LORALIE AND I boarded the aerial battleship. It was the same one that had rescued us from the killer norgal and brought us to Olba, manned in part by the same crew, and commanded by Lotar.
By my command he piloted the ship to a point directly above the Black Tower, and hovered there. The armies from the north and south had, by this time, completed their encircling movement and were rapidly closing in on the unsuspecting army of Taliboz.
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Zinlo of Olba, to Taliboz: You are surrounded by an army of forty thousand warriors. As the Black Tower is garrisoned with five thousand men, you cannot hope to take it. You have your choice of unconditional surrender or annihilation. If you surrender, lay down your arms and raise the “dua” pennon. If not, you alone are responsible for what will follow. ZINLO |
Rolling it up and weighting it with an empty tork clip, I hurled it down at the spot where the Imperial Standard of Olba fluttered in the wind.
With the aid of my glass I watched its flight downward, and saw it fall near one of the officers, who carried it to his commander.
Unrolling it, Taliboz read it, then passed it to the man nearest him. Upon careful scrutiny with the glass, I saw the man was Maribo, his prime minister. After the latter had read it, the two engaged in a lengthy argument in which several of the others joined.
I judged from their attitudes that the other officers sided with Maribo, and that Taliboz stood alone in whatever decision he had made. While the argument was going on, the first skirmish line of the encircling army opened fire.
Suddenly wheeling and walking away from Maribo and the others, I saw Taliboz shout something to a mattork crew and point toward our ship. A moment later a shell screamed past me. This was his answer.
A gunner in our forward turret promptly replied, wiping out the crew of the mattork from which the shot had been fired.
But Maribo and the other officers apparently did not approve of the way Taliboz had replied to our missive. With positive defeat staring them in the face, they appeared to be united in favor of immediate surrender. At least they did not interfere with Maribo when he ran up behind Taliboz just as the traitor was ordering another gun crew to fire on us, and deliberately stabbed him in the back.
Scarcely had the stricken traitor sunk to the ground ere Maribo gave an order to the standard bearer. Instantly the banner of Taliboz was lowered and the pennon of peace raised, while the shout of “dua” went around the lines. The fighting ceased almost instantly, and with their weapons on the ground and their hands clasped behind their heads in token of submission, the warriors who had set out so confidently that morning to reduce the Black Tower, were taken prisoners.
“Now that they have surrendered,” said Loralie anxiously, “can’t we go and see my poor father?”
“We’ll get him and take him to the palace at once. I want him to be my guest as long as he cares to stay.”
“And I want you to ask him something just as soon as you get a chance,” she said with a meaning smile. “Remember Cousin Gadrimel is with him. He is very fond of my cousin.”
We flew southward to where the standards of the Torrogo of Tyrhana, the Torrogi of Adonijar, and my Rogo of Tureno fluttered in the breeze, then descended.
As Loralie and I got down from the ship, three men came to meet us. All wore the scarlet of royalty. The foremost I recognized instantly by his mincing gait as Prince Gadrimel. The other two I did not know except by their insignia.
Loralie flung herself into the arms of the taller of the two, a straight, athletic-appearing monarch with snapping brown eyes and a square cut, jet black beard. I judged him to be about forty years of age.
“Father!” she cried joyously.
He kissed her hungrily, then held her away from him, looking her over from head to foot. “My little girl. I can scarcely believe it is you, alive and well. Rather had I lost my empire and my life than that harm had come to you.”
“This is Zinlo of Olba, Father,” she said, indicating me. “Prince Zinlo, my father, Torrogo Ad of Tyrhana.”
“You have placed me deeply in your debt by bringing my daughter to me unharmed,” said Ad.
“Had there been a debt, Your Majesty,” I replied, “it would have been canceled long ago by the pleasure of Her Highness’s company.”
Gadrimel came up and bowed formally, muttering something about being grateful to me for having rescued his dear cousin and fiancee. The other in scarlet was the Rogo of Tureno.
I asked that he arrange for the entertainment of all soldiers and sailors of Adonijar and Tyrhana, in his city, at the expense of the Imperial Government of Olba.
Ad and Gadrimel then got aboard with us. We flew to the Black Tower, where we took Pasuki on board, and to the headquarters of the citizens’ army, where we picked up Vorn Vangal. Then we flew to the palace.
When quarters had been assigned to our guests, Vorn Vangal enthusiastically undertook the task of supervising preparations for a great feast to be held that evening. I met my guests in the imperial reception room, where I ordered kova served.
Gadrimel was so attentive to Loralie that I scarcely had an opportunity to speak to her. So I called her father out on the balcony, told him I loved Princess Loralie, and asked him for her hand in marriage.
Ad looked astonished. “Beard of my grandfather!” he thundered. “What’s this you say? Her hand in marriage? Is it possible that you are not aware that she is to marry her cousin Gadrimel?”
“I knew that she was betrothed to Gadrimel against her will,” I replied, “but that does not stop us from loving each other.”
“From loving each other! Loralie—come here, child.” He added, “Excuse us a moment, Gadrimel.”
Loralie came out through the window, visibly a little frightened at his tone.
“I hope,” he said gravely, when she stood before him, “that you will deny, once and for all, that you love His Highness of Olba. You know my wishes with regard to Gadrimel!”
For a moment she hung her head, but for a moment only. Then she raised it proudly, and with tears brimming in her glorious eyes answered, “Father, I love him, and have told him so.”
On the dark brows of Ad a storm of anger was gathering.
“By the blood and bones of Thorth!” he roared. “Do you thus defy me—me, your father? You ingrate! I swear by my head and beard that I’ll wed you to Gadrimel at once and take you to Adonijar.”
“Father, please!” Great tears were streaming down her cheeks now.
“Your Highness,” Ad said to me shortly, “you will confer a favor on me by leaving us.”
I bowed and departed, striving to conceal my bitter disappointment as I entered the room where we had left Gadrimel. The prince had a most unwonted grin on his effeminate face, and I had no doubt but that he had been listening a moment before at the window.
He instantly began a lisping chatter about our many adventures together, and his own heroic exploits after we had parted company in the fern-forest.
At intervals when he stopped talking long enough to sip his kova I could hear the sobbing of Loralie on the balcony and the rumbling voice of her father. Suddenly Ad appeared to lose his temper again, for he roared, “He did, did he? Why, of all the . . . ”
He strode to the window, his face a thundercloud of wrath. Loralie hurried after him. I leaped to my feet, expecting physical violence.
But he did not even look at me. Instead, he walked to where Gadrimel was sitting and, seizing him by the scruff of the neck, jerked him erect.
“You insolent cub!” he roared, shaking the prince until his teeth rattled and his eyes nearly popped from his head. “You mincing, lisping, addle-headed popinjay! So you would abduct my daughter and force her to marry you! Lucky it is for you that I am constrained to remember you are the son of my sister. Were it not for that I should wring your neck and hurl you from the battlements.”
“I—ah, ah, you’re choking me,” gasped the prince.
“Did you think I was fondling you, you wretch?” thundered the Emperor of Tyrhana, and shot the princeling through the window by applying his toe to the youth’s center of gravity. Nor did he return, but slunk away through another room.
A look of serenity gradually settled over Ad’s clouded brow. “Your Highness, like all men, I sometimes change my mind.”
“It is a mark of greatness,” I replied, bowing.
“Tonight at dinner, my children, I will announce your betrothal.”
Before either of us could reply a guard entered and announced that Vorn Vangal, Pasuki and Lotar craved immediate audience.
“If Your Highness can spare a moment to the people,” said Vangal, “please be so good as to show yourself on the balcony.”
“What is up?” I asked.
“A little technicality to be cleared up,” he answered. “Taliboz was only wounded and not killed as we thought. He has escaped. Under the law he is still Torrogo of Olba because he has been legally so acclaimed, thus taking precedence over your otherwise perfectly legal succession to the throne. Knowing all the circumstances the people of Olba now wish to acclaim you Emperor, so there will be no complications hereafter.”
I walked to the balcony. The palace grounds were thronged with a close-packed, surging populace. The streets were jammed with people, and every window ledge, balcony, housetop and wall in sight was packed.
As soon as I appeared above the battlements a hundred thousand scarbos flashed aloft in the hands of the men, and a hundred thousand white scarves were waved above the mighty sea of humanity by the women and girls. A great cheer rose, swelling in volume until it seemed that it must shake the very palace.
“Hail Zinlo, Torrogo of Olba!”
I bowed in acknowledgment of this tremendous ovation, whereupon every voice was suddenly stilled.
“I thank you, my people,” I shouted down to them. “I will ever strive faithfully to fulfill the trust you have placed in me.”
Once more the scarves and scarbos flashed aloft. Once more a thunderous cheer rolled up. Bowing, I returned to the room and the congratulations of my friends.
With the deepest satisfaction I appointed Vorn Vangal prime minister, and gave the command of army and aerial forces to Pasuki and Lotar. My three loyal friends made obeisance and departed, leaving Loralie, Ad and myself alone.
“Since you have made so free with your favors, Your Majesty,” smiled Loralie, “what have you left for me? Am I not also to be honored?”
“Why, yes,” I answered, as, unmindful of her father’s presence, her arms went around my neck. “As soon as you grant me leave, I’ll make you Torroga, Empress of Olba.”
“It’s the highest honor an empire can bestow,” laughed Ad, “for be he in palace or hovel a man is ever subject to the sweet will of his wife.”
“Agreed,” I replied. “And now, little wife to be, what is your pleasure?”
“If you were not so busy talking nonsense to Father,” she pouted, “you would see that I have been waiting for you to kiss me.”
THUS ENDS the tale of Rorgen Takkor’s adventures on Venus, up to the time that he was securely established as Zinlo, Torrogo of Olba. However, lest the perceptive reader remind me that this security was precarious at the very least—since Rorgen Takkor had merely exchanged personalities with Zinlo of Venus, who was meanwhile on Earth in the body of the man known as Harry Thorne—let me assure him that I have not forgotten this fact.
Robert Grandon was in exactly the same position, in Reabon, at the close of his story, which is told in “The Planet of Peril.” Those who have read that story know that the resolution of Grandon’s difficulty in this regard also solved Rorgen Takkor’s problem. So I will only mention here that neither Grandon nor Takkor had to worry about being taken from their wives and thrones and returned to their Earth bodies; but how this came about you will have to read the novel mentioned above to discover.
The Author.
THE END