AFTER the two guards led Vernia from the presence of Yin Yin, they conducted her through a series of hallways to a spiral ramp, which they forced her to climb to a height of what she judged to be about six stories above the floor level of the throne room. Here, after threading several more hallways, they came to a metal door, on either side of which stood a tall, thin yellow man leaning on an immense scarbo. These were the first thin Huitsenni she had ever seen, and the sight astounded her, for she had believed that all of them, both men and women, were short and corpulent.
As Vernia and her two guards came to a stop before the door, one of those who stood beside it tapped on its metal surface with the hilt of his huge scarbo. It was instantly flung open, and a yellow man, taller than those who stood beside the door, and so aged that his face was a network of wrinkles, stood before them. He wore the purple cincture, showing that he was of the nobility, and his accouterments blazed with jewels. Seeing that Vernia wore the scarlet of royalty, he bowed low with right hand extended palm downward. Then he addressed the guard on her left.
“Whom have we here, and what are the commands?”
“O, Ho Sen, Lord of the Seraglio, this is Vernia, Torroga of Reabon. It is the command of His Majesty that Ufa be instructed to prepare her this night for the royal visit, for it may be that our gracious sovereign will honor her with the light of his presence.”
“His Majesty is merciful, just and generous, and we delight to do his bidding,” responded Ho Sen. Then he clapped his hands, and two more tall, slender Huitsenni came forward. They took the place of the two warriors who stood beside her, and the latter turned and marched off down the hall.
“Enter, Your Majesty,” Ho Sen invited with a ceremonious bow. The strangely angular creatures at Vernia’s sides seized her arms to drag her forward. But she shook them off and entered, herself. There was nothing else to do. Then the metal door clanged shut behind her.
Ho Sen led the way across this room through another oval entrance, and down a hallway into an immense chamber two stories in height, and shaped like a crescent the far end of which was visible from where they stood. On the inner side of the crescent, numerous doors led out to little balconies which evidently overlooked the throne room, for Vernia could see the iridescent crystal walls of the immense shaft beyond. On the outer side of the crescent other doors led to sleeping apartments.
In the immense room were gathered no less than a thousand girls and young women. Among them were represented all the races of Zorovia with which Vernia was familiar, and several of which she had never heard. It was notable, too, that every girl, judged by the standards of her race, was beautiful.
Save for the tall, lean guards who stood at the doorways, and at regular intervals around the walls, there were no men present, and Vernia was beginning to suspect that even these were not men. Young slave girls padded softly about on the thick rugs, carrying trays of sweetmeats, pots and tiny bowls of kova, jars and bottles of cosmetics, combs, brushes, bangles, and such other feminine odds and ends as the pampered inmates of the seraglio required. Birds sang in gold and crystal cages that swung from the ceiling, and fountains splashed musically into limpid pools in which swam curious, brilliantly colored fish of many shapes and hues. In lieu of flowers, for such things are unknown on Zorovia, there were potted fungi of ornate shapes and rich shades, which filled the air with sweet, heavy perfume. These fungi, Vernia afterward learned, had been brought to their present state of perfection through careful selective breeding and crossing by hundreds of generations of skilled botanists. There were also many rare and beautiful varieties of ferns, cycads, and jointed grasses.
Many of the inmates lolled about on low divans, chatting, sipping kova, and nibbling at sweetmeats. Others were having their hair combed, their nails polished, or cosmetics applied by slave girls. A few were stringing beads or doing embroidery work, and the remainder strolled about the place or gathered in little groups, laughing and talking.
With a pompous dignity which showed that he took considerable pride in the grave responsibility reposed in him by the Rogo, Ho Sen picked his way among the divans ottomans, fountains, potted plants, and concubines, while Vernia, following with her two guards, felt as if on parade. It was plain to her that she was immediately the center toward which all eyes gravitated, as well as the subject of many remarks and discussions. The various members of this assorted aggregation of feminine pulchritude showed different reactions as Vernia, who was far more beautiful than any of them, passed. Some gazed in open admiration, some cast lowering glances that plainly denoted jealousy, others appeared coldly indifferent, and a small remainder, evidently mindful of the fate intended for her, looked sympathetic. Accustomed to being stared at, she passed among them with easy grace and quiet dignity, ignoring them as completely as if they had been so many articles of furniture. But she could not help overhearing what some of them said. Many exclaimed at her beauty. Others, the jealous ones, made spiteful remarks. And she heard one girl say: “Another Princess, and as great a beauty as the first. It seems that the Rogo has lately spread his nets for naught but royalty.”
Having passed about half-way around the crescent, Ho Sen led Vernia into a private suite, where a young girl sat having her hair done by an old and extremely ugly yellow woman. The girl, she noticed, wore the scarlet of royalty. She was small, shapely, black-haired and brown-eyed.
Ho Sen addressed the old woman.
“I bring another great lady for your ministrations, Ufa. She is Vernia, Torroga of Reabon. It is the will of His Majesty that she be prepared for the royal visit this night.”
The old trout grinned. “We all love and obey our generous and gracious sovereign,” she replied, “and Ufa will exert herself to the utmost that this damsel may be pleasing to His Majesty’s eyes; though, in truth, her natural beauty makes the task an easy one.”
Ho Sen went out, closing the door after him.
The old hag grinned hideously at Vernia.
“Be seated, my pretty one,” she said, “until I have finished with my little white bird.”
Vernia seated herself on a nearby divan, and a young slave girl brought her a steaming pot of kova and a tiny golden drinking bowl, which she placed near her on a small taboret. The girl who was having her hair done smiled and spoke to her.
“I am Narine of Tyrhana, Your Majesty,” she said, “and, like you, a prisoner here. Shall we be friends? I’ve heard so much about your remarkable adventures, and your gallant husband, Grandon of Terra, that I feel as if I almost know you.”
Vernia returned her friendly smile. “I who am friendless in this place,” she replied, “would welcome the chance to acquire almost any friend, but in any case, I should be, glad for the friendship of the daughter of Ad of Tyrhana, comrade of my father on many of his adventurous hunting excursions, his staunch ally when seven great nations combined and sought to break the naval power of Reabon, and now the ally of my husband. You are the Torrogina?”
“No, I am but the Torrogini. My elder sister, Loralie, is the Crown Princess. Perhaps you have heard of her engagement to Zinlo, Torrogo of Olba.”
“I have. He visited Grandon of Terra a short time ago, and told us about their romance, but he did not mention that she was the Torrogina. You know they both traveled to this planet from Mignor at the same time, Grandon alighting in Uxpo, and Zinlo, who on Mignor was known as Harry Thorne, in Olba. But tell me, how do you happen to be here? Can it be that some lascivious Torrogo has offered the price of an empire for your abduction?”
“I think not, as I expect to be sold into slavery today to the Rogo of the White Ibbits a race of hairy barbarians who inhabit the Mountains of Eternal Snow near the south pole. It seems that Yin Yin buys large quantities of zandars from this savage chieftain, and that the latter has a weakness for comely virgins. Yin Yin has kept me here, unharmed, for the past ten days, for the sole reason that he believes I will bring him a tremendous price in zandars from this antarctic ruler.
“But you asked how I happened to be here. About an endir ago I left Tyrhana in one of my father’s battleships to visit my cousin, Tinia, daughter of Aardvan of Adonijar. Three days out, a tremendous storm came up, carrying our masts and sails and more than half the crew overboard, destroying the steering apparatus and nearly filling the hold with water. In this helpless condition we drifted for many days. Then we sighted a fleet of pirate vessels. After a brief skirmish with the few warriors who were left behind on our ship, they boarded us and took all who remained alive prisoners. I was brought here, either to be sold or impressed into the seraglio of Yin Yin. He has seen fit to offer me to the barbarian for a fabulous number of zandars. I have sought to bribe Yin Yin to return me to my father, but he would not. Perhaps I can bribe the hairy chieftain. If not, why then I will die by my own hand, for the women of Tyrhana have ever preferred death to dishonor.”
Vernia, in her turn, related what had befallen her since her capture by the Huitsenni.
In the meantime, Ufa finished with Narine’s coiffure. Then she conducted Vernia into a magnificent bath of black and yellow marble where she bathed in scented water, and was massaged with aromatic oils by two slave girls under the supervision of the efficient Ufa. After this, another slave girl brought splendid garments suited to her rank, and helped her to dress.
Back in the boudoir, Vernia had her hair done by Ufa.
Presently Narine came in, and slave girls brought their evening meal. The repast was a sumptuous one, consisting of nearly a hundred tastily prepared dishes, from which they chose what they wanted. The napery was of scarlet silk, each piece embroidered with the coat of arms of the Rogo of Huitsen, and the service was of gold, similarly decked.
After they had dined, Ufa led them to another, larger room, the reception room of the suite, where a slave girl served them with kova. Then she departed, leaving them to their own devices.
With Ufa and the other slaves about, Vernia had kept the thought which was uppermost in her mind, escape, entirely out of the conversation. But now that she and Princess Narine were alone, she hoped that the Tyrhanian Princess, having been in Huitsen for some time, might have acquired some knowledge which they could turn to their purpose.
“Don’t you think,” she said, as Narine filled her jeweled cup with steaming kova, “that you, with the wealth of Tyrhana behind you, could find someone in this palace, who, for a promise of vast riches, would smuggle us away in a small boat? Once at sea, we should be almost certain to encounter one of the many ships that must, by now, be searching for both of us.”
Narine sipped her kova thoughtfully. “I have tried that,” she replied, “and everywhere met with rebuffs. Every person I have tried to bribe has informed against me, and Yin Yin lost no time in letting me know that I was only wasting my breath.”
“Can it be,” asked Vernia, “that these people so love their tyrannous Rogo that not one of them would betray him for the wealth of an empire?”
“On the contrary,” Narine replied. “I believe that every subject, from the most exalted noble to the lowest slave, fears and hates him. Yet no man dares speak his mind, for fear his fellow is a spy, or will turn informer to further his own ends.”
“What of the man who has charge of the seraglio? Ho Sen, I believed they called him.”
“The man, did you say?” Narine smiled. “Ho Sen is no man, but like these other angular creatures who stand about leaning on huge scarbos, is but a eunuch.”
“A eunuch wearing the purple? That is strange. And I noticed that none of them were short and fat like the Huitsenni, although otherwise resembling them.”
“They are all sons of slave women, mostly of the white races, so Ufa told me,” Narine replied. “Some of them, I understand, are Yin Yin’s own sons. Ho Sen is Yin Yin’s uncle, though the Rogo does not acknowledge the relationship, and was granted the purple by Yin Yin’s grandfather. He has been Lord of the Seraglio for three generations of royalty.”
“Indeed! And does he love these yellow rulers who are the cause of his affliction and that of his fellows, so well that he could not be bribed to serve us?”
“I doubt that he loves his master any more than the others, yet I could not bribe him. I tried the first day I was brought here.”
“Then there is no way we can help ourselves?”
“There is but one,” replied Narine. “It is a desperate way, to be put into practice only as a last resort. But it is efficient. Look.”
She twisted a blood-red jewel from a ring on her finger, and Vernia saw a few white crystals reposing in a tiny hollow beneath it.
“One of these crystals dissolved on the tongue brings death, sudden, sure, and painless,” Narine told her. Then as she returned the jewel to its place, she said: “Yin Yin is careful to keep all weapons out of the seraglio with the exception of huge scarbos carried by the eunuchs. If he but knew the secret of this ring, then would my last hope indeed be gone.”
“I, too, have managed to preserve the means to a quick way out, if worse comes to worst.” Vernia drew a small, keen knife from beneath her garments and held it up. “This is from the belt of one of the guards who brought me to the seraglio. I managed to transfer it to these clothes after my bath, but it was difficult with the old hag and the slave girls watching.”
Scarcely had she spoken, when there was a slight rustle of the hangings behind her. Then a fat, heavily jeweled hand reached over her shoulder and snatched the knife from her, and Yin Yin himself with a wheezy chuckle, waddled into the room. Still chuckling, and before she could prevent him, he seized Narine’s slender wrist, and twisted the ring with the blood-red jewel from her finger. Then he dropped both articles into his belt pouch, poured himself a cup of kova, and sat down heavily.
“My, me!” he whispered, grinning toothlessly. “What desperate characters we have been entertaining unawares! Poison! Weapons! Bribery! I’m surprised. I’m astounded. I’m shocked.”
He tossed off his kova and refilled the jeweled cup.
Narine said nothing, but there was a look of horror in her brown eyes.
Vernia, calm mistress of emotions, regarded him with regal hauteur. “I perceive,” she said, addressing Narine, “that the Rogo of Huitsen has a multitude of low occupations. Not content with being a mere thief, robber, and defiler of womanhood, he is also that most contemptible of creatures, a spy.”
Yin Yin set down his cup with a grunt of surprise, and his cat-like eyes narrowed. “Have a care, slave, how you speak of your master,” he snarled, “or he may decide to have you whipped.”
Still looking at Narine, Vernia replied. “Observe, Your Highness, how manly and chivalrous is the Rogo of Huitsen. Ah, what a different song he will sing when Grandon of Terra has him by the throat! He has a throat, I am sure, though it is concealed beneath his multiplicity of chins.”
“It may be, Your Majesty,” replied Narine, taking the cue, “that he has a throat but is ashamed of it.”
“Or what is more likely, Your Highness,” Vernia responded, “he is afraid some honest man will slit it.”
Yin Yin, arrayed in all his finery, had come to play the lover. But the most ardent wooer can seldom withstand ridicule, and if he be short-tempered and accustomed to having his every wish regarded as law, it is more likely that anger will quickly crowd the gentler passions from his bosom. Knowing this, Vernia had deliberately set out to bait him. It was evident, at first, that she had succeeded even beyond her expectations, for the bloated face of the monarch grew livid. A greenish glitter came to his cat-like eyes, and he muttered horrible threats. But Yin Yin, although gross and sensual, was a master of intrigue and an adept in cunning. And not many moments elapsed before he saw through the ruse. Suddenly he ceased his muttering and began laughing uproariously—laughing until the tears coursed down his puffy cheeks. After all, was he not complete master of the situation? And mere words, no matter what their burden, could not injure him.
With a pudgy finger he wiped the tears from his cheeks. Then he gulped down his kova replaced the cup on the taboret, and shook that same fat finger at Vernia.
“Bones of Thorth, but you will be the death of me yet with your subtle humor,” he wheezed. “A wittier pair of young ladies I have not seen in many a year—I who see thousands yearly, who come and go with the seasons.”
From that moment on, he retained his good humor, nor could they with their keenest sallies or deepest insults penetrate the armor of jollity which he had assumed. A greasy, pleasure-bloated, jewel-bedizened monstrosity, he sat there, chuckling, boasting, and drinking cup after cup of steaming kova until the pot was empty and a slave girl was summoned with more.
The girl had just departed when there was the thunder of many hoofs on the planking of the street below. Yin Yin, with a maudlin smirk, addressed Narine. “If the Torrogini of Tyrhana will look over the balcony,” he said, “it is possible that she will catch a glimpse of her future master. My ears tell me that Heg, Rogo of the Ibbits, has arrived with his savage riders, and ten thousand zandars for which I have offered to forego the pleasure of taming that little she-marmelot, the daughter of Ad of Tyrhana.”
Both girls rushed to the nearest window, and stepping out on the balcony peered over. In the courtyard below them was an immense concourse of riders, mounted on zandars, wearing cloaks and hoods of zandar skins, and carrying long lances in their hands. But such lances! Each had about fifteen feet of stout wooden shaft, and a spiral head about two feet in length, connected to a globular metal knob. Vernia, herself a leader of warriors, was puzzled as to how these strange lances could be used, as it appeared that the spiral heads, instead of penetrating deeply when thrust at an enemy, would only spring back at the arm that drove them. The riders also carried scarbos and knives, but she saw no torks or evidence of firearms of any kind.
The faces and bodies of the riders were so muffled in their hoods and cloaks as to be invisible from above. The majority kept to their saddles, but about twenty of them dismounted and entered the palace. And looking out beyond the courtyard, Vernia saw by the light of the street lamps that an entire street, reaching from the palace to one of the city gates, was filled by an immense herd of milling, bellowing zandars, kept in formation by mounted Ibbits who prodded the recalcitrant beasts with the butts of their queer, spiral-pointed lances.
Turning away from the balcony, the two girls re-entered the room. Yin Yin, now evidently well under the influence of the kova he had consumed, was mumbling kerra spores and expectorating the red juice into one of the sand jars. His multiple chins stood much in need of the attentions of the royal chin-wiper, but he seemed too far gone in drink to notice this detail. He looked up suddenly as three sharp raps sounded at a side door.
“Come,” he said, thickly.
Ho Sen, Lord of the Seraglio, entered, and bowed low with right hand extended palm downward.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “Heg, Rogo of the Ibbits, has arrived, and awaits your pleasure at the outer door of the seraglio.”
“Send him here by way of the single corridor, and see that two eunuchs attend him to this door,” Yin Yin commanded. “There let him wait within call. It may be that this barbarian, when confronted with so much beauty at one time, will become difficult to manage.”
“I hasten to obey,” replied Ho Sen, with another bow and departed.
A few moments later the same door opened, and there entered a being who elicited from Vernia an involuntary gasp of amazement. With his hood of zandar thrown back and his great cloak of the same material caught at his shoulders, Heg, Rogo of the Ibbits, was a most remarkable sight. He was tall, towering head and shoulders above Yin Yin, and symmetrically built so far as human standards go, with the exception of his arms, which were not only tremendously muscled, but as long as those of an ape. His features, too, were regular, and his teeth even and white. Save for his scarlet cincture, and the gold- and jewel-studded straps which supported his knife and scarbo, he wore no clothing beneath his cloak, nor did he appear to need any. For his entire body, from head to foot, not excepting his whole face, was covered with short, white fur.
Yin Yin rose, as is the universal custom in Zorovia when royalty receives royalty, and the two exchanged salutations with right hands extended palms downward. Then he ceremoniously presented the savage chieftain to “Her Imperial Majesty, Vernia, Torroga of Reabon,” and “Her Imperial Highness, Narine, Torrogini of Tyrhana,” Neither Vernia nor Narine acknowledged the introduction, but this seemed to make no difference to the two rulers, who promptly seated themselves beside the taboret.
Yin Yin poured kova for himself and his guest, and they drank. Then he said: “Well, Heg, have you brought the zandars?”
“Aye, Yin Yin,” was the reply. “Ten thousand of the most powerful and spirited beasts in my rogat are even now pawing the planks of your city in charge of my best herdsmen.”
“You are satisfied with the bargain?”
Heg looked at Narine appraisingly. She shuddered under his gaze, but this did not seem to impress him. He had evidently seen many other maidens similarly frightened.
“I am quite satisfied, Yin Yin,” he answered. “Come, look at the splendid zandars I have brought you, and see if you can find it in your heart to tell me that you are not pleased.”
He rose, and led the way to the balcony, Yin Yin waddling after him.
“What think you of those beasts?” he asked. “And all for one little slave girl.”
Yin Yin rubbed his pudgy hands together as the two turned away from the balcony and stepped back into the room. “They are indeed fine animals,” he admitted, “and I declare myself satisfied, but speak not disparagingly of the little slave girl. Remember, she is the daughter of a mighty Torrogo, and it cost me many men and much treasure to bring her here. Moreover, she has beauty far above the average.”
“What of this other?” asked Heg, as they sat down once more beside the kova. “She also has great beauty, and I would buy her from you. In fact, each of these reaches the pinnacle of beauty for her type, the one brunette and the other blonde.”
“Your taste in feminine charms is admirable,” said Yin Yin, “as well it may be, seeing the number of famous beauties you have had from me. But you have always stipulated maids, and she of the golden curls is the bride of a Torrogo, as you may have surmised from her title.”
“Maid or matron, I care not. For beauty such as hers, I will break my rule. Ten thousand zandars more will be yours magnificent as those I have brought you, in exchange for the golden-haired one.”
“Nay, Heg. She is not for sale. All the zandars in your rogat, or all the countless millions that roam the antarctic wastes could not buy her, for she has already been sold for the value of a dozen kingdoms. It but remains for me to deliver her and collect my price.”
But Heg was not easily turned from his purpose. Having seen Vernia, he meant to have her, arguing, threatening, pleading, and gradually increasing his offers, while the two drank cup after cup and pot after pot of kova. He at length avowed his willingness to fill all the streets of Huitsen, packed solidly to the doorways, with zandars, if Yin Yin would only sell him this delectable bit of femininity that, as he expressed it, he might turn at will from the dark beauty of the one to the blonde glory of the other.
Meanwhile the two girls, who had retired to a corner of the room, whispered together.
“Never in my wildest fancies,” said Vernia “did I ever dream that I should become the subject of such haggling as this—to be sold, offered for sale, or bid for, like a beast of burden.”
“It all seems like a wild nightmare too horrible to be real,” replied Narine. “Think of it! I have been sold by a greasy rodent to a fur-covered savage—I the daughter of Ad of Tyrhana! Oh that I had kept the secret of the ring intact! Now I fear that death will come too late to save my honor.”
“My deepest regret is that I, too, betrayed my secret by displaying my knife. I could at least have had the pleasure of sheathing it in the foul heart of Yin Yin before employing it to still for ever the beating of my own. I have but one hope on which to lean and that is a slender one. Grandon of Terra is free somewhere in this city, or was when I last heard of him. Though he and Kantar the Gunner, his friend and warrior, were unarmed, they may have found a way to obtain weapons. If so, it will take more guards than Yin Yin possesses to keep them from the palace, for they must know that I have been brought here.”
“It is indeed a slender hope,” sighed Narine; “for even though your gallant husband could win his way to this place, there would be no way out. It would be but a death trap for all of us.”
“In that case,” Vernia replied, “I should die contented, for there would be hordes of enemies to accompany us into the great beyond and stand before the judgment throne of Thorth.”
As the two Rogos reached an advanced state of inebriation, their haggling became louder and louder, until it appeared that a quarrel was imminent. Suddenly, the hand of the savage chieftain flew to the hilt of his scarbo, and he sprang to his feet, overturning a taboret. “Sell me this fair-haired beauty, and name your own price,” he shouted, “but sell her to me you shall or by the blood of Thorth I’ll slay you and take her for nothing.”
Yin Yin looked at him in drunken wonderment for a moment, as if he could not believe his own eyes. Then he clapped his hands. Instantly the door through which the hairy one had come, flew open, and two eunuchs ran into the room, bared blades in their hands.
At this, Heg’s bravado instantly subsided. Letting his furry hand drop from his hilt, he said: “What’s this? You call the guard? I did but jest, my friend.”
“Your jest as you call it, has gone far enough,” wheezed Yin Yin. “We will, however, let it pass as such, and so end the conference. Take your slave girl and be gone, for the Torroga of Reabon and I would be alone.” He turned his cat-like eyes on Vernia, and leered drunkenly. “Wouldn’t we, my pretty?”
“It grows late, and I must indeed be going,” replied Heg. Striding across the room, he suddenly seized Narine’s wrist and jerked her to her feet. She screamed, and attempted to free her arm from his brutal grasp, but he only laughed at her struggles. “Come, my little beauty,” he said, dragging her across the room. “We have outworn our welcome.”
One of the eunuchs held the door open, and the other stood aside from them to pass out. Yin Yin, a kerra-stained grin on his porcine features, rose ponderously, and waddled unsteadily toward Vernia, drunkenly oblivious to her expression of fear and loathing.