BACK in the throne room of Thid Yet, Rogo of Huitsen, Grandon, who had been forced to his knees by his two burly guards awaited the stroke of Ez Bin, the headsman. He saw the huge blade flash upward, and nerved himself for a mighty effort. As the two-handed scarbo descended, he flung himself backward carrying both guards with him. The heavy blade crashed to the polished glass door, and many tiny cracks radiated from the point where it had struck.
Grandon instantly flung his right arm forward once more. The guard who clung to it tripped over the blade of Ez Bin, and losing his hold, fell on his face before the throne. His right arm now free, Grandon snatched the scarbo which depended from the belt of the other guard, and ran him through.
At this, one of Vernia’s guards sprang forward and struck at Grandon with his scarbo. The Earth-man side-stepped the blow and countered with a slash to the head that stretched his opponent on the floor. In the meantime, Ez Bin had recovered his weapon, and made a terrific swing at Grandon’s neck. Dodging beneath the blade, the Earth-man stabbed upward and thrust him through the throat. Then, before anyone could stop him, he sprang straight for the monarch who squatted on the throne.
With screams of terror, the slave girls scattered. But Thid Yet whipped out his scarbo and leaped to his feet. He had not been Rogo long enough to become fat and flabby like Yin Yin from easy living, nor was he a coward, but despite his great girth, a trained fighting man in the peak of condition, and the veteran of many hand-to-hand encounters which had made him the most feared duelist in Huitsen.
“Stand back,” he shouted to the nobles and soldiers who had begun to crowd around. “Stand back and watch your Rogo carve the heart from this white-skinned slave who dares to attack the throne of Huitsen.”
To the courtiers of Huitsen their ruler’s word was absolutely law; so they fell back and made room for the two combatants. Nor were any of them worried as to the outcome. Thid Yet had not time to select any favorites from among those who stood about his throne, which he had seized with the assistance of the navy faction, nor had he, as yet, conferred any honors or, promotions. If he were slain, another would take his place, probably no better or no worse, and Grandon could easily be dealt with.
It was evident, as Thid Yet sprang forward to meet the Earth-man, that despite Grandon’s reputation as a swordsman, he was positive he could easily best him—that it would be an opportunity to add to his laurels and convince the Huitsenni beyond all doubt that they were ruled by a brave man.
As their blades clashed, and Grandon felt the strength of his wrist and met the lightning speed of his attack, he knew he had an opponent worthy of his steel and that the outcome was indeed doubtful. Blood was drawn on both sides at the very start. First Thid Yet’s point raked Grandon’s cheek cutting a deep gash. Then the Earth-man countered with a swift head cut. The Rogo parried in time to save his head, but not his ear, which was shorn off by the blow.
The spectators cried out in delighted amazement at the swift and brilliant sword-play that followed. Trained from infancy in the use of the scarbo, these men of Huitsen knew that they were witnessing a duel the like of which they might never see again were they to live a dozen lifetimes. One after another, Grandon tried all the tricks he had learned from his old fencing master, Le Blanc, and from the numerous scarbo experts he had encountered. But thrust or cut as he would, the darting blade of Thid Yet was there to meet his, and to counter with a lightning slash or a swift riposte. Time and again Grandon received wounds which might have been fatal had he not succeeded in parrying them or springing back just in time. And for every wound he received, the yellow Rogo was dealt two, though he was equally successful in avoiding a fatal injury.
Bathed in blood and perspiration, the two contestants fought back and forth over an area that had become slippery with their own gore. Grandon’s sword arm began to ache. His head swam dizzily. Loss of blood was beginning to sap his strength. He wondered how Thid Yet, who appeared to be losing more blood than he, could stand the terrific exertion. And wondering, he began to conserve his strength, to fight a defensive rather than an offensive battle, and to wait.
Presently the Earth-man felt the arm of his adversary begin to weaken. Still he fought cautiously, reserving his strength for a final effort—waiting. Suddenly Thid Yet extended his weapon in a vicious but clumsy thrust at Grandon’s left breast. With a quick parry, and a narrow moulinet ending in a swift, drawing cut, the Earthman brought his keen blade down on his opponent’s extended wrist, shearing through muscle and bone. The scarbo of the Rogo clattered to the floor, his severed hand still clinging to the grip.
Thid Yet uttered a grunt of surprise and pain and stared at his spurting wrist for a moment as if he could not believe what he saw. Then he clamped the fingers of his left hand just behind the stump to stay the bleeding, and staggered backward, collapsed against the base of his throne.
In the uproar that followed, Grandon leaped back to where Vernia, who had recovered consciousness shortly after the duel commenced and watched it with bated breath, stood in the custody of her remaining guard. The fellow reached for his scarbo, but not quickly enough. He died with the blade half out of the scabbard and Grandon’s point through his heart. With his left arm around his wife’s slender waist, Grandon waved his bloody scarbo, menacing the nobles and warriors who were crowding around him.
One elevated his tork, but before he could use it, there was a report from an upper balcony, and he pitched forward on his face. A voice rang out from above them. “Back, all of you, and lay down your arms. The first to menace Their Majesties dies.”
Looking up, Grandon saw Kantar standing on a balcony, his tork muzzle pointed over the railing. Behind him, two Olban warriors guarded the door.
A number of the nobles had rushed to Thid Yet’s assistance. Two of them helped him to the throne, while a third tightly bound his wrist with a strip of silk torn from his own cloak. The cat-like eyes of the Rogo glittered with hatred.
“Shoot them,” he groaned. “Slay them all.”
A noble reached for his tork, followed by two more. But as swiftly as they went for their weapons, the tork of the gunner spoke. One after another they sank to the floor. The lesson was not lost on the others. Most of them quickly complied with Kantar’s request by opening their belts and letting their weapons drop to the floor. Then they clasped their hands behind their heads in token of surrender. A few guards who had rushed in from the outer corridors to learn the cause of the disturbance, quickly followed their example.
“What’s this?” cried Thid Yet. “Is my entire court to be captured by a single marksman?” He reached for his own tork. Then a bullet drilled him neatly between the eyes and he slumped forward, dead.
This settled the matter for those who had hesitated to obey the commands of the sharp-shooting gunner. They all dropped their weapons and clasped their hands behind their heads.
Leaving one of his companions to cover the group while the other still watched the door, Kantar dropped from balcony to balcony until he reached the floor. Scarcely had his feet touched its mirrored surface when a terrific bombardment commenced outside. He ran over to where Grandon and Vernia stood, and made obeisance.
“What’s all the shooting about outside?” asked Grandon.
“Your Majesty’s warriors are attacking the city,” replied Kantar, “under cover of a barrage from the artillery. The air fleet of Olba is also bombarding the city, as are the ships of Reabon, Tyrhana, and Adonijar, which are now fighting their way into the harbor and coming up the canal.”
“But you! Where did you come from with these Olban warriors? Did you drop from the sky?”
“In truth, I did, Majesty. Zinlo of Olba, at my request, dropped me on one of the outer balconies of the palace with these two warriors. His airship was not fired upon, as it came and went so suddenly that the Huitsenni had no time to train their heavy mattorks on it. I hoped to find you here, as a squadron sent to follow the party of Ibbits with whom Your Majesties were supposed to be traveling, returned to report that you were not with them. I feared that your lives would be put in jeopardy by the attack, and so came before the assault. By arguing with our scarbos, we convinced several yellow guards who barred our way that we had important business with the Rogo of Huitsen. Then we came to the inner balcony.”
“You came in the nick of time, Gunner,” said Grandon, “and I’m eternally grateful. Now, let’s get out of here.”
The gunner signaled to the Olban warrior on the balcony. He called to his companion, and the two dropped from balcony to balcony under the protection of the watchful gunner’s tork, until they reached the floor.
“What shall we do with these prisoners, Majesty?” asked Kantar, indicating the group of disarmed nobles, officers, and slaves who still stood with their hands clasped behind their heads.
Grandon thought for a moment. “We’ll take them with us,” he decided. “It is the only way. Let the two Olban warriors bind their hands behind their backs.”
While the members of the group were being bound with strips torn from their own clothing, Grandon selected a tork and ammunition belt from the pile of weapons. He also exchanged his nicked and bloody scarbo for a jewel-hilted weapon which had belonged to one of the nobles. Vernia also armed herself, and the two assisted Kantar to keep watch on the balconies and doorways. But it soon appeared that there was no need for this. Evidently the thunder of the conflict outside had prevented the palace inmates from taking any interest in what went on in the throne room.
As soon as the prisoners had been bound, Grandon divided them into two groups, one to march before them, and one behind. Then, with Grandon and Kantar covering the group that marched before and the two Olbans walking backward with their torks trained on those who came behind, they passed out into the corridor which led to the main gate.
They had scarcely moved twenty feet along this corridor, when a considerable body of Huitsenni, wearing white scarves around their necks, poured in from a side corridor. Grandon instantly elevated his tork, but Kantar, recognizing the white scarves as the symbol previously agreed upon, stayed his hand.
“Don’t shoot, Majesty,” he said. “These are friends.” He called to the advancing warriors. “Ho, Chispoks. We are brothers and allies. Relieve us of these prisoners.”
“Gladly, brothers. We were sent by Han Lay to rescue you, and assist in taking the palace but you have evidently been able to take care of yourselves.”
“Is the palace taken?” Grandon asked the mojak of the band.
The officer bowed low. “No, Majesty. But it soon will be. Already a thousand of the brotherhood have come in through the boat entrances, and they are fighting their way to the top. Five thousand more are storming the gates on the street level, and the rest stand ready to cut off the retreating army of Thid Yet.”
“Then my soldiers have broken through?”
“They have, Majesty, and drive the army of the false Rogo before them like frightened frellas, while the warriors from the ships close in from the other side.”
“The false Rogo is now a dead Rogo,” Grandon told him. “But where is Han Lay?”
“He was to lead the charge on the palace gate, so it is there he will be if he has not fallen.”
“Then let us charge through from the inside. It will make victory swifter and easier.”
“But most of my men are fighting on the upper floors.”
“Never mind. Can you spare twenty?”
“Assuredly. Fifty.”
“Splendid! I will lead them.” He turned to the two Olbans, who, relieved of their prisoners, awaited orders. “Guard Her Majesty well,” he commanded. Then to Kantar. “Come, Gunner.”
Followed by the fifty men whom the mojak had detailed to accompany them, Grandon and Kantar led the charge through the entrance, and straight into the melee where the palace guards strove with the Chispoks at the gate. For some minutes the guards, beset from both sides, offered halfhearted resistance. Then one by one they threw down their weapons and clasped their hands behind their heads. The attacking Chispoks surged in, with Han Lay at their head.
“I rejoice to find you alive, Majesty,” said Han Lay, rendering the royal salute to Grandon.
“And I, you, Your Majesty soon to be,” replied Grandon, returning his salute.
Suddenly a string of aerial battleships dropped down from the sky and circled the palace. Swiftly their mattorks silenced the weapons of those who fired at them. Then they sailed up to the balconies at the various levels, and Olban warriors poured down their aluminum stairways into the palace. The leading airship settled beside the palace gate. The steps dropped and down them came Zinlo and Narine.
Grandon and Zinlo saluted each other in the Zorovian fashion, then puzzled those who stood around them by enthusiastically shaking hands, a purely earthly demonstration which was unknown on Venus.
“I see that you are in at the kill, in spite of the fact that we couldn’t notify you,” said Zinlo.
“Decidedly,” replied Grandon. “Where are Ad and Aardvan?”
“Coming. They have just accepted the surrender of the Romojak of Huitsen, and will be here in a moment.”
Grandon presented Han Lay to Zinlo and Narine. Then Vernia came out, accompanied by her two Olban guards, and to her he was also presented.
A moment later, three men strode up to the palace gate, a half-dozen warriors making way for them through the vast multitude that had gathered there. They were Ad of Tyrhana, Aardvan of Adonijar, and San Thoy. Grandon held a short conference with his allies. Then, accompanied by Han Lay, he mounted to the top step of the aluminum stairs which led to Zinlo’s flagship. It was a position from which he could command a view of the entire crowd, and be seen by them.
“People of Huitsen,” he shouted. “First of all, I want to tell you, and I speak on behalf of my allies as well as myself, that we are not here to exact tributes or reparations, nor to gloat over a prostrate foe. On the contrary, we wish to establish friendly relations with the people of Huitsen—relations that will last through the years. The officer and renowned warrior who stands here beside me is willing to meet the conditions which will best foster these relations, namely, an abolition of piracy, the freeing of all slaves who have been acquired by buccaneering and coastal raids, and the entry of Huitsen into peaceful commerce with the other nations of this planet.
“Being in full accord with these policies, we will withdraw our warriors as soon as a treaty is concluded with him, if you will acclaim him your Rogo. What is your pleasure?”
“Han Lay for Rogo,” shouted a warrior, and the shout was taken up by a thousand throats.
Presently Grandon held up his hand for silence. When the clamor had ceased, he said: “Have you any other candidates to propose?”
No one spoke. He waited for a moment. “Then acclaim him,” he cried.
“Hail Han Lay, Rogo of Huitsen!” roared the crowd, as with one voice.
When the shouting had subsided to a murmur, Grandon turned to Han Lay, and said: “I have a suggestion, Your Majesty. There is one who, though he has his little weaknesses, has been largely instrumental in the consummation of this glorious victory. I refer to San Thoy, and recommend that he be suitably rewarded.”
The new Rogo beckoned to San Thoy, who came and made obeisance before him.
“Rise, San Thoy, Romojak of the Navies of Huitsen,” said Han Lay.
Then he and Grandon descended the ladder, and amid the cheering of the populace, the royal group, attended by their officers and guards, went into the palace.
As they entered, Han Lay, who was walking beside Grandon, said: “What of this lascivious Rogo who was the cause of Her Majesty’s abduction? Can we be of assistance in bringing him to justice?”
“You can, decidedly,” replied Grandon. “I had already thought of a plan. I should like to borrow one of your largest vessels complete with officers and crew, with San Thoy in command. Also if you can furnish me with a sculptor who can make a life-like image of one who will pose for him, say in wax, or some such material, I shall be able to complete my plans without great difficulty.”
“These are but trifles,” protested Han Lay. “A ship will be put at your disposal immediately, and within the hour a dozen such sculptors as you require will await your pleasure.”
“Excellent! As soon as I have had these scratches dressed, I’ll explain my plan to you.”