“Who killed your baby?” replied the venerable old man of the Caves of
Kar. “I will tell you. Even such a traitor as the renegade Yuri would
not dare to violate his solemn oath. He had sworn to harm no person. Yet
little Kew stood between him and a coveted throne. What could he do
under such circumstances? Only a diabolical brain, like that possessed
by Yuri, could conceive of the solution which he concocted. In his
capacity as king and hence interpreter of all laws, he interpreted his
own promise as follows—”
“Yes, yes! Go on!” exclaimed Cabot, exasperated. “Don’t keep me in
suspense.”
“I was just about to tell you when you interrupted me,” resumed
Glamp-glamp in a mildly reproving tone. “Prince Yuri ruled that, because
little Kew was your son, and because you are a beast from another world,
therefore little Kew was a beast, likewise, and so was not a ‘person,’
strictly speaking, and so did not come within the literal scope of the
protection of the promise, which was ‘to harm no _person_.’ Having ruled
thus, the miscreant then proceeded to stab the baby through the heart
with his own hands.”
“The villain!” hissed Cabot, clenching his fists. But what could a mere
earth man do against such a schemer?
Glamp-glamp went on with his story:
“He left his jeweled dagger sticking in the death wound which it had
made, sneeringly remarking: ‘Thus, with the seal of my family, I seal
the deed which makes me King of Cupia.’ So came King Yuri the First to
the Cupian throne.”
“Not yet, by a long shot!” exclaimed the earth man, with a sudden burst
of loyalty and affection toward the man whom he had wrongly suspected
all this while, “for you forget Prince Toron. The Assembly long ago
canceled Yuri’s title to the crown because of his treason in the Great
War of Liberation. The succession they awarded to his younger brother,
the loyal Toron. So Yuri’s foul deed made Toron king, unless”—and here
a horrible fear clouded Cabot’s firmament—“unless Toron is among the
missing.”
“You have spoken well,” replied the old man, “for Toron truly is among
the missing. He has not been seen or heard of since the assassination of
the old king.”
Myles groaned. Then he remembered something which, in fact, had scarcely
been absent from his thoughts for as much as a paraparth ever since he
had found the body of his murdered son in the banquet hall at Luno
Castle. It is remarkable how a fact which you remember in one connection
will often fail to suggest itself in another connection, although
equally pat. This is doubtless for much the same psychological reason as
is set forth in the following proverb of Poblath, the philosopher: “A
face well known to you in Kuana is oft a stranger in Ktuth.”
So, in the present instance, the note which Cabot had found, signed by
the name of Toron and pinned to the baby’s bier by a jeweled dagger, had
suggested so vividly to Cabot that Toron might perhaps be the actual
murderer, that he had failed to grasp the really more obvious
significance of the note, namely, that Toron had come at least as far as
Luno alive and well. This latter significance now dawned on the earth
man for the first time, and hurriedly he imparted the information to his
aged host.
“It is well,” Glamp-glamp replied, “for if Toron got that far, doubtless
he _has_ reached, or _will_ reach, your army. Almost would I think that
he came from your planet Minos, for, as Poblath says: ‘You cannot kill a
Minorian.’”
“But we have strayed far from the story you were telling,” said the
Minorian himself. “You had just related how that accursed yellow Yuri
murdered my little son. What then?”
Glamp-glamp resumed his tale: “The attendants of the princess at once
attacked the forces of Yuri for his duplicity, but were driven into the
lake. Yuri then sped to the southward with his prize, and the surviving
loyalists, led by Poblath and Emsul, retreated north to join your army.
Since then the ant men have consolidated all the territory from Kuana to
a point just north of Lake Luno, but have not been able to penetrate
very far into the mountains. The princess is safe, and is respectfully
treated in Kuana.”
Cabot heaved a sigh of relief. Then a suspicion clouded his mind.
“How do you know all this?” he asked, to which Glamp-glamp replied
enigmatically, “The holy father knows everything.”
“Who is this ‘holy father,’” Cabot interrogated, “and who are all of
you?”
The reply was astounding, for it revealed a bit of the history of Poros
which somehow had never before come to Cabot’s attention:
“We are the lost religion of this planet. Innumerable ages ago, we
sprang from the ground, fully formed and possessed of the only true key
to the mysteries of the universe. From our ranks came the Cupians, who
were destined by the Master Builder to populate this continent. But the
leaders of the faith remained within the Caves of Kar, as you see us
to-day, excepting those of us who went forth to officiate at the temples
of the Cupians.
“Then came the first Great War, which resulted in the enslavement of
Cupia. Queen Formis, with the assistance of King Kew the First, decreed
the razing of our temples and death to all our priests, and the true
religion vanished from the face of Poros.
“So, for many generations, we have watched and waited in our mountain
strongholds, for the great liberator whose coming was fore-ordained.
When you appeared from the Planet Minos and overthrew the ant empire, we
still waited, for the prophecy of your coming had also contained the
warning that we must remain in hiding until you shall have destroyed the
last Formian. This you have not yet done. And this you must do, ere the
true religion can be reestablished.”
That certainly was an antenna-full!
“What assurance have you that I will restore your spiritual dominion
over Poros?” Cabot asked. “For I worship the God of Minos.”
“We ask no assurance, and we need none,” Glamp-glamp replied, “the Great
Architect of the Universe, call him by what name you will, has sent you
to redeem Poros, and that is enough for us. In due course you will
reestablish His religion.”
Such calm faith! Cabot was almost convinced himself. Then a new
suspicion clouded his firmament.
“Am I a prisoner as hostage for this scheme?” he asked.
“The Builder forbid!” the old priest exclaimed. “You are our honored
guest, and are free to go as the winds. But first we must be sure of
your complete recovery, for we have much at stake in your well-being.”
Cabot was instantly sorry that he had spoken so; and humbly apologized.
But the priest would have none of it.
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “your suspicions were entirely
justified.”
Just then a blue ape entered the room with a message. The priest read
the note, and then informed Cabot that he was to be granted an audience
forthwith by the holy father.
* * * * *
Cabot was washed, shaved and dressed in a clean, Cupian toga, and then
led, with steps feeble from his long illness, through many corridors to
a door on which his conductor knocked several times. The knock was
repeated from within, and the door swung slowly open, admitting them to
a gorgeous vaulted hall, paved with precious stones, flanked with
gold-chased pillars, and lighted on three sides by electric lamps in the
shape of equilateral triangles. The hangings were magnificent tapestries
in cloth of gold, platinum, copper and other metals, depicting early
traditional scenes in the history of the planet.
About fifty priests, dressed like Cabot’s conductor, were seated along
the walls, some on special raised thrones; and in the center of the
opposite side, on a raised platform, sat the leader of the faith, Owva,
the holy father, who was the only cowled figure in the room. Owva’s face
was the most serene and to-be-trusted that Myles Cabot had ever seen on
any human being. One look at that face, and all Myles’s troubles passed
away.
The holy father inspired him, as a mother inspires a child, to absolute
trust and confidence in the future.
But Cabot’s perverse Americanism led him to stand erect with arms
folded, as his conductor made humble obeisance and motioned to him to do
likewise. Myles Cabot was the Regent of Cupia; why should he do homage
to the church? Then he remembered that his claim to the regency lay
buried in the courtyard of Luno Castle. And then he felt thoroughly
ashamed of his grossness, for the holy father descended from the throne
and bowed low to _him_, saying:
“Welcome to Kar, Myles Cabot, defender of the faith.”
Ever these priests were teaching Cabot manners. He now bowed low in turn
himself, and stammered out some kind of an apology.
The holy father reascended the throne and gave his guest the seat of
honor on his left hand, where they conversed for several minutes, before
he introduced Cabot to the assembly.
“Priests of the true religion,” said Owva, “ye all recall the prophecy,
how from the very moment when our ancestors and predecessors in title
sprang from the soil to people the planet Poros, we have known that our
religion was doomed to be wiped from the face of the continent by an
alien race. That sad event in the history of the true religion came to
pass five hundred years ago, when Formia overran our fair planet.
“Ye also know that the prophecy continued by stating that after many
generations there should come a beast from another world, to redeem
Cupia, and restore us to our pristine power. ‘Fight fire with fire, and
beasts with beasts.’ Permit me to present to you Myles Cabot, the beast
from Minos. The vanquisher of the Formians. The hero of Poros. I have
spoken.”
“Priests of Kar,” said Myles (just barely restraining himself from
saying, “Priests of the true religion”), “it is reassuring to me to meet
such an abiding faith in the destinies of Poros. Strengthened by your
tender ministrations, I go forth to redeem the planet with your
assistance. May God’s will be done.”
There was a rustle of disapproval at the mention of a strange Supreme
Being, but the holy father silenced them with a gesture. Then he signed
to Cabot that the interview was at an end, and Cabot returned to his
room.
A few days later Myles was pronounced well enough to leave the
subterranean city. First he bid an affectionate farewell to Glamp-glamp,
who had tended him through all his illness. Then, gathering up his
belongings, he set forth through many a winding passage, under the
leadership of the young electrician-priest, Nan-nan, who had shed his
red-embroidered robe and now had on instead an ordinary Cupian toga for
the occasion. Both men wore sandals on their feet, as had become
customary in military circles, although the inhabitants of Poros
normally went barefoot.
As they neared the outer air, Cabot was blindfolded and thereafter for
several stads submitted to the guidance of a hand beneath his arm.
Finally they halted and the bandage was removed. They were now standing
in dense woods at the foot of a steep hill, up the side of which ran a
winding path.
Nan-nan thus instructed Cabot: “Follow that road for about three stads,
keeping yourself thoroughly prepared all the way to halt the moment you
are so commanded. Somewhere _en route_ you will be challenged by a
Cupian sentinel. When asked your identity, say ‘Arta,’ and make a sign
like this.”
Here he indicated a sign with his hands, then continued: “Be very
guarded in your remarks. May the Great Architect bless you. Good-by.”
“Hold on for a paraparth,” ejaculated Cabot, seizing the young priest by
the arm. “You can’t let me go blindly like this. This method of
procedure may appeal to your sense of intrigue or your love of mystery,
but surely it is highly impractical to send me into enemy territory with
absolutely no disguise, and no intimation as to who I am supposed to be,
or how I am supposed to act.”
Nan-nan mildly remonstrated, “As to who you are supposed to be, I have
already informed you that you are ‘Arta.’ As to how you are supposed to
act, I have already instructed you, when challenged by any sentinel, to
give your name and show the sign.”
“But who is Arta,” expostulated Myles, “and why all the hocus pocus?”
“Ah,” replied the priest, “the less you know, the less secure you will
feel. And the less secure you feel, the more careful you will be. Is it
not so?”
“I suppose so,” assented the earth-man grudgingly.
“Then,” said his mentor, “Good-by. And may the Builder bless you.”
And patting Cabot’s cheek, he turned and strode off down the path whence
they had come. Myles drew his revolver and a deep breath, and set out
resolutely to scale the hill ahead. But he walked slowly, although
steadily, for his strength was not yet all that it should be.
Thus about a parth passed, when suddenly from in front of him came the
words: “Stop, in the name of the king!”
A Cupian stood before him with a revolver in his left hand. For a moment
they sized each other up.
Then “Which king?” Cabot asked.
The sentinel answered, “Yuri, ruler of Cupia.”