TWO DAYS after he had achieved command of the white-plumed lorwocks, Jerry led them down the side of a steep declivity and across an ancient, boulder-strewn beach, to the shore of a small lake at the southern end of the Tarvaho Marsh.
“This,” he told his jens, “will be our chief camp for the present. From here we will send messengers to the desert hordes, announcing that a new leader has come, and that the days of the Torturer are numbered.”
At the opposite side of the lake, Jerry saw the gawrs that had been captured by the escaped prisoners. And on the shore, in their improvised camp, he saw the prisoners themselves. He called Yewd to his side. “Ride around the lake,” he commanded, “and tell our comrades to cross the lake and join us.”
A half hour later the two forces were joined, and Jerry found himself in command of eight hundred mounted lorwocks, fifty-nine gawr riders, and three hundred prisoners. After a conference with his jens, he called the black-plumed prisoners together and addressed them, telling them he was going to release them and send them as messengers of good will to the black-plumed tribes, inviting them to join him.
After he had made his speech he smoked a cigarette to impress them, and sent them on their way.
In ten days, his forces augmented by thousands of desert tribesmen and escaped slaves, Jerry made his first raid on the central camp of Sarkis. Five thousand of his newly recruited men crossed the marsh with water shoes in the dead of night. Then, while a number of the Earthmen’s lorwocks created a disturbance on the bluffs above the Torturer’s camp, Jerry’s men mounted and escaped with five thousand gawrs. As he had anticipated, Sarkis had placed a guard around the sacrifice pens, but had thought his flying bird-beasts safe.
When the Torturer learned that it was Jerry Morgan’s men who had raided his camp, he swore that he would bring the Earthman and all of his followers to the torture platform; and on learning of his camping place, set out with a huge armed force to crush him.
But Jerry’s flying scouts quickly reported the movement of Sarkis’s immense army, and when the Torturer reached the Tarvaho Marsh he found it deserted.
The Earthman’s forces reassembled at a new rendezvous, but not before they had raided two of the Torturer’s lesser camps, in one of which they captured, in addition to many slaves and much rich loot of all descriptions, fifty large metal flying machines. Each would accommodate fifty warriors in addition to the pilot. The glazed windows could be opened to admit the air, or covered with metal shutters to keep out enemy projectiles.
When he reached his new rendezvous and distributed the loot, Jerry found, among other things, several thousand suits of clothing. Among these were many outfits of rich black material intended for sale to wealthy commoners. The Earthman selected a number of outfits that suited him as to size and cut, with appropriate silver-mounted weapons and silver trappings. And though he might have worn the peacock blue of royalty, he chose rather to be known as the Commoner.
He also caused pennons to be made of black material, each edged with silver fringe and centered with a single silver star.
As the days passed, Jerry’s army swelled rapidly. Not only was he joined by the desert hordes, escaped slaves, outlaws, and deserters from the Torturer’s army; even the great nobles of Kalsivar, who were dissatisfied with the policies of Numin Vil, began throwing in their lot with him. The fame of his exploits spread rapidly, all over Mars.
But despite his rapid rise to power and unprecedented series of victories, he was still an outlaw, with a price upon his head. Numin Vil now believed the Earthman to be the murderer of his son, and even Junia was convinced by the evidence Thoor Movil had brought forth, Jerry heard.
Numin Vil, further angered by the desertions of many of his nobles, gave orders that the army of the Earthman should be crushed, his followers slain without quarter, and himself brought in, dead or alive.
Though he might have brought the expedition sent against him to grief, Jerry rather chose to avoid it. Deep in his heart was the hope that some day he might again be in the good graces of Junia—that he might be able to prove to her that he was innocent of her brother’s death.
The Torturer, who had no such scruples as Jerry regarding the imperial forces, met and surrounded the first expedition, then annihilated it, killing or capturing every man and officer present. In this battle the Torturer kept himself well out of sight and ordered the black-and-silver standards of the Commoner to be shown. Then, at the conclusion of the battle he permitted several prisoners to escape to Raliad with the story that the army had been crushed by the forces of the Earthman.
Among those in the imperial palace who listened with bated breath to the recital of each new exploit of the Commoner, was Nisha Novil. The Princess had never for a moment given up hope of making him her own.
Accordingly she ordered her luxuriously appointed flying machine one bright morning, giving out that she intended to visit her estate on the Corvid Canal. But before she started she had a brief conference with her brother, Thoor Movil.
“I will make a bargain with you,” she said. “Accompanied by your spy, Wurgul, to show me the way as we had planned, I will visit this Commoner in his main camp. If he accedes to my wishes I will spare his life. If not, I will use my dagger. But in case I spare his life, you are to intercede for him with the Torturer and the Vil. And when you have become Vil of Kalsivar, you are to spare him. Do you agree?”
“On the one condition that you persuade him to give up his command and go with you to your country estate. As long as he has an army at his back he remains a menace.”
“I will accept that condition. And now, farewell.”
“Farewell, and may success reward your undertaking,” said Thoor, rising and walking to the door with his sister. But he smiled to himself, for he had already issued special instructions to Wurgul, who was to conduct her to Jerry’s camp.
Nisha was amazed at the size and orderliness of the outlaw camp. It was a city of portable huts, laid out around a central plaza from which all streets radiated like the spokes of a wheel. And in the middle of this plaza was a large hut of black fur.
As soon as the flier had passed over the bluff, two others out of a score circling above the camp flew up and challenged them. When the colors of the Princess were shown, her pilot was ordered to descend at a cleared place on the edge of the camp.
The machine alighted, then came to a stop. The ladder was dropped, and Nisha Novil stepped out, followed by Wurgul the spy. She was met by an officer and a squad of men, who accorded her the royal salute. In answer to her inquiries, they told her that the Commoner was in camp, conferring with his jens, and summoned a multiped vehicle for her.
Accompanied by the officer and Wurgul, she rode along one of the streets of the camp until they came to the central plaza. Here they were challenged by a guard, who insisted that both the Princess and her follower deposit their weapons with him before going farther.
Nisha protested, but when she saw that it would be impossible to proceed without complying with this order, surrendered her jeweled dagger, and ordered Wurgul to give up his sword, dagger, and mace.
A soldier raised the silver curtain which draped the central doorway of the black hut. And the officer who had come with the two visitors, announced: “Her Royal Highness, Nisha Novil.”
Nisha swept into the room with Wurgul at her heels, and caught sight of Jerry. Seated among his officers, his black clothing and plain silver trappings contrasted oddly with their brightly colored garments and their gold, platinum and flashing jewels. Yet, as he rose to greet her, she saw that he was easily the most striking figure in that assemblage.
“This is an unexpected honor and pleasure, Your Highness,” he said, rendering her the royal salute. “May I present my nobles and officers?”
“Later, Jerry Morgan. At present I am wearied by my journey. And I have a message for your ears alone.”
“It shall be as Your Highness wishes,” he told her. Then he addressed his men: “The meeting is adjourned until I send a new summons.”
The nobles and officers arose and filed out, each saluting the Princess as he passed her. When the last man had gone, there remained only Jerry, Nisha, and Wurgul. The Earthman looked significantly at the spy, whereupon the Princess ordered him to wait outside the door for her.
“Won’t you be seated and have some pulcho?” invited Jerry. He indicated his own swinging divan and a small taboret beside it on which stood a steaming flask of freshly brewed pulcho, surrounded by a dozen jewel-encrusted platinum cups.
Nisha sat down and Jerry filled a cup for her. After she had accepted and tasted it he filled another for himself, and stood before her.
“You need not be formal, Jerry Morgan. Come and sit here beside me.”
“Indeed, I prefer to stand for a while,” he replied. “I have been sitting in conference all morning. And now won’t you tell me in what way I may be of service to you?”
“You—you make it so difficult for me, with your formal ways.”
“I’m sorry,” he answered. “My intentions are quite the reverse.”
“When last we parted,” she told him, “you were to think over a certain matter, for the space of one senil. At the end of that time we had arranged for a rendezvous at my country place on the Corvid Canal. But the rendezvous was not kept, nor have you vouchsafed me an answer. I have been so lonely for you—so hungry for even a small sight of you.
“Once more I offer you all that any man might desire—myself, my love, and the wealth position and power which will fall to the lot of my husband. Think, Jerry Morgan. Before another senil has passed I will be sister to the Vil of Kalsivar. Give up this futile life of outlawry and come with me to my country estate. There we can be quietly married, and I can promise you that within a senil your power in Kalsivar will be second only to that of the throne, itself, for you will be the brother-in-law of the Vil.”
“I hope you will believe me, Highness,” replied Jerry, “when I say that it grieves me more than I can say to decline your offer. As you say, I am an outlaw, under sentence of death. And furthermore, I am indebted to you for life itself. But somehow, marriage is a thing I have always associated with love. And unfortunately, love is a thing which cannot be coerced or commanded. Where love enters, it commands. We who are its subjects can only obey, no matter where its dictates lead us.”
At this Nisha’s black eyes flashed and Jerry expected another outbreak. But it did not come. Instead, she arose and said meekly: “Then this is the end. It is farewell forever. Let us not part in anger.”
Slowly she walked up to where he stood, arms outstretched.
“One last kiss,” she whispered.
Her hand hovered above the silver-mounted hilt of his dagger. With a sudden, snakelike movement she seized it, wrenched it from its sheath, and lunged for his breast. But the Earthman was too quick for her. He caught her wrist in a grip of iron, wrenched the weapon from her grasp.
In the meantime Wurgul, who had been standing outside the silver curtain, engaged the guard who stood there in a conversation. While they conversed, he managed to move against the curtain in such a way as to push it back, permitting him a glimpse into the room. He saw that Jerry was standing with his back to the doorway, holding the wrists of the raging Princess.
For an instant, he fumbled in the folds of his head-cloak. Then, with one hand still concealed, he raised the other and pointed skyward. “What strange craft is that?”
As the guard looked up, Wurgul’s other hand came out from beneath the folds of his headpiece, clutching a short, straight dagger. The blade flashed downward—plunged into the guard’s back up to the hilt.
Wurgul turned, flipped back the curtain, and ran noiselessly up behind the Earthman. Nisha saw him coming, but save for a widening of her eyes made no sound or sign. He lunged straight for the unprotected back of the Earthman.