Mad Empress of Callisto

Chapter 17 An Unexpected Meeting

It was not so much a matter of attempting to escape, as it was of taking advantage of the occasion. The sudden and unexpected arrival of the flying ship, which hovered above us like some immense and mysterious apparition conjured out of thin air at the whim of a playful magician, threw the orderly Soraban caravan into whirling chaos.

It is quite possible that the news of the destruction of the corsair fleet and of the overthrow of the City in the Clouds had not yet reached the rather remote and secluded seacoast cities of the red men. There is little intercourse between the several city-states of Thanator, and they are wary and suspicious of each other, when not actually at war. And, as well, hundreds of leagues of savage jungle or untamed wilderness stretch between them, rendering travel hazardous and infrequent.

At any rate, the Sorabans reacted as to the presence of a powerful and ferocious enemy. The heavy, lumbering glymphs waddled about squealing in panic, toppling the wagons and smashing the wains to splintering ruin as they stampeded. The restive, unruly thaptors broke free and fled in every direction. In a trice, the placid and well-ordered procession was a milling tangle of shrieking bird-horses, plunging and rearing, dislodging their riders and snapping with sharp wicked beaks at those who strove to calm them. Bales, barrels, and bundles went toppling to be trampled in the dirt underfoot as guards dodged the beaks of the panic-stricken thaptors and raced to block the escape of the rhinocerine glymphs.

In such confusion-made doubly chaotic by the darkness and the many-colored blur of moonlight―escaping was easier than I could have asked. Our wagon came to an abrupt halt when the glymph hauling it started at the shadow of the ornithopter and backed into the traces, crushing the footboard. Our driver, Laalmurak, was pitched headlong from his perch and must have flung himself into a ditch, thinking the Sky Pirates were upon him, for we saw no more of him, nor did he interfere with our break.

Ergon and I sprang over the rearboard of the carriage and jumped down to the ground. The thaptors we had ridden out of the Yathoon encampment were tethered to the rearboard of the carriage, and, although they bucked and reared squealing, and lunged to snap at us, Ergon snatched up the little knobbed club that hung at the side of their saddles, and bludgeoned them into dazed submission.

Fortunately, the Lord Shaphur had seen no reason to unsaddle our mounts, which would have required finding sufficient space in one or another of the heavily-laden wains wherein to store the saddle gear, hence the beasts were ready for riding.

While Ergon, growling sulphurous oaths and whacking lustily at the heads of the brutes with the little club, held the bird-horses under control, I assisted Darloona and Zamara to dismount from the carriage. Little Glypto, still limping and whimpering from the effects of what he described as a cruel and merciless beating at the hands of Shaphur’s brutal guards, climbed down painfully.

Within just a few minutes we were in the saddle and ready to go. Ergon slashed through the tethers with his dirk and we guided the beasts off the road and across the plains in the general direction of the Jalathadar, which had drifted slowly by overhead, and was engaged in wheeling about in a slow and stately maneuver, prior to making another pass over the length of the caravan whose progress its appearance had so precipitously disrupted.

These things we accomplished―miraculously―under the very noses of the red men of Soraba, not one of whom took the slightest notice of us in the act. They were busy chasing their runaway steeds or attempting to round up the lumbering glymphs. If any of them had sufficient leisure to spare us a glance, he likely saw Ergon―a bald-headed, red-skinned Perushtarian―and not the rest of us. For Ergon sat tall and erect, taking a prominent position for that very reason, while the rest of us bent low in the saddle and kept our faces hidden as best we could. But, so complete was the milling confusion into which the procession had degenerated, that I doubt we were noticed at all.

Thus, by a happy accident which might well prove our salvation, we bade the Lord Shaphur a hasty adieu, and left the hospitality of Soraba behind us.

We headed out into the moonlit plains at a right angle to the road the caravan had been following, which was only a beaten track through the grasslands of northern Haratha, and not a paven way.

If the caravan had been headed in a northerly direction, as was our surmise, then our route was due west. We were riding, then, more or less in the general direction of Shondakor, although of course the Golden City of the Ku Thad lay many korads distant. With luck still on our side, as we assumed, it seemed likely we should not have to traverse the leagues of meadowland bestride our steeds, but should ride, or rather fly, in comfort and safety.

But that still remained to be seen.

The problem was, quite simply, one of finding a way to attract the attention of our friends aboard the Jalathadar.

The mighty galleon of the skies was slowly cruising at about thrice the speed of a racing thaptor, and now rode at a modest elevation of about eighty feet aloft. As the great airship swung about for another leisurely pass over the caravan, many eyes probed through the moonlit darkness from above, narrowly surveying the Perushtarian caravan. I have no doubt our friends aloft were pausing to investigate the peculiar circumstance of finding a merchant caravan in this part of the country where, as I have intimated earlier in this narrative, there is little reason for any caravan to be.

Our only hope of rescue, then, lay in somehow catching the eye of one of the alert watchers from above.

But how?

The elusive moonlight was brilliant but confusing to the sight, for several of the many moons of giant Jupiter were aloft―and the web of light and shadow they cast was tricky to the eye. The shifting moonbeams―lime green, silvery azure, dim red, pale golden―made it curiously difficult to perceive details or to see colors.

Of course, this is usually the case on virtually any world at night, or, at least, on any world of my experience. On Earth I have noticed that it is nearly impossible to make out any colors even by the light of a full moon, the only exception to this rule being scarlet or crimson, which take on a darkly purple tinge by the gray-silver luminance of Earth’s only satellite.

This being so, we thought it likely we might hope to attract the attention of our friends aloft by doing something distinctly curious and odd.

So we rode out boldly into the plains, directly away from the caravan, keeping well together in a clump for added visibility, and making not the slightest attempt to conceal our flight. The caravan guards, we knew, were still too busy rounding up their beasts and organizing a hasty defense for the expected battle against the aerial corsairs (as they doubtless suspected our craft to be one of the flying buccaneers of Zanadar), to bother about us, or even to have noticed as yet that we were missing. Hence our failure to attempt to conceal our flight from the caravan was not likely to bring about immediate recapture or even pursuit by the Perushtarian warriors.

It was, however, very likely to catch the eye of someone aboard the Jalathadar, and to arouse his curiosity. He would understand the Sorabans mistook his ship for a Zanadarian corsair; but he would naturally expect the members of the caravan to seek their security in numbers, rather than to go racing off across the plains as we were doing.

Such, at least, was our estimate. And such, indeed, was our only hope at present.

As we rode out of direct view of the caravan, I sat straighter in the saddle and held my head high. My yellow hair, which is of a coloration utterly unique among the many nations of the jungle Moon, has saved my life on more than one occasion. And if any detail of our appearance were likely to attract the attention of our comrades aloft, it would be the bright, straw-yellow locks bequeathed me by my Danish mother.

Or so I hoped …

Once we were out of sight of the confused mass of roiling men and beasts and overturned wagons that had been the merchant caravan of Lord Shaphur, we boldly strove to call attention to ourselves.

As we rode, we shouted and windmilled our arms, staring up as the galleon cruised by, silent as a ghost, enormous as a cloud, directly above us

And halted!

Someone above had seen us; someone, perhaps, had recognized us. Or had. they?

A moment later rope ladders came tumbling over the side and we raised a ragged cheer. Swiftly we dismounted, Ergon and I tumbling out of the saddle, with Darloona and Zamara and little Glypto not far behind.

The vessel hung directly above us, blotting out the moons: a vast, fantastic winged shape of blackness. Ergon sprang up and seized the lower rung of the nearer ladder, then reached down to give a hand to one of the women. I leaped into the air to catch the bottom rung of another ladder, and gave poor stiff and sore Glypto a hand.

Then we clambered up the swaying ladders slowly, hand over hand. Below us the thaptors, delighted at the unexpected prospect of freedom, cantered blithely off across the grasslands, anxious to get away from their proximity to the hovering aerial monster. I wished I had taken the time to remove their bridles, reins, and saddles, so they could enjoy their newfound freedom unencumbered by the accouterments of enforced domesticity, but the rescue of my Princess was of uttermost importance in my mind, and doubtless, with their sharp saw-toothed beaks, the unruly gryphon-like creatures would manage to free themselves of the straps and saddles before long.

Forgetting the thaptors, I grinned at the prospect of a safe and comfortable flight back to Shondakor in style. A bit of luck had come our way at last, I thought to myself.

Above me I could see Ergon bestraddling the rail, and heard him cry out as he gained the deck. The wind of this height snatched his words away so that I was unable to hear what it was he had called out. Undoubtedly, he had hailed with delight one of our dear friends on the deck―Koja or Valkar or that little gamecock, Lukor.

Then Darloona climbed over the rail, helped by one from the deck whose face I could not make out, as he was only a black silhouette against the moons. She too voiced a sharp cry of delight, I assumed, before vanishing from my sight.

Below me little Glypto clung dizzily to the slats of the rope ladder, squealing in terror at the height, shrieking as the ladder swayed to and fro in the wind of the great jointed vans that beat up and down in slow booming strokes, maintaining the vessel’s height.

I grinned at his panicky distress. Soon enough the wizened little thief would be wined and dined in the captain’s salon, and when we returned to the Golden City tomorrow, Darloona and I would find the means of repaying the little fellow’s adventures on our behalf with a cozy sinecure. True, the little man had been an unwilling accomplice in our escape, but we should make all his perils and sufferings up to him, I was sure. He would doubtless feel well repayed for his discomforts and dangers by being given a commission as a tax collector!

Grinning at the thought, I climbed the last few yards and reached up, took hold of the rail, and started to haul myself up.

A dark shape blotted out the moons above me as it stood at the rail.

I looked up smiling … and felt the world fall apart under me.

For I looked into the bland, smiling face of Ang Chan.

Chapter 18 The Secret of Zamara

The evil, slitted eyes of the yellow dwarf gleamed into mine as I clung to the rail, frozen with shock and utter astonishment. He smiled benignly at my expression; the smile, however, did not extend as far as his eyes, which remained cold, wise, and cunning.

So complete was the amazement which gripped me that for a moment I was incapable of thought or action. I was possessed with a feeling of horror, which numbed my brain and paralyzed my limbs. How came the yellow devil aboard the Jalathadar―had the Tharkolians somehow tricked or overpowered or captured the galleon of the skies? And if so, what had become of our friends who must have been aboard the craft at the time of its seizure? Gallant Lukor and loyal Koja and bold Valkar and the others would surely have resisted the boarding party with all the valor and courage they possessed. Were they themselves captives of the yellow fiend from mystic Kuur? Were they perhaps―slain?

While these frightening conjectures whirled through my dizzy head, burly arms seized me and dragged me over the rail to stand me on the deck of the Jalathadar. The midship deck swarmed with the brawny, truculent warriors of Tharkol; nowhere could I see Shondakorian captives. Across from me, held helpless in the grip of many hands, Ergon glowered wrathfully, and Darloona cast me a beseeching glance, white-faced, from fear-haunted eyes. My comrades had been seized and gagged as they reached the deck rail, and I now realized that their cries had been of astonishment and horror, not of delight, as I had at first assumed.

The Tharkolian warriors trussed my hands securely behind my back, relieved me of my dagger, which I still wore concealed in the breast of my tunic, and sent me stumbling across the swaying deck to stand with my friends.

The irony was heartbreaking: an instant before we had stood on the brink of freedom. And now we were again thrust into the shackles of captivity.

Zamara alone stood free and unbound. She bestrode the deck like a conqueress, black locks flying on the winds, her lovely face arrogant and proud, flushed with triumph, laughing at our discomfiture. At last the tables were turned, and she was the victor again, the captress, and we were once again the captives, subject to her lightest whim.

But how had this amazing reversal of events come about―and how could the Tharkolians possibly have captured the Jalathadar? The great ornithopter could not land, must remain ever aloft. How then could it possibly have been boarded and taken? Surely, not through such flimsy and capricious a device as the balloons whereby we had been first captured and had later effected our escape from Tharkol?

Ang Chan greeted his empress effusively.

“How fortunate, Royal Lady, that the Prince of Shondakor chanced to bare his head to the rays of the many moons! Even the shifting hues of the moonlight could not conceal from our eyes the unlikely yellow of his hirsute adornment!”

She laughed recklessly.

“And how fortunate, Ang Chan, that the Arkonna reached its long-delayed completion in time to rescue your Empress from the clutches of our enemies. You are to be congratulated!”

He bowed obsequiously. “It was a matter of prime importance, which I pressed with all urgency. Luckily the vessel was so nearly finished that it was only a question of days … .”

These cryptic words made no impression on my dazed mind. Arkonna is the Thanatorian word for “high king” or “emperor” with a feminine ending: it meant, then, “empress.” But what did these puzzling remarks mean? Had the captors of the Jalathadar rechristened the vessel already?

While these questions revolved through my brain I was so positioned by those who held me that I faced the prow of the vessel. Within my sight was the door which led down to the private quarters of the captain. The door was familiar to me, of course, for I had passed through it many times. But now, gazing at it unthinkingly, it came to. my attention that something was strangely wrong with its appearance. Just what it was that seemed wrong I could not at first identify.

And then it came to me. The blazon painted on the panel of the door was not what it should have been!

The royal blazon of Shondakor, you see, consists of a shield of gold charged with a winged crown above crossed swords. After we had seized the vessel many months ago, we had painted out the blazon of its original Zanadarian corsair captain, replacing it with the royal emblem of the Golden City.

But the emblem was different, now: it was a crimson field which bore eight black crowns, a blazon which was unfamiliar to me. Then it came to me where I had seen that strange coat of arms before―on the armorial plaques and banners which had adorned the great hall of Zamara’s palace in Tharkol!

The eight crowns must represent the eight cities of this hemisphere of Thanator. The blazon, then, was of the world empire whereof Zamara in her madness dreamed.

Which meant … we were not aboard the Jalathadar at all, but on a newly built Tharkolian vessel!

The thought electrified me; I stiffened in the grasp of my captors, looking about me with a startled gaze. Now that the veils had been stripped from my eyes, so to speak, I noticed things that had eluded my attention previously. There were subtle differences in the design of the deckhouse, in the sculptured adornment of the balustrade; minor innovations in details of the rigging and the equipment stored or housed on this deck.

Ang Chan caught my eye. Bland amusement gleamed in his slitted eyes. The yellow dwarf, with his uncanny mind-reading powers, must have sensed the tenor of my thoughts, for he came over to where we stood and laughed.

“The Prince of Shondakor has surmised the truth, I see,” he purred. “Doubtless the noble Jandar was of the opinion that the ambitions of the Empress Zamara were the delusions of a deranged mentality! How could a single city such as Tharkol, for all the might and valor of her legions, conquer the seven cities of the world? Vast distances, impenetrable jungles, savage wildernesses and uncharted seas separate the cities of Thanator the one from the other; to dream of welding these far-flung realms into a single empire must have seemed to the noble Jandar a mad dream and nothing more …. But now you perceive a frightening truth, which places the imperial ambitions of Tharkol within the borders of possibility, am I not correct?”

“You are,” I said, striving for calmness. “For I perceive that the city of Tharkol has discovered, or has been given, the lost secrets of constructing the aerial warships of Zanadar.”

Ergon grunted and Darloona stiffened with astonishment at my words, but the Mind Wizard only smiled and made an ironic little bow as if saluting my powers of deduction.

“Quite so,” he said silkily. “Doubtless the Prince of Shondakor assumed the science of building the ornithoptors lost with the destruction of the Sky Pirates. Such is, however, not the truth. For the Lords of Gordrimator have revealed unto the chosen vessel of their will, the future Empress of all Callisto, the techniques perfected by the Zanadarian savants. And you stand aboard the Arkonna, the prototype of the flying navy of Tharkol, which has been under construction for the past three months, together with her sister ship, the Conqueress, which will shortly reach completion.”

Zamara interrupted Ang Chan abruptly. I got the impression that she had wished to announce these triumphs before us herself, and resented his assuming the role of spokesman.

“Enough, yellow dog! Guards―remove the prisoners to the cabins aft and see them securely imprisoned. Use them not with unwonted severity, however, for they are valuable to us and their persons are not to endure mistreatment. Later, we shall interrogate them at our leisure.”

Ang Chan bowed to her peremptory wishes and we were led away.

Our cabin was commodious and not uncomfortable, if Spartan in the bareness of its furnishings. We were at the rear of the flying ship, stationed directly over the rudder assembly, and the creak of cordage and the boom of wind in the rudder were deafening, however. The rudder, like that on the Jalathadar and her sister ship, the Xaxar, was a towering structure of ribbed vans rather like an antique Chinese fan, by which the vessel was steered. A row of barred windows looked out on the rudder assembly and gave us fugitive glimpses of the night-drowned landscape which glided steadily beneath our keel.

We discussed the rather gloomy situation into which chance or fate had now thrust us. Darloona was incredulous over the fact that the warlike Tharkolians possessed an airship, and apprehensive concerning the implications of this fact on the future security of Shondakor.

“How could Zamara have rediscovered the Zanadarian secrets?” she wondered, as we shared a meager breakfast served us by surly, watchful, and unspeaking guards.

“What is more curious, my lady,” grunted Ergon sourly, “is how the Tharkolians came by supplies of the lifting gas which makes the sky ships airworthy. When we touched off the gas mines in the White Mountains, destroying the city of the Sky Pirates, I thought we had eliminated the only source of the mysterious vapor known to exist.”

I set down my goblet. “That may well have been the truth, Ergon,” I said. “But at that time we discovered that the lifting gas wherewith the hollow hulls of the ornithopters are charged was explosive and flammable. On my own world we have a similar gas which was also once used in the construction of flying vessels and which is also explosive and flammable. We call it hydrogen. And our savants possess knowledge of a technique whereby the elements which constitute ordinary water can be divided by use of a force we call electricity. By this manner, it is easy enough to produce as much hydrogen as may be wanted. However, I had not thought the several races of Thanator possessed any knowledge of electricity. Perhaps I have underestimated the cunning and cleverness of the Mind Wizards of Kuur in this respect, as in others.”

Darloona sat frowning slightly, nibbling absently on a bit of fruit. “What worries me most,” she confessed, “is that if the Tharkolians have one sky ship already in operation, and a second near completion, and an entire fleet of others under construction, poor Zamara’s mad dreams of empire may yet attain reality. That will be a grim day for Shondakor, and a grim day for all of the cities of Thanator … .”

Little Glypto huddled woefully on one of the bunks, clutching his. bony shanks. “Far better, my masters, had we stayed with the Lord Shaphur!” he whimpered.

I shook my head wearily. “It is all my fault,” I said. “How foolish of me to have mistaken the Arkonna for the Jalathadar! It simply never occurred to me that the flying ship could be any other than the Jalathadar. The Xaxar, which Zantor commands, is somewhat smaller and higher in the aft-section… : ‘

Darloona slipped her hand in mine.

“The fault is not yours, beloved,” she said. “We had none of us the slightest reason to guess the Tharkolians knew the secrets of building the ornithopters. Your mistake was perfectly natural; indeed, I made it, too.”

“What baffles me,” Ergon growled, “is how the Queen learned the building of such ships. The levitating vapor is but one of the secret techniques. How did she learn of the molded-paper construction which makes the vessels light in weight yet strong? The Zanadarians pressed wet paper sheets over plaster forms and baked them, once they had been impregnated with glue. The lamination process alone is one that involves many secrets … and, of course, we cannot accept the lady’s mad belief that these secrets were imparted to her by the Lords of Gordrimator. The gods may or may not be omniscient; but it is a fact of history that they have seldom, if ever, meddled in the affairs of men.”

“I’ll wager it was the doing of Ang Chan,” I said grimly. “You will remember the positioning of his apartments in the palace of Tharkol? He was only separated from our own suite by a wall, near enough to read our minds as we slept and learn the secrets of the defense of Shondakor and the disposition of troops. But when Glypto led us through the secret passage hollowed within the walls, we discovered that the private apartments of the Queen also lay nearby … near enough, I’ll wager, for his telepathic powers to feed images and visions into her brain as she slept. For surely if one has the power to eavesdrop on the minds of men, one has also the power to subtly insinuate thoughts and pictures into that mind. The cunning of this yellow devil is extraordinary. He has deluded the Queen of Tharkol into thinking that she is an instrument of destiny, chosen by the gods to conquer the world. And all the time she is nothing more than an instrument of the Mind Wizards of Kuur, who secretly plot the conquest of Thanator for their own hidden and inscrutable ends―”’

“You lie, you blaspheming Shondakorian dog!”

Out of nowhere a shrill voice, choked with wrath, knifed across my ruminations.

We started, upsetting the wine goblets. For the voice seemed to come from the empty air itself.

In the next instant the mystery was solved. For a hidden panel in the wall clicked open and Zamara stood before us, flanked by two powerful warriors whose naked blades were leveled at our breasts.

Chapter 19 Truth and Trickery

Never before had I seen the would-be Empress of Callisto in such a towering rage. Her handsome features were distorted into a staring mask of fury. Her brilliant eyes blazed with wrath and the emotion which flamed up within her lithe and supple figure was so furious that she trembled in its violence. Almost I despaired of my life in that instant. So maniacal was her rage, that in the next moment I thought to hear her command her guards to bury their steel in our hearts.

“These are the same vile slanders and vicious insinuations wherewith you strove to beguile me from the truth of my revelations, that first night we spent on the Great Plains after making our escape from the encampment of the stinking capoks!” she spat. “You strove to turn me against the gods then, and you scheme to do so now.”

“How could we be other than sincere in our statements, since we could not have known you were listening to our conversation from a place of concealment?” asked Darloona, reasonably.

The sheer commonsense of her words took Zamara aback. She blinked, fumbling for words. At her side, the glowering guards fingered the hilts of their weapons, waiting for the word to sheathe their blades in our breasts. I could feel the sweat break out on my forearms and my brow.

Into the tension of this emotion-charged scene, the calm reasoning of Darloona interposed itself between our helplessness and Zamara’s fiery wrath. Indeed, looking back on the scene, I am convinced that it was the words which Darloona now spoke which served to save our lives. For she alone remained cool and collected in the heat of the moment.

“Sister,” she said, “for we are fellow rulers, sisters in a sense, sharing between us neighboring thrones, believe me, it is you who blaspheme here, although you know it not.”

Zamara, her right hand lifted in an imperious gesture, as if about to signal her guards to fall upon us, checked the gesture. It was as much the serene reasonableness of Darloona’s tone, as well as the surprising import of her words, which served to check the rage of the Tharkolian princess.

Her furious gaze turned on Darloona, who regarded her with calm, unfrightened eyes, an expression of sadness on her features.

“I―?” Zamara gasped in a strangled voice.

My Princess nodded sorrowfully.

“Yes, Zamara, although it pains me to speak of it thusly. O, listen to me, royal sister! We are both women, born to be fooled and victimized by men, for all our regal authority and majesty of birth! We are both queens, are we not both born to the throne, both born to rule, you and I. Surely by now you must have learned how cunning, unscrupulous, and ambitious men flock about a throne, flattering and lying and betraying one another, eager to grasp as much of our own power as their scheming wiles can win. Is it not so?”

Wordlessly, Zamara nodded.

“Very well! Then hearken to our words, which you overheard from your place of concealment while spying on us―and understand that we could not have known that you were listening, and thus we spoke our minds, and gave voice to the sincere opinions of our hearts. Is this not obvious?”

Again, the logic of her words, and the calm fearlessness in her voice and composure, wrung a reluctant nod from the infuriated empress.

“Very well, then. Zamara, royal sister, we believe―me know―that you have been cunningly and systematically deluded and deceived by this sly yellow dog who has wormed his way into your highest councils. He is not the first of his kind we have encountered among the councils of our enemies. When the Prince Jandar, my mate, entered in disguise the legions of the Chac Yuul which had seized and conquered my realm, he found a cunning Kuurian named Ool occupying a high position of great power and influence. And this Ool had won an office of great and subtle power over the superstitious minds of the simple Black Legion barbarians by a trumpery cult of his own creation. A false god he called Hoom was the method he employed. And under his sway the Chac Yuul won the realm of Shondakor from my people―even as, under the influence of his fellow countryman, Ang Chan, you are now embarked on an attempt to conquer not only Shondakor, but all of the cities of Thanator.”

Zamara stared at Darloona, the color draining from her scarlet visage. The madness and the fury had faded from her magnificent eyes, to be replaced by thoughtfulness.

“Something of these matters regarding the priestling, Ool, and his hold over the former Warlord of the Chac Yuul my spies have informed me,” she muttered slowly.

Darloona rose to confront her.

“Think, royal sister! Never before in all the history of warfare did it occur to the mercenaries of the Black Legion to conquer a city or to seize a throne. And in the councils of the Black Legion dwelt a yellow-skinned foreigner from Kuur, squatting like a cunning spider at the center of his web! Never before in all the history of mighty Tharkol did it occur to any of your ancestors to attempt the conquest of the world. And in your own councils dwells yet another yellow-skinned foreigner of Kuur, spinning his plots and subtle intrigues! Can you not see the similarities between these events?”

Zamara eyed her distrustfully, saying nothing. But the expression in her features, and the look in her eyes, conveyed the fact that she was indeed listening and thinking―however reluctantly.

“The Lords of Gordrimator have visited me in my dreams,” she said sullenly, after a little silence.

“Was it the gods, or was it the weird power of Ang Chan, interfering with your sleeping mind?” Darloona pressed her. “If you overheard our conversation, you will recall our discussing how Ool the Uncanny influenced the Black Legion warriors―through the cult of the god Hoom. Is it not reasonable to guess that this second Kuurian used the same method to influence you―the gods? And furthermore, Zamara, can you doubt the ability of Ang Chan to insinuate his own pictures or thoughts into your brain? You know that he is perfectly capable of performing this feat, because you were present when he did it to us, causing us to see the illusion of a white vanth, which led us into your trap. If his mental power could persuade us that we saw a white vanth where there was really no such beast, certainly those same powers could persuade you that you had received the visitation of the gods.”

Zamara wavered indecisively, biting her lower lip with vexation. She was an intelligent girl, with an excellent mind. And I could see that Darloona’s calm and reasonable arguments had made some impression on her, but how much of an impression it was impossible to ascertain.

At this point, I spoke up.

“Queen Zamara, in my homeland the philosophers hold to an axiom which says: when confronted by two alternate solutions to a question, the less fantastic of the two is most likely to be the true answer. Think! The Lords of Gordrimator may or may not exist; and if they do exist, they may or may not influence the actions of men; and if they do influence men upon occasion, they may or may not have influenced you. But the abilities of Ang Chan certainly do exist. We have all experienced his powers in action. There is no question of his uncanny ability to tamper with our very thoughts. Now: faced with the question of whether the unknown and inscrutable Lords of Gordrimator have visited your dreams, or whether it was merely the known and genuine power of Ang Chan which made you think so, and remembering the axiom I have just mentioned, which of the two assertions is more likely to be true?”

We waited. Would her intelligence win out over her delusions, or would human nature conquer the dictates of reason and commonsense? For Zamara very desperately wanted to believe her visions and voices and gods were true. She possessed a vaulting ambition; it would be very difficult for her to turn her back on the luring dreams which promised crowns and glory and conquest. What monarch would not wish to believe he is the instrument of the gods, the chosen favorite of fortune, the darling of destiny? To believe what you want to believe is only human nature.

And Zamara was very human.

But reason won out over avarice and vainglory.

Her features strained and pale, her eyes mutinous, her voice hesitant and reluctant, she said: “It is more likely to assume … that Ang Chan has used his powers to delude me ….”

At that moment we heard the guards beyond the door of our cabin ring their spears against the deck in salute.

And one of them called out: “Make way for the Lord Councillor Ang Chan!”

The next moment a key grated in our lock.

We were about to receive a second visitor!

The yellow dwarf paused in the open doorway to look us over with keen, wary eyes. Two guards flanked him, eyeing us truculently. We sat about the folding table which was littered with the remnants of our morning meal. I held a silver winecup in my hand as if I had just emptied it. Zamara and her guards were nowhere in sight; we had, by sheer urgency, begged her to trust us for the moment, and thrust her and her warriors back into their place of concealment, regaining our own seats a bare fraction of a second before the door opened, showing us the bright morning sky and the smiling person of Ang Chan. He entered, bowing amiably.

“This unworthy person thought it wise to visit his guests and ascertain their comfort and, ah, the measure of security they enjoy, before our arrival at Tharkol necessitates his attentions,” he said in a suave, good-humored voice.

There was no reason Ang Chan should not be in a good humor, as he held the upper hand. Perhaps even the winning hand, although that was yet to be seen.

I came directly to the point.

“You are one of the Mind Wizards of Kuur, are you not, my lord Ang Chan? I knew a countryman of yours, one Ool, called `the Uncanny’ by the simple warriors of the Black Legion he had bewildered and awed by his telepathic powers. Do you know him?”

He surveyed me with amused, twinkling eyes.

“The mission of the worthy and resourceful Ool was known to this humble person, but, alas, not the worthy Ool himself. I believe the honorable and inestimable Ool met his untimely demise at the hands of a certain terrene adventurer who calls himself Jandar of Callisto.”

I nodded. “That is true, Ang Chan. Tell me, are you of Kuur born with your abilities to manipulate and eavesdrop upon the minds of others, or is it a skill acquired through training?”

“Your inquisitiveness may lamentably shorten your duration of existence, Prince Jandar,” he observed. But good humor was irrepressible. “An inclination towards the art is innate in our race; proficiency in the art, however, is the result of stimulus by certain rare drugs upon the proper brain centers, employed in accord with certain disciplines of mind, body, and spirit. Why do you bother to inquire into the minor attainments of this insignificant person?”

“Because I am interested to find out how you worked this trick of fooling the Queen of Tharkol into thinking herself visited by the gods,” I said boldly.

He drew in his breath, his eyes suddenly going cold and opaque. Then he relaxed with a small, chilly smile.

“You are insolent,” he observed. “And that is unwise. When one holds the power of life or death over you, it is imprudent to provoke him so.”

“Then you are in control of events here, and not your Queen?” I demanded hotly. “I surmised as much!”

He smiled thinly. “Zamara is the beloved of her gods and leaves many of her merely mundane affairs to this lowly person,” he admitted, suavely.

“Gods of the same sort as Hoom, the idol of the Chac Yuul―a thing of dead, empty stone?” I pressed.

“In dealing with the lesser races, we of Kuur oft have found it auspicious to play upon their superstitions,” he said.

“Then, like me, you are a skeptic?”

He shrugged casually. “The gods may, after all, exist in one sense of the word or another. But if they do, they seldom bother with mortal men … . “

“And, with your telepathic powers, you find it easy to make superstitious men believe they have experienced visions of the gods―when it suits your purpose to do so.”

“All too simple,” he laughed. “The lesser races are eager to be convinced of their own importance in the eyes of their gods.”

“As it was easy for you to convince Zamara of her divinely-ordained destiny, because she hungered to believe therein?”

“The ambitions of royalty render it easy for us to gain ascendance over them by telling them what they most desire to hear,” he said blandly. “Their own convictions of superiority shape them as a tool to our uses. But it is not of these matters I would speak―”

His voice broke off suddenly and his face paled. Slitted eyes bulging with horror, he sucked in his breath and spat aloud one word.

“Tricked!”

The rasp of steel sounded behind us.

We turned. Zamara stood there in the secret opening, her face hard and cold, her eyes ablaze with deadly anger, a naked dagger clenched in one white-knuckled hand.

“Condemned, you mean, yellow dog of Kuur!” she hissed. “Condemned out of your own mouth, you treasonous, treacherous snake!”

Before any one of us could move or speak her hand released the blade in a blurring gesture.

The steel blade flashed across the room. But whether it struck the Mind Wizard or not, none of us could tell.

For in the same instant he vanished into thin air!

Chapter 20 Battle in the Clouds

We stared in utter amazement at the empty space which had been filled an instant before by the body of the yellow dwarf. He had flicked out of existence like an apparition, and it was a moment before any of us could grasp the fact of this miraculous disappearance. The two guards who had flanked the Kuurian shrank aside in awe and bewilderment. Even Zamara, amidst her blazing fury, was struck dumb with amazement.

Of us all, it was Ergon who first realized the truth.

“Our minds!” he bawled. “He’s in our minds―get him!”

And, like a maddened tiger, the brawny, bandy-legged little colossus threw himself upon the empty air where Ang Chan had stood. There transpired an enigmatic, nightmarish battle. It was as if Ergon struggled with a tangible but unseen ghost! He seemed wrestling with the thin air itself.

Then I saw an even stranger sight―drops of blood oozing one by one out of empty air!

And I understood the truth behind the inexplicable phenomenon in a flash, although it took the quick wits of Ergon to realize it first. Ang Chan had not vanished―he had telepathically rendered himself invisible. That is, using his mind-controlling powers he had made us believe he no longer stood there. And had it not been for the dagger Zamara had flung at him, which wounded him and slowed him, he would have been out the door before any of us had guessed the truth. But the blood which uncannily fell from empty air told me he was still solidly and physically there, despite my inability to see him.

Strange―strange, to see brawny Ergon bellowing lustily, struggling with empty air! But it was not empty air―he was wrestling the wily and invisible Mind Wizard.

I sprang forward to lend him a hand, but the Herculean thews of the bald Perushtarian had already pinned down his invisible adversary, and even as I knelt by him, Ergon took hold of something with both strong hands and thumped it against the deck resoundingly.

And the limp form of Ang Chan melted into view again!

Panting with breath for breath, Ergon grinned up at me triumphantly.

“Mind-powers, eh?” he grunted happily. “I bethought me that if I banged the yellow man’s skull against the deck a time or two, he’d lose the power to hide himself from our eyes―and there he be!”

We gathered quickly about the stunned Kuurian. His breathing was shallow and he was rapidly losing blood. Zamara’s blade had caught him under the left shoulder, near his heart. His crimson gore gathered into a pool beneath him even as we watched.

“A fitting death for the treacherous dog,” Zamara snarled venomously. “Let him die where he lays.”

“A pity to let Ang Chan escape in death before he has answered a few questions,” Darloona observed coolly. Zamara glanced at her, inquiringly. Darloona smiled.

“He could tell us much, could he not, Zamara?” she murmured. “Such as the reason why Kuur plotted to spur you to conquer the world, and what the Kuurians had hoped to gain from your victories? Or where next they planned to insinuate an agent, should they fail in their dominance of the Queen of Tharkol?”

Zamara flushed, eyes dropping. “You are right again, to my shame,” she muttered. “Guards! Bind the wounds of this yellow snake and fetch the ship’s doctor―”

At that instant an outcry exploded on the deck beyond our cabin and we staggered to keep our balance as the deck swung dizzily under our feet. A bugle screamed the call to quarters―the thud of running feet drummed on the deck―the snap of bowstrings twanged like plucked lutes.

“What in the name of a thousand devils is going on?” Ergon growled, scrambling to his feet. I joined him and we went out onto the deck, followed by Darloona and Zamara, leaving the Mind Wizard to the ministrations of the guards.

An amazing spectacle met our eyes!

The golden skies of Thanator were ablaze with day. Crisp clouds floated by, struck to gold by the brilliance; and there before us, sweeping grandly about as if to ram the Tharkolian airship, the mighty Jalathadar bore down upon us in all her grandeur. Aye, there was no mistaking her, on this occasion, for the royal colors of Shondakor fluttered from her prow and she was so near I could make out the solemn-eyed, chitinous features of Koja and the white locks of gallant Lukor in her pilothouse!

Almost in the same heartbeat of time our loyal friends recognized the crimson mane of Darloona and my own yellow locks streaming in the blaze of day and a mighty cheer went up from the decks of the Jalathadar at the sight of us. She trimmed her vans and came about into the wind, warriors thronged in the gunwales ready for the boarding. An instant later grappling hooks crunched into the deck rail of the Arkonna and the Tharkolian vessel lurched as the mass of the attacking sky ship dragged against her flight. The Tharkolian archers were already at the rail; lifting their bows, while swordsmen hacked through the grapnel lines. Another moment and battle would have been joined, there amidst the clouds.

In that desperate moment, however, Zamara revealed her true self!

“I bid you―hold!” she cried, her silvery voice rising like a clarion above the tumult. Springing to the rail, one hand grasping the rigging, she interposed her own body between her archers and the boarding parties. Bows were lowered as her warriors recognized their queen.

“Helmsman―strike your colors,” she called and the proud ensign of Tharkol sank from view. As it fell a great shout of victory went up from the decks of the Jalathadar and men in the gold-and-purple livery of Royal Shondakor came swarming across the perilous lines, Koja and Lukor and young Tomar among the first of them to reach the decks of the Arkonna. The Tharkolians fell back to the mid-deck, yielding their arms sullenly.

And then it was that Zamara came down from the rail and strode to where we stood. Chagrin and humiliation were in her face, and tears of defeat ran down her cheeks, but her head was held proudly high and never had she looked more beautiful, or more human, than in that moment when she acknowledged her folly.

She went up to where Darloona stood and looked her straight in the face unfalteringly.

“Princess of Shondakor,” she said clearly, “I have been a fool. I have made myself your enemy when I am not even worthy to be your friend. I have sinned greatly against the Crown of Shondakor without cause or reason. I yield myself into your hands. Do with me as you deem just, but spare my people who followed me into folly and madness because of loyalty and trust. I surrender myself to you, and I beg your forgiveness.”

If the self-styled Empress of Callisto had never looked lovelier than in that moment of humility and surrender, never had I felt prouder of my Princess than in the moment that followed. For Darloona stepped forward and embraced Zamara and kissed her tenderly and called her friend and sister.

“Wiser heads than yours have been deluded by the cunning wiles of Kuur, my dear,” she said softly. “You have the forgiveness of Shondakor for the asking, as you can have the friendship of Shondakor, if you care to ask for it.”

That was a bit too much for Zamara to endure and she burst into tears. Darloona slid her arm about the slender waist of the distraught queen and led her back into the cabin so that she could compose herself in private.

And so, it seems, we had won a good friend, where we had only found an implacable enemy before.

“All’s well that end’s well,” I said to Ergon as he came stumping up, glum-faced, to where I stood.

“If it’s to be time for trite phrases, Jandar, I’ve one for you,” he said sourly. “And that I ‘dead men tell no tales.”’

“What do you mean by that?”

He cocked his head towards the cabin.

“The yellow dog of Kuur will bark no more, I fear. Zamara of Tharkol has the wrist of an assassin; I’m glad she didn’t take it into her head to aim that dagger at you or me, Jandar.”

And it was true. Ang Chan was dead, and with him died the untold secrets of Kuur.

“I found this under his robes, suspended about his fat neck on a thong,” Ergon said glumly, handing me a small plaque of silver. I turned it over in my hand and examined it curiously. It was some sort of amulet or talisman, the gleaming metal engraved with curved and meaningless lines which trailed away at the edges of the plate. I could make nothing of it, but slipped it into my pouch to examine later at my leisure. Mayhap wise old Zastro, the sage of the Ku Thad, could spell me its meaning. There was no inscription on it that I could see.

Zamara and Darloona rejoined us a while later, and my Princess greeted Koja and Lukor and others of our friends with great happiness, introducing the Princess Zamara to them as “our ally.” Zamara received their salutes in a subdued fashion but without surliness as far as I could see. I had acted more wisely than I knew, a time earlier, when at the approach of Ang Chan I had urged the wavering Empress to conceal herself behind the panel again, to listen to our conversation. It had been my hope, of course, to draw out Ang Chan in private, thinking I might get him to confirm in his own words the truth of what Darloona and I had striven to prove to Zamara. The plan, as any reader of this narrative has seen for himself, worked splendidly.

But it had been touch and go there for a few seconds! How easily all could have been lost, had Ang Chan bothered to use his telepathic powers! The most casual glance into the contents of my mind would have exposed my plan, and revealed the fact that Zamara stood concealed behind the secret panel. For some reason, thank the Lords of Gordrimator, Ang Chan had not done so … it may have been mere negligence, or perhaps overconfidence, or, just possibly, that my inspired burst of eloquence (if so I may term it most immodestly) had intrigued him to the neglect of caution.

But how I had sweated there for a moment or two; and how easily the roll of the dice could have gone against me.. .

It was not a gamble I would care to risk again.

But all had worked according to my hastily contrived plan. The only drawback, of course, had been Zamara’s explosion of murderous fury at discovering that the wily, smirking Kuurian had indeed tricked and deluded her cruelly, using her for his own mysterious purposes. It was a great pity she had struck down the yellow dwarf in her rage, for he could have told us much.

At any rate, having swallowed the truth in all its bitterness at last. Zamara was a changed women, and the extent of this transformation was amazing to behold. In the place of strident arrogance went soft-voiced humility. Instead of vaunting egotism she displayed quiet majesty. These new virtues, added to her undeniable vividness of character and intelligence of mind made her a stunning beauty. Darloona glowed with pride as she saw the change in Zamara reflected in the eyes of both the Tharkolian officers and the Shondakorian warriors. The poor men, being mere men, could hardly take their eyes away from the radiant Princess of Tharkol.

Sniveling little Glypto had maintained a rather low profile during these swift-moving events.

Now as we stood talking on the deck, one of my officers raised a cry, pointing below. We crowded to the rail to see a vast procession drawn up beneath our two ships amidst the mighty plain.

“Why, what in the world,” I murmured in surprise. “It is the caravan of Shaphur! Whatever had possessed him to follow us here … ?”

Looking up I caught the smiling face of Glypto.

Even as I looked an amazing change came over the cringing little fellow.

He straightened from his habitual crouch and stood tall, straight, and lean. The smile on his features was an honest, open grin, and not at all the servile leer I had become accustomed to. As I watched, speechless with surprise, he removed the black patch, revealing an eye as bright and keen and clear as its twin.

“Not the Lord Shaphur, I’m afraid, Prince Jandar,” he said―and the whine and whimper were gone from his tones, leaving them firm, manly, and deeper in timbre than before.

“Glypto?” I murmured dazedly. “Whatever do you mean … ?”

“Not the merchant Shaphur, but Kaamurath, Prince of Soraba,” he said. “Whose eyes and ears in Tharkol I have been, in all the weeks just passed since first the Princess Zamara demanded he yield up the sovereignty of his realm to her imperial throne!”

An expression of utter stupefaction stretched the homely face of Ergon into a comic mask of amazement.

“I … you … w-what … ?” he stammered

Glypto laughed and performed a capering little dance, sketching a parody of a bow. And for a moment the little, leering rogue we had known before this keen-eyed, smiling stranger replaced him, stood before us.

“Yes, friend Ergon, I fear I deceived you all! But it would have irreparably damaged my disguise had you known the whimpering little rascal you cuffed and cursed stood at the right hand of the Seraan of Soraba, and was accounted the finest swordsman in the four cities of the Perushtarian Empire,” he smiled.

Ergon could only groan. It was the only time in my experience that I found him unable to think of a thing to say!