SURROUNDED.
The instant Grandon learned they were being attacked by Reabonians,
he was on his feet directing the fighting. First at one point, then
another, his blade drank blood as he momentarily filled a gap where
a man had been cut down. The little circle of Traveks was narrowing
swiftly. They fought bravely, but the odds were in favor of the
Reabonians.
The battle cry of the attackers was "For Vernia, for Vernia!"
"For Grandon of Terra!" answered the Traveks, defiantly.
Suddenly a cry came from one of the leaders of the Reabonians. "Truce!"
Instantly the fighting ceased. Grandon's men lowered their weapons as
the soldiers of Vernia withdrew a little way.
"Where is your captain?" shouted the Reabonian commander.
"Here," replied Grandon.
"I offer you the alternative of surrender or complete annihilation,
Grandon of Terra," said the officer. "Two-thirds of your command lie
bleeding on the ground. You can save the others from a like fate by
laying down your arms."
"What say you, men?" asked Grandon, looking around.
"We are Fighting Traveks!" was the proud reply from a score of throats.
A surge of pride swept over him at these gallant words, and with it
came a wave of pity as he reflected that they must soon be butchered
like sheep in a slaughter pen. If there were only some way--he racked
his brain for a feasible plan. Like a flash there came to his mind a
vision of old football days. He lowered his voice and issued a few
swift orders. The men formed a circle once more, and Grandon shouted
defiance to the Reabonian commander.
The fighting had all taken place by the flickering light of the camp
fires. Each Travek, as he took up his position, pushed a quantity of
loose moss before him with his feet. The soldiers of the princess were
closing in on them when Grandon issued a sharp command. Simultaneously
every fire was smothered under a heap of moss.
Another command, and the men had formed a flying wedge with Grandon
at the apex. Straight through the circle of attackers they smashed in
compact formation, cutting right and left. As they ran through the
forest lanes they could hear the Reabonians fighting each other in the
darkness. When they had attained some little distance from the scene of
battle the smoldering fires flared up once more, and they heard a shout
of baffled rage go up from the Torrogina's men.
Grandon had lain down to sleep with a command of sixty-five men. They
numbered now but nineteen, and the lieutenant was missing, Grandon
turned to the man nearest him.
"Are there other bands of Fighting Traveks near by?" he asked.
"A number of them rove these woods, but as none tarry long in one
place we might hope to find them only by accident. Bordeen, the great
commander of all the bands, is encamped with three hundred men in a
valley only twelve miles from here."
"Can you find the place to-night?"
"Unless we run into Reabonians."
"Then lead the way, and let us he off at once."
* * * * *
The four-hour march held much of fascination for the Earth-man,
wandering through the primeval forest of another world with fierce,
untamed fighting men whom he had won the right to command by the
dexterity of his blade.
The guide was a talkative fellow, and explained much to Grandon about
the customs and traditions of the Fighting Traveks.
"When Uxpo was free," he said, "the Fighting Traveks constituted the
largest and most powerful unit of her armies. Bordeen, our present
commander, was at that time in command of the king's bodyguard.
Margo, emperor of Reabon, and his blood-thirsty horde of plunderers,
outnumbered our armies a hundred to one. Our king died fighting side by
side with his brave soldiers, and Margo, on learning of this, ordered
his head cut off, placed on a pole and carried through the town,
believing that by so doing he would overawe the people.
[Illustration: _Margo ordered his head cut off, placed on a pole and
carried through town._]
"The effect was quite the contrary. Those who had been on the point
of surrender before, fought with redoubled fury, and he found it
impossible to restore order until every fighting male had either been
killed, captured or driven into the mountains. On Margo's death,
Bordeen led a revolt which placed the elder son, Lugi, on the throne.
He thought that, with a woman ruler in Reabon, our independence might
easily be maintained, but he was mistaken in the woman. Though but
a slip of a girl, she proved to be an even greater general than her
illustrious sire.
"Once more our army was annihilated and our ruler beheaded. His
brother, Prince Thaddor, is now in the marble quarries, along with his
father's former soldiers. He was ever a gentle youth, a student and a
dreamer, unskilled with tork or scarbo or the command of fighting men,
and never caring to learn the art of warfare.
"Bordeen is growing old, and though a great warrior still, deems
himself unfit to administer the affairs of a kingdom. His fondest hope
is that Providence may raise up among us a virile young leader of royal
blood who can reorganize our scattered armies and wrest our beautiful
Uxpo once more from the cruel conquerors."
The guide lapsed into pensive silence as he finished his narrative, and
Grandon, stumbling along behind him, was filled with an intense hatred
for the Reabonians, and a desire to restore to his comrades and their
countrymen, the kingdom which was rightfully theirs. Then, in a flash,
there came to him the significance of the parting words of Vorn Vangal,
which had puzzled him greatly at the time: "Farewell, and may you soon
be firmly seated on the throne of Uxpo."
So this was what had been planned for him by Vorn Vangal of Olba
and Dr. Morgan on that distant twin-planet to Venus. The magnitude
of the undertaking appalled him for the moment. It was more than a
man-sized job--a herculean task that even a superman might not hope to
accomplish. But he would try. He would go in to win, and nothing short
of death itself should defeat him.
He was aroused from his reverie by an exclamation from the guide, and
looking up, saw many lights twinkling ahead.
"We near Bordeen's camp," said his guide excitedly. "Those are the
watch fires of our comrades."
They were halted by a sentry at some distance from the camp, but
at a secret sign from the guide, were allowed to proceed without
interruption.
* * * * *
The camp consisted of a half dozen circular huts similar to the one
Grandon's men had constructed, surrounding a much larger hut which he
took to be the headquarters of the commander. Huba led him straight
to this structure and, before he realized it, he found himself in the
presence of Bordeen.
There was no light within the inclosure except the flickering rays
cast by the campfires surrounding the camp, and Grandon could only
imperfectly discern the features of Bordeen and those who stood about
him.
The guide saluted with drawn scarbo held pointing at an angle of
forty-five degrees, and the Earth-man did like-wise.
"Mightiest of commanders," the Travek said, "if it is your pleasure,
our new captain, Grandon of Terra, will make his report."
"A new captain!" exclaimed Bordeen. "This is indeed strange. Thelpo was
a mighty fighter. Report, Grandon of Terra."
Grandon modestly described the duel that followed his chance meeting
with the Fighting Traveks, how they had been surrounded by a large body
of Reabon soldiers and all but annihilated. He expected a reprimand
for losing two-thirds of his command, but to his surprise, Bordeen
commended his generalship for so ably effecting an escape when escape
seemed hopeless.
His report concluded, he was conducted to the hut where his men were
quartered, and was soon asleep on his mossy couch. The guide, however,
remained by order of the commander, who asked:
"What know you of this Grandon of Terra?"
"Nothing he has not told you for himself, other than that he is from a
far distant country which he calls Terra, and is a most extraordinary
fighter with the scarbo as well as an exceedingly able commander. No
doubt you noticed that he wore the color of royalty."
"Hardly. In this dim light I cannot tell scarlet from any other color.
I fear my eyes are failing me. However, it seemed to me as he stood
there, that there was something strangely familiar about his figure. He
reminded me of some one I have known in the past, and have been vainly
trying to recall."
A man at Bordeen's right spoke up.
"Was it not of Prince Thaddor that he reminded you?" he asked. "It
seemed to me that he bore considerable resemblance to our prince."
"Now that you mention it, he did remind me of Prince Thaddor. But of
course he could not possibly be our gentle prince. And yet--stranger
things have happened. Cruelty sometimes changes the nature of the
mildest of men, and the slave-drivers of the empire are cruelty
personified. Bring me a flash light. Let us have a good look at him as
he sleeps."
Grandon had thrown his accouterments in a heap and kicked off his
sandals before he retired.
He slept so soundly from fatigue that he did not even stir as the
bright rays of the flash light was turned on his features.
"It is Prince Thaddor or his double!" exclaimed Bordeen. "His right
foot! Quickly! Flash the light on his right foot."
Gurda did as directed, then uttered a low cry of surprise and delight,
for there, tattooed on the sole, was the emblem of the royal house of
Uxpo.
Bordeen bent low and examined the tattoo marks for a moment in silence.
Then he arose and said:
"It is indeed Prince Thaddor, for men are not born with such marks
on their right feet, and this mark has undoubtedly been there since
infancy. The miracle of miracles has happened. Our gentle prince has
suddenly become a mighty fighter. Why did he not tell me who he was?
See that he is suitably barbered and attired when he awakens, and that
every provision is made for his comfort. Runners must be dispatched
at once to bring in all of those scattered bands we can locate, for
to-morrow we will hold a great feast in honor of this momentous event."
* * * * *
While he was speaking, a sinister figure crouched on the roof above,
drinking in every word. No sooner had they left, than the creature gave
a cunning leer that boded no good for the Earth-man or his companions,
and clambering up the rough trunk that formed the central pole of the
hut, made off across the tangled mass of vines and creepers which
draped the tree-tops.
It was a monkey-man, one of that odd tribe of creatures which inhabit
the equatorial regions of Zarovia. Their bodies are covered with short,
reddish-brown hair, with the exception of the faces, palms of the hands
and soles of the feet. They have short, stubby tails averaging about
four inches in length, which project upward, curling slightly at the
tips. They are dwarfs in stature, the largest males averaging perhaps
four feet in height while the females are much shorter.
Despite their simian appearance they are surprisingly intelligent,
almost on a par with the Bushmen of Africa. When in their native
arboreal haunts they converse in a queer, chattering tongue, but learn
the Zarovian tongue readily when captured and enslaved.
A monkey-man, if treated kindly, becomes a most faithful and devoted
slave, ever on the alert to guard the person or property of his
master or mistress with his very life, if need arise. Previous to the
accession of Vernia to the throne of Reabon, they had been enslaved
only by private individuals. She it was who first conceived the
brilliant idea of enlisting their talents in the interests of the
empire, and to this end had ordered the capture of great droves of them
which were trained to act as scouts and spies.
Grandon slept tranquilly on, little realizing the deadly peril in store
for himself and his comrades, as the cunning monkey-man sped swiftly
through the tree-tops to a camp only ten miles distant, whither Vernia
had swiftly brought her army of ten thousand men for the purpose of
hunting down and capturing or exterminating the wandering bands of
Fighting Traveks.