If I die, I die by the use of a clumsy hand."
They sat for a long time in the metal cell, and Stron told how the attack would be made and how it could be repulsed. As he spoke, his blood grew hot again. They prepared themselves as best they could, for the battle that would come soon.
THE arena was a huge, circular pit, sunk twenty feet below the
level of the first spectator benches. A wall protected the people
who sat, row upon row, where they commanded a good view of what
took place in the sand-floored pit.
Only men of Novark were here, for the women could not take part in public gatherings. Merchants, slavers and personal friends of King Nova XX were present to watch two interesting, if doomed, men take part in a one-sided battle with death. They had heard much of the man, Stron, who had attacked and killed two of the King's Guards, and conquered another. Draco's story had traveled far. His words of anger, spoken to the King, had been his death warrant. Men wondered if his courage would fail.
Nova himself, sat alone high in the upper levels of the arena. A great, colorful cloth was stretched taut over his head to protect his face from the sun. Two harem women, the only females allowed here, were reclining on his couch, entertaining him as he wished.
At present, Nova XX watched the two killer bird-tigers chained below him on the sands of the pit. These were the ugliest Darz that could be found in the Yomars. They had fifteen yards of chain, which allowed them the opportunity to lift their great bodies a short distance into the air and fall on their prey. They could not reach the spectators benches, for the chains prevented it.
At high noon, Nova XX glanced impatiently at the hot sun and lifted his right arm. At once, the trumpet of the Honor Guard sounded, and the men who had come to watch death strike, seemed to come out of the stupor they had been in, and take notice of what was taking place below them.
Stron and Draco, each armed with slim, shining daggers and dressed only in breech-cloths, were pushed roughly into the pit. Behind them, advancing steadily, were six guards, their electro-swords prodding the prisoners forward. Draco drew cat-calls from the crowd. A few were hushed, wondering.
He moved forward, head held high, no shame in his eyes. Draco had made many mistakes. At last he had found a true leader and friend in Stron, and his path was clear. Stron, his eyes watching the lazy bird-tigers who rested on the sand of the pit, followed Draco without hesitating. The guards withdrew. The huge gate to the pit closed with a clang. A deathly, fetid silence hung over everything.
Suddenly one of the taloned killers seemed to come to life. Its scabby wings fought the stale air of the pit and the Darz took to the air. Four long, scaly legs, tipped with needle-sharp talons, hung like swords of doom over the arena. The Darz reached the end of its chain, stared down at Draco with beady eyes, and dropped toward him like a dead weight.
A gasp came from the crowd. Draco dropped to his knees and twisted his knife above his head. The sigh of horror ended in cries of amazement. Draco had learned his lesson well. The bird-tiger fought true to form. Having forced Draco to his knees, the bird flew upward again.
Draco's eyes were narrowed. His breath came hard. His gaze never left the bird. The Darz shot down, and the knife sought the vital spot and sank into the bird-tiger's body. A cry of pain came from the bird's beak. It flopped on the sand, blood running from the knife wound.
Draco sprang to his feet and retrieved the weapon. A shout of approval came from the crowd. Meanwhile, Stron was watching the second bird. When the other Darz moved, it did not catch Stron unprepared.
With incredible speed, the beast was in the air, and pouncing on Draco's shoulders. Before the talons sank into Draco's flesh, Stron was shouting his warning, and pouncing on the Darz' back.
Draco rolled out of the way just in time, Stron, not so fortunate, knew that he had no chance for the present, to sink the knife into the beast's vital flesh. The Darz tried to twist itself free from the unwelcome burden astride it. It launched itself into the air. Stron held on tightly. Balancing himself with all the skill he possessed, Stron managed to stick on the strange saddle. Never before had the people of Novark seen such a performance. The Darz reached the end of the chain and plummeted back to earth.
The instant the talons touched the sand, Stron was on his feet. The wicked Darz beak twisted and shot at his face. Stron fell to his knees, and sent the knife home.
It was over so quickly that the crowd hardly knew what had happened. Then, with the two ugly bird-tigers lying on the bloody sand, and with both men standing before them, alive, the mob went wild.
Draco turned to Stron and said:
"You saved my life, but I didn't think you would save your own."
Stron grinned weakly.
"Nor I," he admitted. "I've never ridden the Darz before. It wasn't a pleasant pastime."
THE sounds in the arena died slowly.
No man had ever fought and killed the Darz before, not in the King's arena. Each man watched and wondered, turning their eyes on King Nova XX, The two in the arena deserved freedom for what they had done.
Nova XX's thin face was furious. He had been tricked. A voice, coming from high above the arena wall, cried out:
"Will torture be the reward for heroes, King Nova?"
Nova XX refused to acknowledge the cry. There was no one here who wished death for these men, but Nova XX himself.
He arose and without a sign, left the throne and disappeared into the corridors beyond. The same voice cried out again:
"Does Nova fear to release these two?"
A mob must have only a leader. There was a tremendous howl of protest. The men who sat above the arena were talking among themselves, and moving into small, angry groups.
There came the sharp explosion of an electro-sword. The sounds faded. Stron turned and saw a detachment of Honor Guards, fanned out across the arena floor, walking 'toward Draco and himself. Their swords were unsheathed. Lightning flashed from the tips.
"There is Nova's answer," Draco said bitterly.
It was true. Nova XX did not use words. He used force. They stood side by side, the winners over death who drew death as their reward. The leader of the group of guards was the man Stron had struck in the street. His lips were white and drawn into a thin sneer across flashing teeth.
A roar of anger came from the seats.
The Guards came on, forming a circle, cutting off retreat. The leader's sword was pointed straight at Stron. An angry shower of sparks fell from the steel tip.
Suddenly, as though staying the hand of death, a powerful beam of fire sprang out of the benches down near the arena wall. The guard crumpled and fell, the sword sticking hilt up at his side, the lightning grounded in bloody sand.
The others fell back in confusion. The leader did not move again. Then Stron heard the voice again—the voice that had heckled Nova XX.
"These two will go free. Stay clear of them. The guard who goes close will pay as the first one paid."
The two men stood motionless, unable to believe that they were being spared.
"Come this way, Draco," the voice shouted. "Bring your friend with you."
Neither of them questioned the voice that came from somewhere among the men close to the wall. They ran to the wall, to be lifted up and helped over by willing hands.
There must have been twenty men about them, Stron thought. No one seemed anxious to interrupt the rescue. Not a voice was raised against what took place.
For the first time, Nova XX had been beaten at his own game, and no one but the King himself, seemed unhappy about it.
"MY NAME is Fanton," the slightly built, gray-haired man said.
He sat on the rough stone bench, his shoulders resting against
the stone wall behind him. Here, hidden safely in the tunnels
beneath the city of Novark, he could speak safely. Though the man
was old and slight of build, steel gray eyes and a vibrant voice,
gave him certain power. He looked the two newcomers over
carefully.
"For the first time I have fought in public against the King. There are bloody days ahead for us all, now that the challenge has been made."
Stron, standing with Draco at his side, looked at the man with amazement.
"I have come a long way to find you, and instead, it was you who found me," he said.
The cave-room was small. A dozen of Fanton's followers had crowded into it. They wore the garb of the peasant people. Both Fanton and his men stared with interest at the youth who had spoken.
"I have heard about you from my men," Fanton said. "I am surprised to find that you were searching for me. You are from the canal country?"
Stron nodded. He hoped that he could speak freely here. Draco, who had been a King's Guard, might be friend or prisoner here. Yet, Draco was greatly impressed.
"I offer humble thanks to you, Fan-ton," Draco said quietly. "I have often fought against you. I don't deserve your help."
Fanton's eyes were suddenly mild. He smiled.
"When a man sees the folly of his ways, why shouldn't he be treated justly. I know how you dared to speak to the King. I know that you have always fought against us, but you have fought fairly. I welcome your coming, because you will be able to greatly assist our cause."
Men closed in about them. Fanton leaned close and, with his chin resting on a brown, wrinkled palm, spoke in a gentle voice.
"As long as Nova XX rules, honest people will fight to bring peace back to the planet. If we are fortunate....?"
He shrugged and turned to Stron.
"You say you wanted to find me? Where did you come from?"
Stron said:
"I came with my sister, from the canal country. My father was Karr. When he died, he made me promise to search for Fanton. I did not know where to look for you."
Fanton's eyes were suddenly wide open. He stared up at Stron, then to the floor, and after some hesitation, back at Stron again. His face was pale.
His voice came with effort.
"Karr sent you to me?"
Stron nodded. The men were watching Fanton intently.
"What is your name, boy?"
"Stron."
"Your sister's?"
"Laura," Stron said. "She has been captured by Nova XX. Will you help me save her? I ask for no other help than a guide to show me where she may be hidden."
Fanton seemed not to hear this. He was lost in deep thought.
"How long has Karr been dead?"
Stron tried to forget Laura and concentrate on the man before him.
"Only a few suns," he said. "Karr made me promise to come to Novark. I don't know why."
They were silent. Water dripped down the dark, granite walls and splashed into puddles across the floor. Fanton sank back, eyes partly closed, watching Stron's face.
"I—don't know," he said softly. "It would mean death if we failed. I never expected to have to do this. Perhaps it is right. Karr was a brilliant man."
No man present understood him. Fanton was dreaming aloud. Yet, the very tone of his voice indicated impressive things.
"Karr must have made a great decision to send you to me," he said at last.
FANTON stood up, his arms at his sides. Suddenly his eyes were
bright and snapping. His sentences came, short and clipped.
"The time has come," he said. "Karr knew it must. I know that it must. There are many friends hidden in the tunnels. They all fight against Nova XX. Yet, as many as we are, one electro-cannon is our only weapon. You see how little chance we have against the King?"
He started to walk, slowly, from one side of the cave to the other. His chin was firm and held high. Fanton had made up his mind.
"There are many men who will rise to help us when the time comes. I had no wish to use our weapon—the greatest weapon. Karr has said that I should. I could ask for no better adviser."
Every man was listening. Every eye followed him.
"There is an army of ten-thousand guards stationed in Novark. We, the lower class, have only our hatred for a weapon."
He pivoted and faced Stron.
"If I told you that one man could overthrow a Kingdom, would you think I was a fool?"
Stron was impressed with the man, though he seemed to speak madness.
"I, for one, will fight at your side against the King," he said.
"And I," Draco added. "I know the plan of the palace well. I know where the weapons are hidden. I can master most of them."
"Wait," Fanton said. "You are both willing. I do not plan to fight in battle with Nova XX. I have a better plan. I have a weapon that can be used without bloodshed. I alone know how to use it."
Even his own men, regarded Fanton with suspicion. They had never heard him speak riddles, as he was doing now.
"Hear me out," he begged. "Once I was court-physician to the House of Nova. I treated the ills of the Sacred family. I lived with them from boyhood. When Nova XX came to the throne, he was a hateful tyrant. I escaped from him and hid here. I have lived in the caves and sworn that as long as I live, I will wage war against the King."
He stopped pacing back and forth. The place was still. Far away, hushed voices came from other cell-like caves where groups of peasants talked.
"We have fought a losing battle," he said simply. "I have preserved one last weapon throughout the years. Even now, I dread using it. One slip, and we will all die together. With the help of Karr's advice, and the man, Stron, who was sent here by Karr, we may not fail."
A bearded shepherd stepped forward, arm raised.
"We have never stopped believing in you," he said. "Whatever seems right to you, will not be questioned."
"Good," Fanton said.
He turned and walked close to Stron. He placed both hands on the boy's shoulders and studied his face.
"Karr knew that you had learned all the lessons of life and learned them well. He sent you here for a purpose. If you work for me tonight, you may die, or you may return with the one weapon that can cause the downfall of the tyrant, Nova XX."
Stron did not understand what was happening within him. This man had been able to stir emotions that he had never felt before. He felt that with Fanton's faith, he could overcome any obstacle.
"If Karr thought I was fitted for your work, I am glad to do what you ask of me," he said.
Fanton released his grip and smiled.
"I think Karr was right," he said. "Time will tell. Listen to me, carefully. At one time there were no harem quarters in the palace. The rooms now used for that purpose, belonged to the queen. Below the Queen's bed lies a secret chamber, hidden well under the walls. It was built by the first Sacred Nova as a place where he might rest, and seek retreat from his work."
FANTON was lost in memories of the past. He rubbed his hand
lightly across his forehead, as though brushing away the clouds
of time that tried to hide his memories.
"When the present King Nova XX took the throne, the secret of the chamber had been lost. Only one man knows where it is today. I am the man. In that cell lies the weapon I must have."
To Fanton, this was a terrible experience. He had hoped that his story might never be told. That the cell would remain sealed forever.
"You, Stron, must go there alone. No man is allowed in the harem but the King himself. The King, curse his soul, uses the bed that held our Sacred Queen while she rested. Nova XX might find you in that chamber. If you are forced to kill him, our cause might be lost. We must have him alive when our weapon is ready to turn upon him, for we wish to destroy his mind and body with torture that will repay him for what he has done to us. On the head-board of the bed, you will find two tiny, golden elves. The elf on the right side must be pressed downward until the lever is slipped out of place and the door to the chamber opens. In the chamber below the room, you will find a chest. Bring it to me. Handle it gently, because you cannot realize what that chest means to our cause."
He stopped talking. His face was gray and he was very tired.
"But how can a small chest contain a weapon that will wipe out our King's great store of war machines," Draco asked.
Fanton shook his head.
"You will have to trust me. It will, if we use it carefully, put Nova XX down to shame and death. It will give Mars peace and contentment for ages to come. Is that a powerful weapon?"
Draco seemed convinced.
"Let me go," he urged. "I know the palace better than most. I'd like to pay the debt I owe you."
Fanton shook his head.
"You are trying to protect your friend, and I will not let you. Stron has been chosen, both by Karr and myself. Tell Stron what you know of the palace and wait for him outside the walls. If you have ever learned them, speak the prayers of the Sacred Nova that you knew in childhood."
Fanton addressed Stron.
"Remember this. Without the chest, we are lost before we start. Without your help, we are equally lost. Both you and the chest must come back safely. I cannot say why, but I hope the spirit of Karr is alert and protecting you tonight."
There were no more words for him to speak. "I will do the best I can," Stron said.
THE roof of the palace sloped down and ended a few feet from
the west wall. Stron lay atop the wall itself, having jumped to
the broad stone ledge from a nearby tree. He pressed himself
tightly against the stones, hardly a shadow in the darkness of
the night. His body was tanned and the breech-cloth, his only
garment, kept his knife hidden from any possible glint of
light.
The roof of the palace rose gently and became a series of jutting towers and walls, all fine hiding places for a man who could use the shadows.
Below him, he knew that Draco was hidden in the shadow of the huge tree. Draco had already told him where he would find the open court that would lead down to the harem quarters.
Fifteen yards away, the guard who watched the wall, made an about face and marched back, his electro-sword swinging in the scabbard at his side.
Stron did not move a muscle. His lips allowed only the slightest movement of breath to escape. His eyes were glittering coldly.
The guard was opposite him. Like the shadow of the saber cat, Stron was upon the man, the knife rising, to come down but once. The figure slumped to the wall and lay still.
Stron was beyond him, racing up the slope of the roof. He found the square opening that dropped to the open court below. On his stomach, he unwrapped length upon length of strong rope from his waist. The shadows were deep in the well of stone below him. The moons were not awake. He looped one end of the rope around the jutting stones at his side and payed out the line until there was no more. Slipping silently over the edge of the man-made cliff, he went down hand over hand, swaying slightly, his feet seeking the solid earth below.
He remembered Draco's parting words.
"It will be simple to find the right door. There are four of them, facing all four sides of the courtyard. Enter the one in the direction of the Yomar Range."
He pressed tightly to the wall and moved toward the correct door. Somewhere within the harem quarters, voices of excited, waiting women came to him. He found the door and pushed it open. He was frightened, not because he dared enter Nova XX's private quarters, but because he dared go to the very heart of the palace that had housed the Sacred Nova who first brought life and hope to Mars. The fear slowly quieted in his heart and his nerves steadied once again.
The hall beyond the door was dimly lighted by two torches thrust into stone bowls high against the wall. Ahead of him another door stood ajar. It was fashioned of rich, hand-carved tuba wood, dragged down from the Yomar stunted forests. On the face of the door, Stron recognized the sacred symbols of the Nova—strangely crisscrossed outlines of the Martian canals.
The door allowed a sword-point of light to escape and slice across the floor. Stealthily, he moved toward it. He stood with his ear to the crack, ready to spring into action the moment he was discovered.
"I am tired and impatient," a voice said crossly. "The others do not quarrel against me. Are you going to be forever unpleasant?"
The King's voice, Stron thought, and his hopes ran high. Then the voice of a girl answered him, and Stron's heart seemed to die.
"As long as I can fight the spell of the love-potions," the soft voice said, "I will fight you. I am not a fool. I know you will overcome me when I can no longer control my own mind."
Stron was at the door, staring in, hoping against hope that this was not Laura, but the voice of some palace harlot that he heard. His eyes, finding the source of the voices, became flinty with anger.
He saw the huge bed, and recognized the two elfin figures of gold, mounted on the head of it. His eyes halted only momentarily upon the elves, and fell upon the lounging figure of King Nova XX.
NOVA XX was resting across the silken covers, clad in a
scarlet robe. He leaned upon one elbow, his satanic, narrowed
eyes seeking every pleasant curve of the girl who cowered away
from him.
It was Laura. She stood a few feet from the bed, her eyes as cold as death, her fists clenched at her side.
Her body had been dressed by harem attendants who had done, even for her splendid figure, such things as Stron had never dreamed of. Her bosom, taut and rising swiftly as she breathed, was partly hidden beneath silk so sheer that it glowed over her shoulders and down her flesh like a shining waterfall of silver bubbles. Her long hair was drawn back and reached her waist. Cleverly, they had masked the simplicity of her face and painted her cheeks and lips with such crimson magic that she seemed the very personification of romance.
A sea-foam skirt of gold flowed down her hips and ended at the ankles. The golden fabric glittered and parted in folds as she moved, to reveal small promises of the flesh beneath. As Stron stood there, transfixed, the girl backed farther away from the King. He sat up, and leaning back with his elbows supporting his weight, said:
"You do not find the love-potions unpleasant?"
She did not answer, but the sudden color, almost outdoing the rouge already on her cheeks, told him that the days were making her weaker in her will to stay away from him. He smiled.
"I have had many girls brought here," he said. "Some of them were stubborn. After the potion was given them, they seemed to see certain desirable qualities in me that might have first escaped their eyes. You will be no different than the others."
She took a sudden step closer to him.
"Why do you torture me like this?"
The King's teeth gleamed in a sudden smile.
"It is torture, isn't it? Let me see. You have been forced to swallow the potion each sun for seven suns. You are growing very lonely, aren't you, Laura?"
The girl's head bent in shame.
"I—am lonely."
The smile softened.
"The others are lonely, also," he said craftily. "They come to me and we talk, and seek comfort in each other's voices. Do you hate me now, Laura?"
Her face was flushed. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Stron, perspiration standing out on his face, longed to rush into the room and send his knife deeply into the King's heart. He remembered Fanton's words, and waited.
The girl moved toward Nova XX hesitatingly. She was fighting against the clear heady strength of the drug that worked upon her emotions and destroyed her mind. She seated herself timidly beside him.
"I did hate you once," she said, as though wondering how she had been able to do so. "I'm—afraid of you."
He placed one hand on her shoulder and she shuddered under the touch. She did not try to pull away.
"You are more beautiful than all the rest," he told her.
She swayed slowly toward him and stiffened. Her eyes regarded him gravely.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it is true," he told her. "You have such charms as queens possess. I feel almost awed in your presence."
At that moment, the spell of the drug was deepest. He had used every word, every moment, with all the skill he possessed. Suddenly he swept her against him and pressed eager, hard lips to hers. Her body flexed and pressed backward. Her arms sought his neck.
Deep within the girl, she fought to break the spell that made her seek his caress. At last the fight had been won and she was able, for at least another few hours, to remember what a horrible thing she was doing.
Her hand came upward suddenly and her finger nails slashed at his face. The King jumped away from her, and swore loudly. His cheek carried the deep, bleeding marks of her nails. "You little fool!"
She sprang away from him, her hands held to her cheeks, eyes wide with awakened fear.
He sprang to his feet and went toward her slowly, one hand held to the brand she had placed on his face. His fingers were red with blood.
"I'll kill you for that."
STRON sprang through the door. He saw Laura look straight at
him and heard her scream. King Nova XX turned and his lips
opened. The shout of warning never came from them. Stron's arm
swept out and the thick handle of the knife hit him across the
chin. The King went down, his mouth bleeding, staring with silent
fear at the man above him.
Laura was in Stron's arms, her sobs breaking the silence of the chamber.
"Stron—oh, Stron. I couldn't—help..."
He pressed his hand to her shoulder and held her face close to his chest.
"I know," he whispered. "I heard what you said. You couldn't fight them all."
She drew away from him, eyes moist, her face streaked with tears.
"They locked me in my room. They forced me to take a drug that changed my brain to a useless, pampered thing. I forgot everything but love and passion. Stron, I almost forgot you. He—he is clever, Stron. He knew how long I could fight against him, and tonight, I almost..."
He pressed his strong fingers against her lips.
"You are Karr's daughter," he said. "You have the courage to forget what has happened, and help me escape from this place with you."
The tears were gone. The faith in him was there. She was ready to do his bidding.
"Stron, I—I was lonely, but now I know—it was for you."
Her lips were an inch from his. Her eyes were clear and sure of themselves.
He kissed her, not gently this time. Not a brother's kiss. Her arms sought his waist and held him. His lips were desperate and hard, seeking to find what lay in the heart of this girl. Her own mouth against his told him. Slowly, reluctantly he drew away.
"Find a way of securing the door," he said. "We have no more time to stay here."
She backed away from him, wonder in her eyes. Wonder—and shame.
"Stron—It wasn't the love potion that made me kiss you like that."
He cursed silently. He knew what she meant. Brother—and sister. Love that would have made even Karr ashamed of him.
"Better forget it," he said, and his voice was brutal. "I'm a fool. Lock the door before we die here in this rat's trap."
He broke the spell. She rushed to the door. While she made it secure, Stron tore the bed-cover into strips, tied the King tightly and placed a heavy gag in his mouth. As she watched him, he found the elf and pushed it downward swiftly. As though by clock-work the huge bed started moving away from the wall. The King's eyes were open. He lay still on the floor, watching the bed swing out to reveal a dark, square hole in the wall behind it.
Stron said:
"Wait for me, Laura. If you hear anyone coming, call me."
As though hypnotized, she nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.
He went through the dark entrance and felt his way slowly down a flight of steps. Cold, stale air came up from below. The smell of the tomb filled his nostrils.
He reached the level stones that told him he was at the bottom. Feeling his way along the wall, his hands touched a soft article. Exploring it with his hands, he guessed it was a torn, worn couch, perhaps the resting place of the first Nova who came here to ponder.
He cursed, for there was no light.
"The chest is In the center of the room," Fanton had told him. "There is a stone altar there, upon which It rests."
HE COULD see nothing In the inky blackness. Moving toward what
he guessed would be the center of the dark crypt, his knee struck
something hard and he fell forward. His hands, grasping for some
support, closed over a small, carved box-like object. He
explored the surface of the thing with his finger-tips and was
satisfied.
It was heavy and he carried it carefully, seeking the stairs that led upward. A faint shaft of light came down now, to lead him forward—upward, to the entrance to the crypt.
In the room, Laura waited and saw him come. She nodded, signaling him that they were still safe. Stron looked at the thing in his hands. It was about eighteen inches long and half as wide and thick. The chest was finely wrought of pure, yellow gold. He could not locate the cleverly concealed lid, for the edges were hidden under carefully carved ferns and tall, column-like reproductions of the palace supporting pillars.
"Open the door," he told Laura quietly. "Throw a robe about you. Choose a dark one, so that we will not be seen. Go to the court beyond the hall and make sure that there is no one there. Then come for me."
Swiftly, she jerked a dark blue cover from the bed and wrapped it over the shimmering loveliness of her costume. She was out of the door and gone as silently as a shadow. With the chest still held tightly against him, Stron looked down at the silent, flushed king.
"The great Nova XX," he said through clenched teeth. "You owe your life to a promise I made. I hope I live until the promise can be forgotten and I can slash your sneering face to ribbons. Go look for the secret of the cell beneath the room. It will do you no good."
Laura was in the doorway, motioning for him to come. He spat calmly in the King's face.
"A slight token for what you tried to do to my sister," he said.
In the court-yard, he placed the chest carefully on the earth and spoke to the girl.
"Are you strong enough to climb the rope?"
For an answer, she grasped it between both hands and went up into the darkness above him. A great pride throbbed in Stron's heart. This was still the girl who had fought her way across the Yomars. Still Karr's daughter, strong and ready to fight once more.
When the movement of the rope told him she was at the top, he tied the chest carefully, wrapping all the cord he could spare around the middle of it. Hand over hand, his legs swinging free, he reached the roof and crouched there. Laura's breath was warm against his cheek. Her hand touched his arm and stayed there.
He started to pull the burden up, hand over hand. Once he thought he was going to lose it, for the chest swung too far and hit the wall. He let it stay there until all the sway was gone from the rope. Then, slowly, he tried again. It came over the top and thudded gently on the roof.
"A friend waits below the wall," he said softly. "Follow me at a distance. If anything happens, hide as quickly as you can. Get to the wall and jump. He will help you."
HE PUT the chest under his arm, and leaving the rope where it
hung, moved toward the spot where he had left the body of the
guard. Laura remained behind him, and he lost her in the black
well of night.
Suddenly he stopped short, not twenty feet from the place he had first occupied on the palace wall. Voices, soft and full of anger, came from ahead of him. He searched the darkness, and saw them, two Honor Guards bent over the corpse he had left behind.
Before he could make any definite plan, one of them stood up and placed a small object to his lips. A high-pitched, silvery whistle sounded. From far away, the answer came. Then a trumpet sounded beyond the harem quarters. The palace had been warned. Without caution, Stron dashed forward. The chest was in his arms because he could not risk leaving it behind now. As he ran, he called:
"Laura. Run for the wall. They won't give us much time."
He looked back, seeing the girl's dark shadow as it moved like the wind away at another angle.
He hit the two amazed guards with the power of an enraged beast, the knife in his free hand, slashing and gouging away through the wall of human flesh. One of them went down at once, but Stron did not pause to attack the other. He scanned the length of dark stone and saw Laura leap outward toward freedom. That was all he wanted to know. He turned and sent the blade spinning through the air at the oncoming Honor Guard. The blade struck with a thud, and the man fell, tangling with his dead companion.
"Draco!"
A shadow moved from the side of the tree below and Draco's voice came up to him.
"Stron—I was worried. In a minute, I would have come after you."
Stron didn't wait to reassure him.
"Catch the chest," he said, and held It out away from the wall so that it would fall free.
"Ready," Draco said.
The box fell, faint light rippling across its surface, and landed In Draco's outstretched arms. Stron leaped after it.
"Find Fanton quickly," he said. "The alarm is sounded. I will take care of myself."
Draco was gone.
Stron raced along the wall toward the place he had seen Laura jump. He almost knocked her over in the darkness. A moment later, she was cradled in his arms and he was running through the dark streets, toward the tunnels, and the cave room where Fanton would be waiting.
KING NOVA XX sat on his throne once more, self-control
returned, his dark, searching eyes on the small, gray haired man
who had dared come alone to speak to him.
"Fanton," Nova XX said, "What Is to prevent me killing you, now that you are In my power?"
There was something magnificent about Fanton's courage. His garb was poor, yet every line of his body and face was the mark of a gentleman and soldier.
"You could easily murder me, Nova," he said.
Nova XX nodded, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"But you think I won't, is that correct?"
Fanton did not smile, but his eyes were twinkling.
"I asked for a truce, before I came here. Every person in Novark knows that you granted that truce. If I do not leave the palace alive, and within the hour, every person in the city will know that you betrayed that promise. I don't think even you dare to keep on acting against the will of the people."
Quick anger flitted across Nova XX's face. He leaned forward, one hand resting on his knee.
"What do you want? Has your visit something to do with the gold chest you had stolen from the palace?"
Fanton's expression betrayed nothing. Let the King guess.
"I have come to offer you an opportunity to get rid of me and my men, once and for all. Nova XX, King of all Mars, can rid himself of his enemies by granting one simple request."
The King sneered.
"A splendid offer, I'm sure. Ill rid myself of you in a few years, as matters stand. Perhaps sooner. Why should I fear a few tunnel rats who cannot fight back, but must run and hide under the city?"
Fanton's eyes were sudden flashing fire.
"Because," he said coolly, "our power Is increasing. Some day we will have open revolt. You know that is true, whether you admit It or not. Now I give you a chance to grant my request, and play your trump card against me."
The King swore at him.
"What is this crazy scheme you have in mind. I will listen, if It pleases me to hear the joke you tell."
Fanton came closer to the throne. His voice was shaking with emotion.
"I have discovered a weapon that will make you fall to your knees and ask for mercy. I will not use it—yet."
Nova XX laughed aloud.
"It is a Joke," he said. "Go on."
Fanton's face was flushed. Usually calm, he spoke hurriedly, almost as though he feared that his mission might fail.
"Issue a proclamation to the people. Tell them that Nova XX and his guards, their arms discarded, will meet Fanton and his men in the royal courtyard, for the purpose of discussing a truce. Promise, by your word, that the men of Fanton will not be harmed during this meeting. Then, give me the opportunity to show you the weapon I have in my possession. All the people of Novark can come. Everyone will be protected from the weapons of your guards during our discussion, and there will be no violence."
In spite of himself, Nova XX was curious. What had Fanton unearthed that made him as brave as this?
"I will make the arrangement on one condition," he said. "If you do not impress me with this great weapon of yours, I will give you until the appointed hour to get out of the palace yard. Then Til turn all the weapons in my arsenal upon you and your followers. I'll blow the tunnels out of the earth, even though it destroys Novark in the process. I'll blast the last bit of resistance from you. Do you dare go on with your truce, in the face of my temper?"
"If we are safe, so long as we stand with you and if we are given a short period to leave afterwards. We will take our chances."
The King was no longer sneering. Not even a trace of a smile lighted his stern face.
"It's a promise," he said. "You'll be given only long enough to get out of the courtyard, before my Honor Guards are upon you with every war machine I possess."
Fanton's face was pale. Courage did not fail him. It was all or nothing now.
"It's a bargain," he said quietly. "The proclamation must be posted where every person in Novark can read it and vouch for the royal seal."
Without another word, he turned and left the throne room. His old shoulders were erect and his step was firm.
THE proclamation, prepared with the royal seal, was posted on
every street in the city of Novark. Men and women read it, and
gathered in groups to talk in hushed voices. Fanton at last had
decided to act, and most of them were glad. Either the King would
destroy Fanton, or Novark would have a chance at last to fight
for freedom.
### Quote
"Fanton and his outlawed tribe will be given the freedom of entering the royal courtyard on the day of the seventh sun of the present time period. Fanton will meet and talk with King Nova XX, Son of the Sacred House of Nova. He will present a weapon, 'so deadly that it will cause Nova XX to fall to his knees and beg for mercy.'
"Fanton's challenge has been accepted by the Sacred King. If at the end of the period of truce, Fanton has not caused the sacred monarch to tremble in his boots, he will leave the palace courtyard at once. At the moment he leaves, the Honor Guards of the House of Nova, will destroy Fanton and his men in the streets of Novark.
"This is according to an agreement made between the Sacred King Nova XX and the man, Fanton.
"The Royal Seal of Nova, affixed by His Sacred Majesty King Nova XX."
This was the proclamation, and both Fanton and Nova XX were
well satisfied, each in his own way.
"NOVA XX thinks he is safe in promising this," Draco said sharply. "If you fail, Fanton, we'll be wiped out in the streets. We'll never have a chance."
Three men and a slightly built girl, wrapped in a blue robe, sat in the tiny stone chamber. Fanton's eyes regarded Draco without fear.
"Ten thousand followers place complete faith in me," he said. "I would not betray them lightly. I hesitated to do this, but I have never been more sure that I am doing the right thing."
He looked at Stron.
"Without your help, we could never have acted as we have. My hopes were placed in you and I will continue to rely upon the man whom Karr sent to me."
"But the weapon," Draco persisted. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm ready to die helping you. What chance have we, with our one small chest, against the thousand huge weapons of war gathered up by Nova XX?"
Fanton shook his head.
"Tomorrow, you will know. I hope I am right. I feel sure that I am. I can say no more now."
He seemed very tired. They wondered if this one man, fighting against the most modern war machine among the planets, could win. The odds were all against him.
THE gates of the courtyard were open. A huge, marble throne
had been placed on a high platform in the center of the open
yard. A brightly colored cloth was hung over the throne so that
Nova XX could sit on the platform away from the rays of the
sun.
The city had come to life. Thousands of peasants came during the night, trekking down from the Yomars, following the straight, arrow-like canals from the lush farm country.
The Honor Guards had stacked their electro-swords neatly along the stone stairs that led into the palace itself. Fire-cannon pushed their ugly snouts from the stone walls that surrounded the square.
The peasants still streamed into the yard, and filled the streets beyond the wall. They knew that their very power of numbers would make them safe. In a mob, there is courage. In a few unarmed men, courage can live but it does not last when faced with death.
Nova XX was already seated and waiting when Fanton came through the mob and waited for his companions to climb to the platform ahead of him. Nova with beady, suspicious eyes, recognized Draco carrying the golden chest carefully In his arms. Then, they stood around him in a half circle, the girl Laura who had torn the flesh from his face, and the man Stron, who had made him a laughing stock, both in the arena, and the day he had tied and gagged the King in his own bed-chamber. Nova XX looked them all over slowly and smiled at Fanton. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
The throng below the platform closed in. The tops of the buildings near the outer wall were covered with humanity. Not another man or woman could force themselves into the place.
"A fine group of thieves you have brought to me," Nova XX said harshly. "It will be a pleasure to deal with them each personally."
His eyes caressed Laura's, but she did not look away. Such scorn and hatred he had never seen in a woman's eyes before. He looked quickly at Fan-ton, escaping her gaze.
"We have wasted enough time," he shouted. "This truce has been a foolish one, for it can end only in death for you. Say what you have to say, and frighten me out of my wits if you can, but do it soon. The sun is uncomfortable and I need rest."
Fanton turned and ignoring Nova XX, addressed the crowd who looked up at him from the courtyard. He raised his voice so that it carried clearly beyond the walls.
"People of Novark, I have been branded a weakling and a fool. I am an outlaw in the eyes of the King, and he hopes to destroy me and my men before this day ends."
He paused, and then went on:
"I have brought a weapon here that will not only frighten King Nova XX, but put him in a position that will leave all the people in Mars free to become their own masters again."
A great cheer went up. A cheer long suppressed but inspired now by a confident leader.
"What does he think he's doing," Draco said in a whisper to Stron. "He cannot save us, not with this box."
Stron did not answer. He had heard Fanton refer to him.
"Karr, the giant of the canal country, sent a boy to me. When he came, I knew that the time had come to overthrow our tyrant king."
Nova XX leaped to his feet. Fanton turned and said:
"Remember, Nova, I come under a truce. Surely my words cannot make a man of your power, forget his promise to an entire people."
Nova XX sank back, his eyes as hard as black stone, fists clenched.
"During the best years of my life," Fanton shouted, "I lived in the Sacred Palace of Nova, and labored as Court Physician to the kings and queens of the Sacred family. You know how our present King came to power, but first, I will show you the weapon I brought here, which will overthrow him."
Draco came forward with the chest and Fanton took it from him. He searched for a tiny golden key, hidden in his tunic. While everyone gaped at him, he unlocked the chest and lifted the lid.
A loud groan came from the throng. On the platform, Nova XX came to his feet, a puzzled grin on his face. Draco swore aloud.
"He has gone crazy," he said.
CUSHIONED on the white lining of the chest, were the bones and
tiny clothes of a baby.
Fanton's voice rose to quiet the disappointed crowd.
"Many years ago, a good king and his queen lived here. A child was born to them. It was a girl child, and she died a few hours after her birth. The King knew his subjects were waiting for a boy child, to proclaim it their prince and next king.
"I was the Physician who attended the birth. By the King's orders, I hurried to the House of Lost Children and brought a strongly built, clean-limbed child to take the place of the dead princess. In doing so, I committed a horrible crime against my people. The peasant baby, shown to the people as the next King Nova, is now Nova XX, your leader. He is not of Nova blood. His life was created along the canals, and his flesh came from flesh of the canal people."
King Nova XX sprang to his feet, hands clutched above his head. Over the rising shouts of the mob, he made his voice heard.
"Captain of the Guards. Cut them down. They lie. They lie. Shoot every last ruffian who came here."
Guards, standing close to the platform, stared about them with frightened eyes. Should they obey? If they used their weapons now, with the truce in power, what would happen to them? They were strong, yet they could not brave the entire force of a country's people. They hesitated, and Fanton was once more reaching the mob with his voice.
"The tiny body in the casket has the bone structure of the Sacred Nova family. On your throne sits a man who sweats and cries out in rage, because he is not even a son of a king. He is a peasant of low stock who can rule only with hatred and blood."
"Mars must have a King. He was a bad choice."
He drew from the casket a folded parchment scroll. He unrolled it and read:
"I, Fanton, acting in the orders of the King of Mars, have placed this body of the Queen's Princess in a golden casket and hidden it below the palace walls. A peasant child, by the King's orders, and chosen from good stock, has been accepted by the King and Queen in the place of the dead child. If I am ever in a position where my own life is in danger because of this deed, I have been given permission to show this paper and the signature of Nova, together with this seal, which will prove that I am not personally to blame, but have acted by his will and judgment."
Fanton looked up.
"This scroll is affixed with the Sacred signature and seal of the Nova family," he cried.
The King was rushing toward Fan-ton and before he could be stopped, had grasped the casket in both hands and lifted it above his head.
Stron reached him in time to keep the tiny body in the golden chest from being dashed to the ground. Nova XX stood there without moving a muscle. His face wore a mask of hatred and fear. Stron's arms gripped him, twisting his arms behind his back.
"It's a lie," Nova cried. "Prove that these tales are true. Prove that an outlaw, hidden in the tunnels of Novark, has been able to keep this secret for so long, and now dares face your Sacred King with the story. I'll have him destroyed, and the rest of you with him!"
THE crowd was hushed instantly.
An undercurrent of fear still ran far below the surface. A voice said:
"Your proof, Fanton? Proof, and we will stand behind you!"
Fanton smiled. It was a hard smile now.
"I never wanted to expose Nova XX," he said. "If he had been a good king, I would never have come forward. I did not want to tell the truth about what happened. Something happened that made me remember what I owed to others. Karr died, and sent his son, Stron, to me. Karr and I had sworn many years ago not to betray what we knew. Karr, by sending Stron to me, sent the message that it was time to act."
No one was more bewildered than Stron, now. His arms still gripping the King in steel embrace, he hung on Fanton's every word.
"Ten years after Nova XX became Prince in the palace, another boy was born. Already, Nova XX had power among his own kind. If he learned of a brother in the palace, he would have had him murdered at once.
"The King was beginning to have doubts about Nova XX, and his ability to be a good son. The King told me to spirit the newborn son away and hide him with a friend, until he could make a decision."
Fanton looked scornfully at Nova XX.
"Unfortunately, the King was right. Before he and the Queen could escape the palace, Nova XX, then only a boy, hired a band of robbers to murder his father and mother. He took the throne, and amid false tears, told the people that he would search for and murder every last assassin. This is recorded history, and no one can deny it. Further, no murderer was ever caught or punished."
Cries of approval came from all directions. Memories of the incident were still fresh.
"Hear me out," Fanton shouted. "Perhaps you can guess. Karr was the friend to whom I took the baby prince. He lived with Karr and when I left the palace at Nova XX's orders, I could no longer betray what had happened. If Nova XX had suspected, he would have had the boy murdered before the sun Went down. When Karr sent the grown man to me, I knew that Karr was saying: 'The Prince has grown now, and will fight his own battles.'
"It was only then that I had the courage to do the thing I should have done long ago."
"The proof," Nova XX screamed. "It's all a story. The proof!"
He struggled to free himself, but the stunned Stron held him tighter than ever.
"You have proof, Fanton?" the man in the crowd shouted.
Fanton's smile softened.
"You should be able to guess," he said. "Make Nova XX submit to the micro-plaz test. The machine will show the bone structure of the King, of Stron, and of the infant in the casket. The bone structure of every Nova who ever ruled Mars, is entirely different than our own. Will that be proof?"
They knew that Fanton had won. The false king knew it also. He raged and fought to release himself. His own guards did not move to help him. The mob swept forward and, like a tidal wave, over the platform. Men picked Stron up and held him above their shoulders. Some of them grasped the false king and a shout went up from the crowd.
"Put the great Nova XX before the micro-plaz. Show him up for the peasant and fool that he is."
The place was packed now with happy, celebrating people.
Nova XX broke loose and started to fight his way through the crowd. He slipped a small, jewelled dagger from beneath his robe and ran toward Fan-ton. Draco, a cunning grin on his face, closed in. The king tried to push him away but Draco slammed a great fist into his face and sent him down, blood gushing from his nose. Draco reached down and threw him over his shoulder like a limp sack.
"Make way," he cried out. "We'll put the peasant to the micro-plaz test and satisfy the justice that he always scorned."
The mob was moving now. It was gathering speed, and carried along, on the shoulders above it, were Stron, bewildered, overcome with emotion, the little old man Fanton, with tears in his eyes, and the girl who had fought a false king, and won her battle.
The two of them were close, although they could not reach each other as the throng carried them down the streets, toward the Novark laboratories. The looks that flashed between them, and the message in their eyes, was not the love felt between brother and sister.
THE night was very dark, and far away beyond the crest of the
Yomar Range, twin moons came up and were shining peacefully on
the deserted hut of Karr, the shepherd.
In the palace of Nova, Stron sat alone thinking of Karr, and his memories made him lonely. It was very strange, this being made a Sacred King over a great planet, and he had only lived in pomp and splendor for a few hours.
He stared dreamily at the warm fire that burned in metal braziers, making the small chamber pleasant. This was his private room, where he could sit alone and ponder over the problems that had soon to be faced. A knock sounded at the door and he arose, opening it, to find Laura smiling at him.
"It's odd," he told her, as she came into the room. "I can't make myself call you Queen. Have you rested and eaten?"
The girl nodded. She came to him and sat down on the huge lounge, putting her head against his shoulder.
"Stron, are you lonely for the canals, the adventure of the Yomars. For Karr?"
Stron didn't answer for a long time. It was true that he hadn't been content in the palace, but it was all new and strange to him.
"Yes," he admitted. "But you see, Karr planned it this way. Many times I was ashamed, because I felt strange emotions toward you. I was afraid of myself. Karr made me promise to stay near you always."
The room seemed more pleasant with her here. It was late and he had not eaten. Laura had sat in the great dining room with Draco and Fanton, and Stron for a short time, felt as though he was alone in the strange place, without plans, without the will to do the thing he had to do.
"Karr trained us for this destiny," he said. "He was watching over us even through the battle. He knew that we would cease being brother and sister. Knew that we would be King and Queen. That's why I stayed here alone tonight, Laura. For a while, I felt as though it was too much. As though, even with your help, and Fanton and Draco with me, I couldn't rule an entire planet and do it as I should."
Her eyes rose and met his.
"You are convinced that this is the place where you belong? That we can help you, and make you realize that being a King is just being honest with yourself and your people?"
He nodded and smiled.
"The spell is past," he said. "I feel a lot better now."
Laura put both arms around him and drew him close to her.
"Fanton and Draco have been teasing me," she said with a mocking pout. "They are cruel."
Stron looked startled, and then saw the twinkle in her eyes.
"What have those two been up to?"
Laura buried her face in his shoulder.
"They've been talking for the past hour about the future of the Sacred Family. They seem very worried over you. Why didn't you come to dinner with your new wife? Why did you look so somber? Was love dead already?"
Stron chuckled.
"So a king cannot sulk in his room."
Laura was very quiet. Then she said.
"Draco and Fanton said things were coming to a pretty pass when we have been married for three long days, and no news has been given to them concerning an heir to the throne."
Stron was shocked.
"And what did you say?"
Laura's voice, buried deep against his chest, was very timid.
"I blushed and ran away from them. I came here."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with admiration and love.
"Stron," she said softly. "Don't ever be lonely, not with me near you."
Stron said nothing. He couldn't with his lips pressed to hers...
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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