The flyer shook his head. "I don't know. No man is born with an
understanding of women--"
"But she is angered with you. What has happened?"
For a moment Garin was tempted to tell the truth: that he dared not
break any barrier she chose to raise, lest he seize what in honor was
none of his. But he shook his head mutely. Neither of them saw Thrala
again until Death entered the Caverns.
_CHAPTER TEN_
_Battle and Victory_
Garin stood with Dandtan looking out into the plain of Tav. Some
distance away were two slender, steel-tipped towers, which were, in
reality, but hollow tubes filled with the Black Fire. Before these
dark-clad figures were busy.
"They seem to believe us already defeated. Let them think so," commented
Dandtan, touching the screen they had erected before the Cavern
entrance.
As he spoke Kepta swaggered through the tall grass to call a greeting:
"Ho, rock dweller, I would speak with you--"
Dandtan edged around the screen, Garin a pace behind.
"I see you, Kepta."
"Good. I trust that your ears will serve you as well as your eyes. These
are my terms: Give Thrala to me to dwell in my chamber and the outlander
to provide sport for my captains. Make no resistance but throw open the
Caverns so that I may take my rightful place in the Hall of Thrones. Do
this and we shall be at peace...."
"And this is our reply:"--Dandtan stood unmovingly before the
screen--"Return to the Caves; break down the bridge between your land
and ours. Let no Black One come hither again, ever...."
Kepta laughed. "So, that be the way of it! Then this shall we do: take
Thrala, to be mine for a space, and then to go to my captains--"
Garin hurled himself forward, felt Kepta's lips mash beneath his fist;
his fingers were closing about the other's throat as Dandtan, who was
trying to pull him away from his prey, shouted a warning: "Watch out!"
A morgel had leaped from the grass, its teeth snapping about Garin's
wrist, forcing him to drop Kepta. Then Dandtan laid it senseless by a
sharp blow with his belt.
On hands and knees Kepta crawled back to his men. The lower part of his
face was a red and dripping smear. He screamed an order with savage
fury.
Dandtan drew the still raging flyer behind the screen. "Be a little
prudent," he panted. "Kepta can be dealt with in other ways than with
bare hands."
The towers were swinging their tips toward the entrance. Dandtan ordered
the screen wedged tightly into place.
Outside, the morgel Dandtan had stunned got groggily to its feet. When
it had limped half the distance back to its master, Kepta gave the order
to fire. The broad beam of black light from the tip of the nearest tower
caught the beast head on. There was a chilling scream of agony, and
where the morgel had stood gray ashes drifted on the wind.
A hideous crackling arose as the black beam struck the screen. Green
grass beneath seared away, leaving only parched earth and naked blue
soil. Those within the Cavern crouched behind their frail protection,
half blinded by the light from the seared grass, coughing from the
chemical-ridden fumes which curled about the cracks of the rock.
Then the beam faded out. Thin smoke plumed from the tips of the towers,
steam arose from the blackened ground. Dandtan drew a deep breath.
"It held!" he cried, betraying at last the fear which had ridden him.
Men of the Folk dragged engines of tubing before the screen, while
others brought forth the globes of green liquid. Dandtan stood aside, as
if this matter were the business of the Folk alone, and Garin recalled
that the Ancient Ones were opposed to the taking of life.
Trar was in command now. At his orders the globes were posed on
spoon-shaped holders. Loopholes in the screen clicked open. Trar brought
down his hand in signal. The globes arose lazily, sliding through the
loopholes and floating out toward the towers.
One, aimed short, struck the ground where the fire had burned it bare,
and broke. The liquid came forth, sluggishly, forming a gray-green gas
as the air struck it. Another spiral of gas arose almost at the foot of
one of the towers--and then another ... and another.
There quickly followed a tortured screaming, which soon dwindled to a
weak yammering. They could see shapes, no longer human or animal,
staggering about in the fog.
Dandtan turned away, his face white with horror. Garin's hands were over
his ears to shut out that crying.
At last it was quiet; there was no more movement by the towers. Urg
placed a sphere of rosy light upon the nearest machine and flipped it
out into the camp of the enemy. As if it were a magnet it drew the green
tendrils of gas, to leave the air clear. Here and there lay shrunken,
livid shapes, the towers brooding over them.
One of the Folk burst into their midst, a woman of Thrala's following.
"Haste!" She clawed at Garin. "Kepta takes Thrala!"
She ran wildly back the way she had come, with the American pounding at
her heels. They burst into the Hall of Thrones and saw a struggling
group before the dais.
Garin heard someone howl like an animal, became aware the sound came
from his own throat. For the second time his fist found its mark on
Kepta's face. With a shriek of rage the Black One threw Thrala from him
and sprang at Garin, his nails tearing gashes in the flyer's face. Twice
the American twisted free and sent bone-crushing blows into the other's
ribs. Then he got the grip he wanted, and his fingers closed around
Kepta's throat. In spite of the Black One's struggles he held on until a
limp body rolled beneath him.
Panting, the American pulled himself up from the blood-stained floor and
grabbed the arm of the Jade Throne for support.
"Garin!" Thrala's arms were about him, her pitying fingers on his
wounds. And in that moment he forgot Dandtan, forgot everything he had
steeled himself to remember. She was in his arms and his mouth sought
hers possessively. Nor was she unresponsive, but yielded, as a flower
yields to the wind.
"Garin!" she whispered softly. Then, almost shyly, she broke from his
hold.
Beyond her stood Dandtan, his face white, his mouth tight. Garin
remembered. And, a little mad with pain and longing, he dropped his
eyes, trying not to see the loveliness which was Thrala.
"So, Outlander, Thrala flies to your arms--"
Garin whirled about. Kepta was hunched on the broad seat of the jet
throne.
"No, I am not dead, Outlander--nor shall you kill me, as you think to
do. I go now, but I shall return. We have met and hated, fought and died
before--you and I. You were a certain Garan, Marshall of the air fleet
of Yu-Lac on a vanished world, and I was Lord of Koom. That was in the
days before the Ancient Ones pioneered space. You and I and Thrala, we
are bound together and even fate can not break those bonds. Farewell,
Garin. And do you, Thrala, remember the ending of that other Garan. It
was not an easy one."
With a last malicious chuckle, he leaned back in the throne. His
battered body slumped. Then the sharp lines of the throne blurred; it
shimmered in the light. Abruptly then both it and its occupant were
gone. They were staring at empty space, above which loomed the rose
throne of the Ancient Ones.
"He spoke true," murmured Thrala. "We have had other lives, other
meetings--so will we meet again. But for the present he returns to the
darkness which sent him forth. It is finished."
Without warning, a low rumbling filled the Cavern; the walls rocked and
swayed. Lizard and human, they huddled together until the swaying
stopped. Finally a runner appeared with news that one of the Gibi had
ventured forth and discovered that the Caves of Darkness had been sealed
by an underground quake. The menace of the Black Ones was definitely at
an end.
_CHAPTER ELEVEN_
_Thrala's Mate_
Although there were falls of rock within the Caverns and some of the
passages were closed, few of the Folk suffered injury. Gibi scouts
reported that the land about the entrance to the Caves had sunk, and
that the River of Gold, thrown out of its bed, was fast filling this
basin to form a lake.
As far as they could discover, none of the Black Ones had survived the
battle and the sealing of the Caves. But they could not be sure that
there was not a handful of outlaws somewhere within the confines of Tav.
The Crater itself was changed. A series of raw hills had appeared in the
central plain. The pool of boiling mud had vanished and trees in the
forest lay flat, as if cut by a giant scythe.
Upon their return to the cliff city, the Gibi found most of their wax
skyscrapers in ruins, but they set about rebuilding without complaint.
The squirrel farmers emerged from their burrows and were again busy in
the fields.
Garin felt out of place in all the activity that filled the Caverns.
More than ever he was the outlander with no true roots in Tav.
Restlessly, he explored the Caverns, spending many hours in the Place of
Ancestors, where he studied those men of the outer world who had
preceded him into this weird land.
One night when he came back to his chamber he found Dandtan and Trar
awaiting him there. There was a curious hardness in Dandtan's attitude,
a somber sobriety in Trar's carriage.
"Have you sought the Hall of Women since the battle?" demanded the son
of the Ancient Ones abruptly.
"No," retorted Garin shortly. Did Dandtan accuse him of double dealing?
"Have you sent a message to Thrala?"
Garin held back his rising temper. "I have not ventured where I can
not."
Dandtan nodded to Trar as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "You see
how it stands, Trar."
Trar shook his head slowly. "But never has the summoning been at
fault--"
"You forget," Dandtan reminded him sharply. "It was once--and the
penalty was exacted. So shall it be again."
Garin looked from one to the other, confused. Dandtan seemed possessed
of a certain ruthless anger, but Trar was manifestly unhappy.
"It must come after council, the Daughter willing," the Lord of the Folk
said.
Dandtan strode toward the door. "Thrala is not to know. Assemble the
Council tonight. Meanwhile, see that he," he jerked his thumb toward
Garin, "does not leave this room."
Thus Garin became a prisoner under the guard of the Folk, unable to
discover of what Dandtan accused him, or how he had aroused the hatred
of the Cavern ruler. Unless Dandtan's jealousy had been aroused and he
was determined to rid himself of a rival.
Believing this, the flyer went willingly to the chamber where the judges
waited. Dandtan sat at the head of a long table, Trar at his right hand
and lesser nobles of the Folk beyond.
"You know the charge," Dandtan's words were tipped with venom as Garin
came to stand before him. "Out of his own mouth has this outlander
condemned himself. Therefore I ask that you decree for him the fate of
that outlander of the second calling who rebelled against the
summoning."
"The outlander has admitted his fault?" questioned one of the Folk.