HALF-STUNNED, Jerry waited for the executioner’s keen blade to descend. But at that instant the blond, blue-clad youth who had stood beside the throne rushed up, sword in hand and struck aside the blade of the executioner.
A moment later, another man came running up—a white-haired man who wore orange and black; and on his beardless countenance was a look of calm benignity. He smiled encouragingly at Jerry, then turned and addressed the poker-faced monarch. The latter issued an order to the two black giants at the Earthman’s sides, whereupon they permitted him to arise.
In the meantime the girl in the monarch’s arms revived, and he put her on the floor, where she joined in the discussion. Jerry noticed that there was considerable wonder written on her face, as the white-haired man talked to her and the ruler. Four others joined in the discussion the two young men in blue who had stood at either side of the throne, and the dark-skinned girl and man who had stood on the central dais.
Although he could not understand a word that was spoken, Jerry saw that this latter personage was urging his execution. The girl, however, evidently sided with the white-haired newcomer and the blond youth.
Presently, the ruler rumbled a curt order. The thongs were removed from Jerry’s wrists, and the white-haired man after saluting the ruler, took the Earthman’s arm and led him away.
“You are Dr. Morgan’s nephew, are you not?” he asked in English.
“I am,” gulped Jerry, “but how did you know? And who are you?”
“I am Lal Vak,” was the reply. “I was unavoidably delayed. As I am a stranger in Raliad, and there is a revolt in the provinces, I was accused of being a spy. My arrest came this morning, and I had some difficulty in clearing myself of the charge, despite my credentials from the Vil of Xancibar. A stranger is usually accounted guilty until he is proven innocent.”
While they talked, they threaded numerous passageways, and Jerry noticed that every one they met stared curiously at his army uniform.
Presently they came to a spiral runway, and Lal Vak, stepping out on the signal platform, pulled a cord which unhooded a large light globe overhead by drawing up the four quarters of its metal covering as the petals of a flower open. A moment later one of the vehicles skidded to a stop before the landing.
Then they climbed into the saddles, the scientist spoke a word to the driver, and they shot swiftly upward. After passing eight platforms, the vehicle came to a stop before the ninth, and they got out. Threading another hallway, they came at length to a large door which an attendant, on seeing Lal Vak, threw open for them.
They entered, and Jerry found himself in the central room of a large and luxurious apartment, lighted by a single circular window that extended from floor to ceiling, its crystal panes opening outward to admit the afternoon breeze. The furniture, consisting of chairs, divans, and a table, was legless, and suspended from the ceiling by flexible, silk-covered cables.
“Let us sit on the balcony and talk,” said Lal Vak.
Jerry stepped through the window and followed Lal Vak out onto the balcony. He looked over the railing. Far below him was a broad street, thronged with darting multiped vehicles and scurrying people. Other balconies, he observed, jutted out above, below and around this one, and from the buildings across the street.
Seating himself on the bench beside the scientist he mechanically took out a cigarette and lit it. A look of astonishment crossed the features of Lal Vak.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jerry.
“For a moment I thought you were on fire,” replied Lal Vak. “I remember Dr. Morgan’s telling me about this curious custom of Earth-people, but it startled me. Tell me, why do you do it?”
“Just a habit, I guess. But a habit I won’t have very long,” said Jerry, looking at his half-empty cigarette case, “as I don’t suppose there is such a thing as tobacco on Mars. May as well quit now.” He was about to toss the case ever the railing when Lal Vak caught his arm.
“Wait,” he said. “Save those little white cylinders. They may prove valuable to you.”
“How?” Jerry wanted to know.
“As evidence of your advent from another world. The Vil of Kalsivar suspects that you are an enemy spy, who arrived on the palace roof with an outlandish costume and strange weapons in order to deceive him in case of capture. It is thought that your purpose was to kidnap Junia, daughter of Numin Vil.”
Jerry said, “Just a moment. Let me get this thing straight. I take it that Numin Vil is the ruler, who sat on the throne.”
“That’s right. He is what you might call, the Emperor of Kalsivar, mightiest nation of Mars.”
“And that girl I rescued from the wild beast is his daughter?”
“She is. The Sovil, or Imperial Princess of Kalsivar. Unfortunately, you did not rescue her from a wild beast. It seems that you met her on the roof garden, and attempted to abduct her. Her favorite dalf came to her rescue, and you slew the beast with one of your strange weapons.”
“What’s that? You mean the creature I killed was a pet?”
“Not only was it a pet, but she loved it almost like a member of the family. She got that dalf when a cub, and raised it herself.”
“Hm. Sort of watchdog, eh? I’ll apologize to the lady, of course, and if possible, get her a new dalf.”
“Apologize, yes, but don’t mention a new dalf. She has many, but to speak of replacing this one would be almost equivalent to offering to replace her brother after you had slain him.”
“I think I begin to understand.”
“You certainly succeeded in getting into plenty of trouble, and you are far from out of it yet. With the assistance of Her Highness, Junia Sovil, I was able to get you a forty-day stay of execution, but at the end of that time you must stand trial. The Vil granted this clemency so you would have time to learn the language, and thus be able to speak in your own behalf, as well as to hear your accusers.”
“What accusers?”
“I mean, in particular, Thoor Movil, Junia’s cousin, who is head of the spy system of Kalsivar. He is the tall, dark-skinned fellow who wore orange trimmed with blue. Blue, on Mars, is the exclusive color of royalty. A Vil, or his descendants of unmixed royal blood, may wear it with gold. A noble, closely related to the royal family, may trim his orange garments with blue. Thoor Movil is the son of Numin Vil’s younger brother.”
“He appears to be of a different race,” said Jerry.
“His mother was of the brown race,” Lal Vak explained, “which is a mixture of the black and white races, according to our ethnologists. It is believed that Kalsivar was founded by a black race, which was later conquered by a white race, that intermarriage occurred for many generations, and the brown race resulted. A few of the blacks, however, retained their racial purity. Within historical times, about five thousand years ago, Kalsivar was reconquered by a white race which did not intermarry with the other two, and whose leader was the founder of the present dynasty.”
“And this revolt you speak of. Who is fomenting it?”
“The origin of the leader is shrouded in mystery,” replied Lal Vak. “For at least a thousand years there has been a prophecy among the brown people to the effect that a man of their own race, of the old royal blood, would arise to lead them to victory over their white rulers. Less than a year ago a stranger appeared among a large group of them, who had gone into the desert to perform religious rites as is their annual custom. This person wore a hideous mask, fashioned in the likeness of the chief of their ancient gods, Sarkis the Sun God, and claimed that he was the reincarnation of that god, returned to lead them to ultimate victory.
“Many fell down and worshiped him, remaining to form the nucleus of a rapidly growing army of outlaws, who raid our agricultural districts, and harass our shipping. Many punitive expeditions have been sent out against these outlaws, but they invariably break up into small bands which scatter over the trackless desert, to re-form later at some unexpected point for fresh raids. Their mysterious leader has come to be known as Sarkis the Torturer.
“Does this Sarkis constitute a menace to the present ruler of Kalsivar?”
“Decidedly,” was Lal Vak’s reply. “His ranks are being rapidly swelled by deserters from the imperial army. And the roving desert tribes, many of which are of the brown race, have unanimously espoused his cause.”
At this moment a brown-skinned slave appeared in the window opening and spoke with Lal Vak. Then the latter turned to Jerry. “I doubt not that you are hungry, and our regular time for eating has arrived. Let us go inside.”
They went in and sat down on one of the swinging divans. The slave brought a large bowl, mounted on a tripod, which he set before them. The bowl was divided into six segments, and in each segment reposed a different kind of food. Mounted on a single shaft in the center of the bowl was a small, circular disk, on which stood a flask and two cubical cups, all of gold, exquisitely carved and set with sparkling jewels.
The servant poured a steaming liquid into the cups. It was pink in color, and gave off a fragrant aroma.
Lal Vak took up a cup and extended it to Jerry. “I believe you will find it easy to like our favorite Martian drink, though you may find it difficult to accustom yourself to some of our foods.”
“What is it?”
“We call it pulcho,” Lal Vak replied. “Taken in moderate quantities it is a pleasant stimulant. When drunk excessively, it is intoxicating.”
The Earthman took a sip, and found it as the scientist had said, both pleasing and stimulating.
The brown-skinned servant hastened forward to refill his cup, and the Earthman noticed that he took it up in such a way that for a moment the palm of his hand was held over it.
The man handed him the brimming cup, but before he could raise it to his lips, Lal Vak snatched it from him. Springing to his feet, he whipped out his dagger and presented its point to the breast of the servant, addressing a few sharp words to him.
With a trembling hand, the fellow took the cup and drained its contents at a single gulp. A dull, glazed look came to his eyes. He slumped to the floor, then lay still.
“I thought I saw him drop something into your cup,” said Lal Vak, “but I wanted to make sure. As you see, I was right.”
“You mean that the fellow tried to poison me?”
“Precisely,” Lal Vak replied. “He is only a tool, of course. You have an enemy in Raliad, it seems, and one who occupies a high place.”
“But who could it have been?”
“That is what we will try to find out—later,” the scientist told him, turning toward the door. “I go now to call the guard. Under the circumstances, we had best keep our own council. I beg you, for your own good to remember, after I have taught you our language, that this impudent fellow had the bad taste to commit suicide in our presence.”