The Swordsman of Mars (9 page)

Thorne instantly whipped out his sword. "Release her or die," he commanded, presenting his point at the deputy's breast.

The deputy let her go, and stood erect, glaring. "Have you abandoned your honor?"

"I might ask you the same," retorted Thorne, sheathing his sword, "but I know a man is incapable of abandoning that which he has never had."

"It seems," said Sel Han, a deadly glitter in his eyes, "that you have forgotten the code--and something else."

"I am glad you have not forgotten that you are my guardsman, Sheb Takkor Jen," interposed Neva. "And since you are acting in that capacity, and not in your own personal interests, it would seem that you are at liberty to treat this trespasser as you would any other."

"I had hoped that the Dixtar's daughter would confirm me in that belief," relied Thorne. The Earthman's fist shot up in a short arc that ended beneath Sel Han's protruding chin. There was a tremendous splash as the deputy measured his length in the chilly pool.

Thorne leaped back and waited tensely, hand on hilt. His enemy came up sputtering and cursing luridly in English, then stepped over the rim. He bowed low before the girl.

"Permit me to congratulate the Dixtar's daughter on the singular efficiency of her guardsman. It is only exceeded by his total lack of honor."

Then he turned, and strode away with water sloshing in his boots and dripping from his clothing.

Thorne's hand fell limply from his sword hilt. He was bitterly disappointed, for he had felt certain that Sel Han would come out of that enforced bath raging and eager to try conclusions with him.

"The coward! The miserable, slinking coward!"

Neva was speaking"0">Thornelf to herself, as she gazed after the departing figure. She turned and looked up at Thorne.

"He is afraid to measure swords with you," she said, "but he will find some other way to be rid of you. He is cunning, oh, so cunning, and treacherous." She laid a slim hand on the Earthman's arm. "The deputy has considerable influence with the Dixtar, my father--but for that matter, so have I. And I will help you."

In spite of his preconceived dislike of this little beauty, Thorne thrilled at her glance and touch.

"I am honored that the Dixtar's daughter should be interested in preserving my worthless life," he replied.

"He is a strange and terrible creature, this Sel Han," she went on. "Did you notice the queer gibberish he used when he came up out of the water? Some incantation, perhaps, to a strange god. No doubt he is a sorcerer."

Recalling the deputy's lurid English curses, Thorne smiled to himself as he replied, "I doubt not that he was calling down the wrath of some deity on my head."

Neva yawned prettily. "I am sleepy," she said. "We will go in now, for I must retire. You may walk beside me."

Slowly, side by side, stepping in perfect unison, they went up the path which led to the house.

At the steps which led up to the terrace she took his arm. Again he felt the thrill of her touch, and fought it with every ounce of will power at his command.

As they entered the doorway a slave girl hurried up to take her mistress's cloak. Another moved the lever which uncapped the baridium light globes, making the room brilliant as day. And still another hurried in, bearing a tray on which was a tiny jeweled cup of steaming pulcho which she proffered to Neva.

"Bring another for the Jen," she said.

The girl hurried out, and returned a moment later with a larger cup.

"I drink to my brave and efficient guardsman," smiled Neva.

"And I to the lovely and precious jewel which he guards," replied Thorne.

During the early watches of the night, Thorne, standing guard before Neva's chamber door, reviewed the doings of the day. Before seeing the Dixtar's daughter he had been firmly of the opinion that he loved Thaine. And he had resolved not to be overcome by the reputedly irresistible charms of Neva. But now her image was ever before him.

As he stood there, inwardly perturbed by his strangely conflicting emotions, he suddenly sensed that all was not as it should be--that some sinister, alien presence was quietly watching him.

Before retiring, one of the slave girls had pulled the levers which hooded all of the larger baridium globes, leaving only one tiny light uncovered. It shed a pale golden twilight that faintly revealed the outlines of the objects in the room.

Over all these objects Thorne's eyes now roved, yet he could discern nothing amiss. The swinging chairs and divans, depending from the ceiling by their golden chains, were obviously unoccupied. And the shadows beneath them were not so dense as to form a hiding place for a human being. There was a tal, shelved case in which many metal cylinders were kept, containing the scrolls which on Mars answered for books. But nothing could hide there. And other than these, there were only a few large pots of flowers set here and there about the room.

Once more he settled to his former position, but this time he only pretended to be preoccupied. For some time nothing happened, yet though his face was held straight ahead, he kept eyes turned in the direction where he thought he had seen a stealthy movement. Suddenly, he saw it again. And to his astonishment, he discovered that it was a large pot of flowers which had moved. So far as he could see this pot and its contents were not markedly different from any of the others. It was about three and a half feet high and three in diameter at its center. And the two large handles projecting from sides were of the same angular pattern as the others. Without moving his head, he kept his eyes on this singularly mobile pot. Inch by inch it came toward him while he watched, fascinated. As it drew closer he examined it minutely, meanwhile stealthily loosening his sword in its sheath with his left hand. It seemed filled almost to the brim with rich black soil, from which the flower stalks projected.

Closer and closer it came until but a scant five feet separated them. Then it suddenly stood erect on two spindly legs and its handles turned into two spidery arms, one of which wielded a long, slim dagger. Straight for the Earthman it sprang, its weapon poised. But in that instant he had whipped his sword from its sheath, and whirling it over his head, brought it down with all his might on the amazing pot.

The hard vitreous shoulder of the pot withstood the blow of his slender weapon with ease, but the keen blade glanced downward, shearing off the spidery arm that held the dagger. At this there was a muffled shriek of pain from inside the pot, and turning, it fled swiftly for the doorway. As he set out in pursuit, Thorne shifted his sword to his left hand, and plucking his heavy mace from his belt, hurled it straight at the center of the pot.

The weapon went true to the mark. There was a resounding crash of broken crockery, and the spindle legs collapsed, precipitating everything onto the floor. Out of the tangle of crumpled flowers there rolled a round-bodied yellow man.

For some time pandemonium held sway in that quarter of the palace. Neva's frightened girls and women screamed for help, and a company of guards from the outer corridors came clanking into the room. But Neva herself, clad in a filmy wrap, came out of her sleeping room, quite unperturbed.

"What has happened, Sheb Takkor Jen?" she asked.

"That attacked me," Thorne replied, indicating the corpse, "disguised as a pot of flowers."

By this time the room was filled with soldiers and slave girls, all staring curiously at the remains. Some one had unhooded the baridium globe, and the resulting light revealed every detail.

The yellow man's disguise had been well adapted to his rotund body and spidery arms. The pot had a false bottom only two inches from the top, covered with a thin layer of soil. The flower stalks were set on narrow spikes projecting upward from this bottom. There were no handles, but holes through which the scrawny arms were thrust. Painted to resemble crockery and held akimbo, they had looked exactly like handles in the dim light. And the pot, with small holes bored in it for breathing and spying, formed an efficient body armor against sword and dagger thrusts.

"A diabolical attemptot; said Neva, shuddering. Then to the soldiers, "Take it away."

Two men caught up the stiffening body and others cleared away the debris. Then, at a sign from Neva, all silently left the apartment.

She looked up into Thorne's eyes.

"You have saved me from abduction, or perhaps assassination," she said. "I am very grateful."

"Perhaps," he replied, "it is only myself I have saved. The fellow attacked me. And I have reason to believe he was the creature of Sel Han."

“What reason?"

“Because the Deputy Dixtar is said to be in league with the Ma Gongi."

“There may be some truth in that," she answered, "but don't let anyone hear you say it. My father has unlimited faith in his deputy, and has beheaded two officers who were bold enough to accuse him of that very thing."

"I am grateful for your warning," Thorne replied, "and will be discreet."

A slave girl drew back the curtain, and she reentered her sleeping room.

Morning found the Earthman exceedingly weary after a strenuous day and night without rest. Soon after he was relieved by Kov Lutas he was sound asleep in their apartment. It seemed that he had scarcely closed his eyes when the orderly awakened him.

"Your servant is commanded to prepare you to attend the Dixtar's daughter at the state function this evening," he said. "As the preparation will take some time, I was compelled to awaken you early."

Like most of the women Thorne had known on his own world, Neva was a long time about dressing. But when, after he had waited for more than an hour before her door, she came forth, the result was most entrancing.

A tiara of pearls and pale blue amethysts woven together in a bizarre pattern on the meshwork of golden wires, bound her sun-bright hair. Beads of the same materials formed her breast-shields and supported a clinging bodice of iridescent blue silk. This vanished in a girdle of pearls and amethysts.

Thorne stood enthralled, and she smiled archly. Then she raised her arms and circled gracefully on the tips of her toes. "Like it?" she asked.

"Immensely," he replied, "even as I adore--" He stopped suddenly.

"Go on," she urged him, still smiling.

"Sorry. I said more than I intended. Perhaps you will find it in your heart to overlook my presumption."

"Perhaps I shall if you will finish." Then, "Even as I adore --" she prompted him.

"--the star-strewn firmament," he replied.

She stamped a tiny foot. "Must I command you?" She moved closer--laid a hand on his arm. "Where I might command," she said, "I will only implore."

"--the lovely jewel it adorns," he finished.

"Ah! That is what I wanted to hear you say. And for your reward you will escort me to the reception as a gentleman and officer of the Kamud, walking at my side."

The reception of Irintz Tel, Dixtar of Xancibar, was a gorgeous affair. Held for the purpose of welcoming Lori Thool, the new ambassador from Kalsivar, largest and most powerful nation of Mars, it was a model of magnificence.

The function was held in the great central audience chamber of the palace, the ceiling of which towered a thousand feet above the heads of the assembled guests, its polished surface reflecting the rays of myriads of baridium globes, which made the place light as day.

Irintz Tel was standing with his illustrious guest on a dais in the center of the floor, presenting other visiting dignitaries and his chief officers, when the silvery notes of a trumpet rose above the hum of conversation. Instantly, every voice was hushed as a pompous major-domo announced: "The Dixtar's daughter."

All eyes were turned toward the doorway as Neva entered, walking beside Thorne. And though they lighted with pleasure at sight of the dainty little golden-haired beauty who was the first lady of Xancibar, not a few admiring glances were cast at the tall, handsome, sun-bronzed young officer.

Straight to the dais they went, the girl nodding to right and left to her many friends and acquaintances. As the little rat-faced Dixtar advanced to meet them, accompanied by Lori Thool, Thorne was once more struck by the incongruous dissimilarity between father and daughter.

The ambassador was tall, slender, and slightly under middle age, his hair just beginning to gray at the temples. He was quite handsome and elegant in his uniform and insignia of a great noble of Kalsivar.

"Neva," squeaked the Dixtar in his high-pitched voice, "this is Lori Thool, the noble ambassador from Kalsivar. Lori Thool, my daughter."

The ambassador saluted gracefully. "My homage to the most beautiful of the daughters of Mars. It must be that I have now met every one. Will you not join me in a game of gapun? I see they are setting up the boards."

"In a moment," she answered. "You have not quite met every one. This is my friend, Sheb Takkor Jen."

As he and the resplendent ambassador exchanged dignified salutes, the Earthman exulted over the fact that she had said, "my friend."

Meanwhile, Neva had beckoned a pretty little black-haired, brown-eyed beauty to her side.