We were both loath to leave this lovely spot, and so we tarried there
for two days while I made weapons for Duare and a new spear for myself.
I had constructed a little platform in a tree that overhung the river;
and there at night we were comparatively safe from predatory animals
while the soft music of the purling water lulled us to sleep, a sleep
that might be suddenly broken by the savage roars of hunting beasts or
the screams of their victims, to which the distant lowing and bellowing
of the vast herds upon the plain furnished a harmonious undertone in
this raw aria of life.
It was our last night in this pleasant camp. We were sitting on our
little platform watching the fish leaping and jumping in the river
below.
"I could be happy here forever--with you, Duare," I said.
"One may not think of happiness alone," she replied; "there is duty
also."
"But what if circumstances make us helpless to perform our duties?
Aren't we warranted in making the best of our fate and making the most
of the chance for happiness where we find it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean that there is practically no possibility that we can ever
reach Vepaja. We do not know where it is, and if we did it seems to me
that there is not even the remotest chance that we should survive the
dangers that must lie along that unknown trail that leads back to the
house of Mintep, your father."
"I know that you are right," she replied a little wearily, "but it is
my duty to try; and I may never cease to seek to return, to the end of
my life, no matter how remote I may know the chance of success may be."
"Isn't that being a little unreasonable, Duare?"
"You do not understand, Carson Napier. If I had a brother or sister it
might make a difference; but I have neither, and my father and I are
the last of our line. It is not for myself nor for my father that I
must return but for my country--the royal line of the jongs of Vepaja
must not be broken, and there is none to perpetuate it but myself."
"And if we do return--what then?"
"When I am twenty I shall marry a noble selected by my father, and
after my father dies I shall be vadjong, or queen, until my oldest son
is twenty; then he will be jong."
"But with the longevity serum that your scientists have perfected your
father will never die; so why return?"
"I hope he will not die, but there are accidents and battles and
assassins. Oh, why discuss it! The royal line must be preserved!"
"And what of me, if we reach Vepaja?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Will there be a chance for me?"
"I do not understand."
"If your father consents, will you marry me?" I blurted.
* * * * *
Duare flushed. "How many times must I tell you that you may not speak
of such serious things to me?"
"I can't help it, Duare; I love you. I care nothing for customs nor
jongs nor dynasties. I shall tell your father that I love you, and I
shall tell him that you love me."
"I do not love you; you have no right to say that. It is sinful and
wicked. Because once I was weak and lost my head and said a thing I did
not mean you have no right to constantly throw it in my face."
Now that was just like a woman. I had been fighting every impulse to
keep from speaking of love during all the time we had been together.
I couldn't recall but one other instance when I had lost control of
myself, yet she accused me of constantly throwing in her face the one
admission of love that she had made.
"Well," I said, sullenly, "I shall do what I said I'd do, if I ever see
your father again."
"And do you know what he will do?"
"If he's the right kind of a father he'll say, 'Bless you, my
children.'"
"He is a jong before he is a father, and he will have you destroyed.
Even if you do not make any such mad admission to him, I shall have to
use all of my powers of persuasion to save you from death."
"Why should he kill me?"
"No man who has spoken, without royal permission, to a janjong, or
princess, is ordinarily permitted to live. That you may be with me
alone for months and possibly years before we return to Vepaja will
but tend to exaggerate the seriousness of the situation. I shall plead
your service to me; that you risked your life innumerable times to
preserve mine; and that I think will have sufficient weight to save you
from death; but, of course, you will be banished from Vepaja."
"That is a pleasant outlook. I may lose my life, and I am certain to
lose you. Under such circumstances, do you think that I will prosecute
the search for Vepaja with much enthusiasm or diligence?"
"Perhaps not with enthusiasm; but with diligence, yes. You will do it
for me, because of that thing which you call love."
"Possibly you are right," I said, and I knew that she was.
The next day we started, in accordance with a plan we had formulated,
to follow the little river down toward the big river along which
we would continue to the sea. Where we should go from there was
problematical. We decided to wait until we reached the sea before
making any further plans. What lay before us we could not guess; had we
been able to we might have fled back to the comparative safety of the
gloomy forest we had so recently quitted with delight.
Late in the afternoon we were taking a short cut across open ground
where the river made a great bend. It was rather rough going, for there
were many rocks and bowlders and the surface of the land was cut by
gullies.
* * * * *
As we clambered up the bank of a particularly deep gully I chanced
to glance back and saw a strange animal standing on the opposite rim
watching us. It was about the size of a German police dog, but there
the similarity ceased. It had a massive, curved beak remarkably similar
to that of a parrot; and its body was covered with feathers; but it was
no bird, for it went on four legs and had no wings. Forward of its two
short ears were three horns, one in front of either ear and the third
growing midway between the others. As it turned part way around to look
back at something we could not see, I saw that it had no tail. At a
distance its legs and feet appeared bird-like.
"Do you see what I see, Duare?" I asked, nodding in the direction of
the weird creature; "or am I suffering from a touch of fever?"
"Of course I see it," she replied, "but I don't know what it is. I am
sure that there is no such creature on the island of Vepaja."
"There's another of them, and another, and another!" I exclaimed.
"Lord! there must be a dozen of them."
They were standing in a little knot surveying us when suddenly the
one we had first seen raised its grotesque head and voiced a hoarse,
wailing scream; then it started down into the gully and headed for us
at a rapid gallop, and behind it came its fellows, all now voicing that
hideous cry.
"What are we going to do?" asked Duare. "Do you suppose they are
dangerous?"
"I don't know whether they are dangerous or not," I replied, "but I
wish that there were a tree handy."
"A forest does have its advantages," admitted Duare. "What are we going
to do?"
"It would do no good to run; so we might as well stand here and have it
out with them. We'll have some advantage as they come up the bank of
the gully."
I fitted an arrow to my bow and Duare did likewise; then we stood
waiting for them to come within range. They loped easily across the
bottom of the gully and started the ascent. They didn't seem to be in
much of a hurry; that is, they didn't seem to be extending themselves
to their full speed, probably because we were not running away from
them.
Perhaps this surprised them, for they presently slowed down to a walk
and advanced warily. They had ceased their baying. The feathers along
their backs rose stiffly erect as they slunk toward us.
Aiming carefully at the foremost, I loosed an arrow. It struck the
beast full in the chest, and with a scream it stopped and tore at
the feathered shaft protruding from its body. The others halted and
surrounded it. They made a strange cackling sound.
The wounded creature staggered and sank to the ground, and instantly
its fellows were upon it, tearing and rending. For a moment it fought
fiercely to defend itself, but futilely.
As the others commenced to devour their fallen comrade I motioned Duare
to follow me, and we turned and ran toward the trees we could see about
a mile away where the river turned back across our line of march. But
we hadn't gone far before we heard again the infernal screaming that
told us that the pack was on our trail.
This time they overtook us while we were at the bottom of a depression,
and once again we made a stand. Instead of attacking us directly, the
beasts slunk about just out of range, as though they knew the danger
line beyond which they would be safe; then slowly they circled us until
we were surrounded.
"If they charge now, all at once," said Duare, "we are sure to be
finished."
"Perhaps if we succeed in killing a couple of them the others will stop
to devour them, thus giving us another chance to get closer to the
wood," I argued with an assumed optimism.
As we waited for the next move of our antagonists, we heard a loud
shout in the direction from which we had come. Looking quickly up, I
saw a man seated upon the back of a four footed animal at the rim of
the depression in which we stood.
* * * * *
At the sound of the human voice, the beasts surrounding us looked in
the direction of the interruption and immediately commenced to cackle.
The man on the beast rode slowly down toward us, and as he came to the
ring of beasts they moved aside and let him pass through their savage
ranks.
"It is fortunate for you that I came when I did," said the stranger,
as the beast he rode stopped in front of us; "these kazars of mine are
a ferocious lot." He was eyeing us intently, especially Duare. "Who are
you, and where are you from?" he demanded.
"We are strangers, and we are lost," I replied. "I am from California."
I did not wish to tell him that we were from Vepaja until we knew more
of him. If he was a Thorist he was an enemy; and the less he knew about
us the better, especially that we were from the country of Mintep, the
jong, than whom the Thorists have no more bitter enemy.
"California," he repeated. "I never heard of such a country. Where is
it?"
"In North America," I replied, but he only shook his head. "And who are
you," I asked, "and what country is this?"
"This is Noobol, but that of course you already know. This part of it
is known as Morov. I am Skor, the jong of Morov. But you have not told
me your names."
"This is Duare," I replied, "and I am Carson." I did not give my
surname as they are seldom used on Venus.
"And where were you going?"
"We were trying to find our way to the sea."
"From where did you come?"
"Recently we were in Kapdor," I explained.