AS JERRY held the raging little Princess away from him, he suddenly noticed that her eyes had gone wide, as if she had seen something startling behind him. He flung her back across the divan, and whirled around just in time to see Wurgul lunging at him.
There was no time to seize a weapon, but Jerry blocked the stroke with his left hand against the wrist of the assassin. Then he drove a smashing right to the point of Wurgul’s jaw. The spy slumped to the floor, unconscious. At the same moment an officer and a half dozen guards rushed into the room.
“This murderer just slew Shuvi, the guard,” cried the officer. “Stabbed him in the back.”
“Put him in the prison pen. I’ll attend to his case later.”
As two warriors carried out the still unconscious Wurgul, Nisha came to her feet. “I suppose I, too, must go to the prison pen,” she said defiantly. “Or perhaps you will order my execution at once.”
Jerry smiled grimly down at her. “Neither,” he answered. “You sought only to take that which you once saved for me—my life. I have not forgotten, and I am not ungrateful. You are free to go.”
At this Nisha laughed bitterly.
“You are a generous fool, Jerry Morgan,” she said. “If you were wise, you would keep me here—make me your slave. I warn you that once I am free, I will leave no stone unturned to compass your ruin.”
Jerry turned to the officer, who stood with his four men, awaiting orders. “You will conduct Her Highness to her flier.”
Nisha walked out with head held high, and in her black eyes was the feral gleam which the Earthman knew meant trouble.
Jerry sat among his officers, conferring on future plans of campaign until a late hour. One thing they had all urged upon him was that he should select from among his followers two men who would be his constant companions night and day, in addition to the regular guard.
He chose Yewd, the giant fisherman, and a black dwarf named Koha, a queer, misshapen creature whose brawny arms were longer than his legs, and whose great shoulders were as broad as those of the giant. He could throw daggers with deadly accuracy, and carried a heavy, long-handled mace with which he had bested many a swordsman by the simple expedient of smashing through guard and skull.
The Earthman had dismissed his officers, and was preparing to retire for the night, with Koha stretched across his doorway, and Yewd standing guard behind his divan, when a messenger came running up to the doorway.
“A herald has arrived from Sarkis the Torturer,” he announced.
“Admit him,” said Jerry.
With Yewd standing on guard at one side of his divan, and Koha at the other, Jerry awaited the herald, who said: “I bear a challenge from His Holy Majesty, Sarkis, Lord of the Day and Vil of the Worlds. Tomorrow afternoon, when the great Lord Sun has spanned three-fourths of the sky, His Holy Majesty will leave his entire army on the Heights of Lokar, which overlook the Plain of Ling, and will ride alone to the center of the plain.
“If Jerry Morgan is the leader that he claims to be, he will leave his own army on the Heights of Lokar, which overlook the plain from the opposite side, and ride down alone to do battle with the Lord of the Day. And there, within sight of the two hosts, let the issue of single combat determine who is the true leader foretold in the prophecy, and who the imposter.”
“You will await my answer outside,” said Jerry. Then, as the herald passed through the curtained doorway, he turned to the giant fisherman. “What think you of this, Yewd?”
“Though my poor wits fail to read the riddle,” replied the giant, “they plainly tell me that there is one. Perhaps this Sarkis honestly believes he can beat you in single combat. But it is not his way to take such a risk.”
“And what think you, Koha?” asked Jerry, turning to the dwarf.
“I think the Torturer wishes to bring the two armies together so there may be a great battle, which, by some trick, he is confident of winning, though there be little difference in strength,” said the black man.
“And yet,” said Jerry, “I cannot do otherwise than accept this challenge. To fail to do so would smack of cowardice.”
“That is true,” agreed Yewd.
“It would seem that the Torturer has put us in a position where we must walk into his trap. Let the herald remain outside, and call a conference of the officers.”
This was done, and for some time Jerry was cloistered with his men. Then he sent for the herald. When the fellow entered, he said: “Tell Sarkis that Jerry Morgan accepts his challenge.”
The herald saluted and departed. But as soon as he had gone, the camp began to dissolve away in the moonlight. Piece by piece, the portable fur huts came down, were rolled up and stowed on the backs of the pack-rodals, along with all other camp articles and utensils.
Before the night was an hour older, a vast cavalcade, shadowed by a flapping host of gawr riders, climbed up onto the plain, and started in the direction of the Heights of Lokar.
“Always do what the enemy expects you not to do,” Jerry bad told his officers. “Sarkis will expect us to leave tomorrow morning, so we will leave now. Thus, we will be the first on the field, and in a position perhaps to thwart him, or to leave if a trap is revealed.”
Jerry’s army reached its objective without incident, and pitched camp. Save for the sentinels on duty, all the men were permitted to sleep late the following morning, so they would be fresh for battle. But to Jerry’s surprise, morning and noon came and went without a sign of the Torturer.
Presently, however, near midafternoon, his gawr sentinels announced the approach of a vast horde. Shortly thereafter the army of the Torturer took up its position on the Heights of Lokar, facing them across the Plain of Ling, and the black cloud of gawr riders which accompanied it settled to the ground.
After a delay of more than two hours, during which the Earthman watched with bated breath, a lone warrior mounted on a rodal came trotting down the hillside toward the center of the plain. The slanting shafts of the late afternoon sun were reflected by the burnished gold of his mask.
Yewd had his rodal and weapons in readiness, and it was but the work of a moment to mount and ride down the hillside at full charge toward the gold-masked champion.
The latter, on seeing Jerry, halted his beast near the middle of the plain and waited, evidently in no hurry to begin the engagement. He carried a tuzar, but Jerry, who had not mastered this weapon, carried a long, stout-shafted lance, instead.
As soon as the Earthman came within a hundred feet of his enemy the latter lowered his tuzar and charged. Jerry couched his long lance, and with it pointed at the breast of his adversary, urged his beast forward.
The masked rider, however, swerved his mount, and while Jerry’s lance encountered only empty air, the sharp points of the tongs clamped into the Earthman’s hips. He was jerked from the saddle, and his enemy rode swiftly toward the enemy lines, dragging Jerry over the rugged ground.
A mighty cheer went up from the lines of Sarkis, at sight of this easy victory for their champion.
In the meantime, Jerry seized the tongs and dragged himself to a standing posture. Then, still clinging to a tong with his left hand, and sailing over the ground with tremendous leaps, he unhooked his heavy, saw-toothed mace from his belt and brought it down with all his strength on the shaft of the tuzar.
The tough wood cracked, but the long fibers still held. Again and again Jerry hacked at that stubborn shaft. It seemed ages before the last fiber snapped, and he fell free, his mace flying from his hand, while the tongs released their hold and clattered after him.
Half stunned and covered with blood, bruises, scratches, and dust, Jerry lay on his back, breathing heavily. From the corners of his eyes he saw his adversary wheel his mount, and flinging away his useless shaft, draw a sharp, multibarbed javelin from the sheath at his back.
Cautiously, the masked man rode toward his fallen and motionless antagonist, his javelin in readiness. Jerry was breathing more easily, now, and felt his strength returning. Suddenly he saw the javelin arm fly back—the deadly barbed missile hurtling straight toward him.
In a flash he had rolled over, just out of reach of that keen point. And then, before his enemy had divined what he was about, he sprang to his feet and bounded straight for the hideously masked figure. The mounted warrior reached for another javelin but before he could withdraw it from the sheath the Earthman had sprung up behind him and caught him with an elbow crooked about his armored neck.
Now it was the turn of the masked man to be jerked from his saddle. Jerry, while they fell, had released his hold on his enemy and alighted catlike on both feet. He whipped out his sword and turned to face his adversary. The latter got up and drew his own sword.
For some time both contestants fenced cautiously. Then Jerry, after a swift feint, found the opening he sought, and lunged straight for his opponent’s breast. His point went true to the mark, but his blade bent double and snapped in two. In an instant he realized that the masked man wore a metal breastplate. With a triumphant laugh his enemy drove a savage blow.
Jerry saved himself from death by a quick leap to one side. Then, before the masked man could draw back from that lunge, he struck again with the broken stump of his sword. But this time, he plunged it with unerring accuracy, through the right eye-slit of the golden mask—through the eye and into the brain of his enemy.
At this, a tremendous shout went up from the army of the Earthman. It was answered by jeers from the army of the Torturer, and Jerry, looking in the direction of this strange demonstration, saw the reason. For the Torturer himself was being borne on his platform of state, straight down toward the front of his own lines.
Jerry wrenched the stub of his sword from where it was wedged in the bony orbit of his fallen foe. Then he tore the mask from the lolling head. The dead face that looked up at him was that of the jendus he had defeated in the Torturer’s camp.
Hurling the hideous mask from him, Jerry turned and walked back toward his own lines. Two riders dashed down to meet him, Yewd and Koha. The white giant led a saddled rodal. The black dwarf brought him a new sword and a flask of steaming pulcho.
After a copious draught from the flask, he mounted and rode back to his headquarters. Here his chief surgeon awaited him, and cleansed and dressed his wounds while he held conference with his officers.
Despite the furious anger of his men, however, Jerry ordered his officers to hold the men in check.
“Have I not always counseled you,” he said, “to do what the enemy expects you not to do? If we go into battle with the army of Sarkis now, we will be doing precisely what he expects us to do. We will sit quietly for a time—and see what happens. When the time comes, we will make some plans of our own.”
Scarcely had he finished this pronouncement when one of his gawr scouts came sailing down out of the sky. Dismounting, he ran up before the Earthman and saluted.
“Numin Vil is coming up behind us with a vast host,” he cried excitedly, “which outnumbers our force at least two to one! We are trapped between two mighty armies!”