CHAPTER XIV

BACK TO “THE BARSOOM”

The city was already in flames in many places, and though the people

fought valiantly to extinguish them, it seemed to me that they but

spread the more rapidly with each succeeding minute. And then, as

suddenly as it had commenced, the bombardment ceased. Nah-ee-lah and I

crossed over to the outer edge of the terrace to see if we could note

any new movement by the enemy, nor did we have long to wait. We saw a

hundred ladders raised as if by magic toward the lowest terrace, which

rose but a bare two hundred feet above the base of the city. The men who

carried the ladders were not visible to us when they came close to the

base of the wall, but I guessed from the distant glimpses that I caught

of the ladders as they were rushed forward by running men that here,

again, Orthis’ earthly knowledge and experience had come to the

assistance of the Kalkars, for I was sure that only some form of

extension ladder could be successfully used to reach even the lowest

terrace.

When I saw their intention I ran quickly down into the palace and out

upon the terrace before the gates, where the remainder of the guard were

stationed, and there I told them what was happening and urged them to

hasten the people to the lowest terrace to repulse the enemy before they

had secured a foothold upon the city. Then I returned to Nah-ee-lah, and

together we watched the outcome of the struggle, but almost from the

first I realized that Laythe was doomed, for before any of her defenders

could reach the spot, fully a thousand Kalkars had clambered to the

terrace, and there they held their own while other thousands ascended in

safety to the city.

We saw the defenders rush forth to attack them, and for a moment, so

impetuous was their charge, I thought that I had been wrong and that the

Kalkars might yet be driven from Laythe. Fighting upon the lower outer

terrace far beneath us was a surging mass of shouting warriors. The

Kalkars were falling back before the impetuous onslaught of the

Laytheans.

“They have not the blood in their veins,” whispered Nah-ee-lah, clinging

tightly to my arm. “One noble is worth ten of them. Watch them. Already

are they fleeing.”

And so it seemed, and the rout of the Kalkars appeared almost assured,

as score upon score of them were hurled over the edge of the terrace, to

fall mangled and bleeding upon the ground hundreds of feet below.

But suddenly a new force seemed to be injected into the strife. I saw a

stream of Kalkars emerging above the edge of the lower terrace—new men

clambering up the ladders from the plateau below, and as they came they

shouted something which I could not understand, but the other Kalkars

seemed to take heart and made once more the semblance of a stand against

the noble Laytheans, and I saw one, the leader of the newcomers, force

his way into the battling throng. And then I saw him raise his hand

above his head and hurl something into the midst of the compact ranks of

the Laytheans.

Instantly there was a terrific explosion and a great, bloody gap lay

upon the terrace where an instant before a hundred of the flower of the

fighting men of Laythe had been so gloriously defending their city and

their honor.

“Grenades,” I exclaimed. “Hand grenades!”

“What is it, Julian? What is it that they are doing down there?” cried

Nah-ee-lah. “They are murdering my people.”

“Yes, Nah-ee-lah, they are murdering your people, and well may Va-nah

curse the day that Earth Men set foot upon your world.”

“I do not understand, Julian,” she said.

“This is the work of Orthis,” I said, “who has brought from Earth the

knowledge of diabolical engines of destruction. He first shelled the

city with what must have been nothing more than crude mortars, for it is

impossible that he has had the time to construct the machinery to build

any but the simplest of guns. Now his troops are hurling hand grenades

among your men. There is no chance, Nah-ee-lah, for the Laytheans to

successfully pit their primitive weapons against the modern agents of

destruction which Orthis has brought to bear against them. Laythe must

surrender or be destroyed.”

Nah-ee-lah laid her head upon my shoulder and wept softly. “Julian,” she

said at last, “this is the end, then. Take me to the Jemadav, my mother,

please, and then you must go and make your peace with your fellow Earth

Man. It is not right that you, a stranger, who have done so much for me,

should fall with me and Laythe.”

“The only peace I can make with Orthis, Nah-ee-lah,” I replied, “is the

peace of death. Orthis and I may not live together again in the same

world.”

She was crying very softly, sobbing upon my shoulder, and I put my arm

about her in an effort to quiet her.

“I have brought you only suffering and danger, and now death, Julian,”

she said, “when you deserve naught but happiness and peace.”

I suddenly felt very strange and my heart behaved wretchedly, so that

when I attempted to speak it pounded so that I could say nothing and my

knees shook beneath me. What had come over me? Could it be possible that

already Orthis had loosed his poison gas? Then, at last, I managed to

gather myself together.

“Nah-ee-lah,” I said, “I do not fear death if you must die, and I do not

seek happiness except with you.”

She looked up suddenly, her great, tear-dimmed eyes wide and gazing deep

into mine.

“You mean—Julian? You mean—?”

“I mean, Nah-ee-lah, that I love you,” I replied, though I must have

stumbled through the words in a most ridiculous manner, so frightened

was I.

“Ah, Julian,” she sighed, and put her arms about my neck.

“And you, Nah-ee-lah!” I exclaimed incredulously, as I crushed her to

me, “can it be that you return my love?”

“I have loved you always,” she replied. “From the very first,

almost—way back when we were prisoners together in the No-vans village.

You Earth Men must be very blind, my Julian. A Laythean would have known

it at once, for it seemed to me that upon a dozen occasions I almost

avowed my love openly to you.”

“Alas, Nah-ee-lah! I must have been very blind, for I had not guessed

until this minute that you loved me.”

“Now,” she said, “I do not care what happens. We have one another, and

if we die together, doubtless we shall live together in a new

incarnation.”

“I hope so,” I said, “but I should much rather be sure of it and live

together in this.”

“And I, too, Julian, but that is impossible.”

We were walking now through the corridors of the palace toward the

chamber occupied by her mother, but we did not find her there and

Nah-ee-lah became apprehensive as to her safety. Hurriedly we searched

through other chambers of the palace, until at last we came to the

little audience chamber in which Sagroth had been slain, and as we threw

open the door I saw a sight that I tried to hide from Nah-ee-lah’s eyes

as I drew her around in an effort to force her back into the corridor.

Possibly she guessed what impelled my action, for she shook her head and

murmured: “No, Julian; whatever it is I must see it.” And then she

pushed her way gently past me, and we stood together upon the threshold,

looking at the harrowing sight which the interior of the room displayed.

There were the bodies of the assassins Sagroth and I had slain, and the

dead Jemadar, too, precisely as he had fallen, while across his breast

lay the body of Nah-ee-lah’s mother, a dagger self-thrust through her

heart. For just a moment Nah-ee-lah stood there looking at them in

silence, as though in prayer, and then she turned wearily away and left

the chamber, closing the door behind her. We walked on in silence for

some time, ascending the stairway back to the upper terrace. Upon the

inner side, the flames were spreading throughout the city, roaring like

a mighty furnace and vomiting up great clouds of smoke, for though the

Laythean terraces are supported by tremendous arches of masonry, yet

there is much wood used in the interior construction of the buildings,

while the hangings and the furniture are all inflammable.

“We had no chance to save the city,” said Nah-ee-lah, with a sigh. “Our

people, called from their normal duties by the false Ko-tah, were

leaderless. The fire fighters, instead of being at their posts, were

seeking the life of their Jemadar. Unhappy day! Unhappy day!”

“You think they could have stopped the fire?” I asked.

“The little ponds, the rivulets, the waterfalls, the great public baths

and the tiny lakes that you see upon every terrace were all built with

fire protection in mind. It is easy to divert their waters and flood any

tier of buildings. Had my people been at their posts, this, at least,

could not have happened.”

As we stood watching the flames we suddenly saw people emerging in great

numbers upon several of the lower terraces. They were evidently in

terrified flight, and then others appeared upon terraces above

them—Kalkars who hurled hand grenades amongst the Laytheans beneath

them. Men, women, and children ran hither and thither, shrieking and

crying and seeking for shelter, but from the buildings behind them,

rushing them outward upon the terraces, came other Kalkars with hand

grenades. The fires hemmed the people of Laythe upon either side and the

Kalkars attacked them from the rear and from above. The weaker fell and

were trodden to death, and I saw scores fall upon their own lances or

drive daggers into the hearts of their loved ones.

The massacre spread rapidly around the circumference of the city and the

Kalkars drove the people from the upper terraces downward between the

raging fires which were increasing until the mouth of the great crater

was filled with roaring flames and smoke. In the occasional gaps we

could catch glimpses of the holocaust beneath us.

A sudden current of air rising from the crater lifted the smoke pall

high for a moment, revealing the entire circumference of the crater, the

edge of which was crowded with Laytheans. And then I saw a warrior from

the opposite side leap upon the surrounding wall that bordered the lower

terrace at the edge of the yawning crater. He turned and called aloud

some message to his fellows, and then wheeling, threw his arms above his

head and leaped outward into the yawning, bottomless abyss. Instantly

the others seemed to be inoculated with the infection of his mad act. A

dozen men leaped to the wall and dove head foremost into the crater. The

thing spread slowly at first, and then with the rapidity of a prairie

fire, it ran around the entire circle of the city. Women hurled their

children in and then leaped after them. The multitude fought one with

another for a place upon the wall from which they might cast themselves

to death. It was a terrible—an awe-inspiring sight.

Nah-ee-lah covered her eyes with her hands. “My poor people!” she cried.

“My poor people!” And far below her, by the thousands now, they were

hurling themselves into eternity, while above them the screaming Kalkars

hurled hand grenades among them and drove the remaining inhabitants of

Laythe, terrace by terrace, down toward the crater’s rim.

Nah-ee-lah turned away. “Come, Julian,” she said, “I cannot look, I

cannot look.” And together we walked across the terrace to the outer

side of the city.

Almost directly beneath us upon the next terrace was a palace gate and

as we reached a point where we could see it, I was horrified to see that

the Kalkars had made their way up the outer terraces to the very palace

walls. The Jemadar’s guard was standing there ready to defend the palace

against the invaders. The great stone gates would have held indefinitely

against spears and swords, but even the guardsmen must have guessed that

their doom was already sealed and that these gates, that had stood for

ages, an ample protection to the Jemadars of Laythe, were about to fall,

as the Kalkars halted fifty yards away, and from their ranks a single

individual stepped forth a few paces.

As my eyes alighted upon him I seized Nah-ee-lah’s arm. “Orthis!” I

cried. “It is Orthis.” At the same instant the man’s eyes rose above the

gates and fell upon us. A nasty leer curled his lips as he recognized

us.

“I come to claim my bride,” he cried, in a voice that reached us easily,

“and to balance my account with you, at last,” and he pointed a finger

at me.

In his right hand he held a large, cylindrical object, and as he ceased

speaking he hurled it at the gates precisely as a baseball pitcher

pitches a swift ball.

The missile struck squarely at the bottom of the gates. There was a

terrific explosion, and the great stone portals crumbled, shattered into

a thousand fragments. The last defense of the Empress of Laythe had

fallen, and with it there went down in bloody death at least half the

remaining members of her loyal guard.

Instantly the Kalkars rushed forward, hurling hand grenades among the

survivors of the guard.

Nah-ee-lah turned toward me and put her arms about my neck.

“Kiss me once more, Julian,” she said, “and then the dagger.”

“Never, never, Nah-ee-lah!” I cried. “I cannot do it.”

“But I can!” she exclaimed, and drew her own from its sheath at her hip.

I seized her wrist. “Not that, Nah-ee-lah!” I cried. “There must be some

other way.” And then there came to me a mad inspiration. “The wings!” I

cried. “Where are they kept? The last of your people have been

destroyed. Duty no longer holds you here. Let us escape, even if it is

only to frustrate Orthis’ plans and deny him the satisfaction of

witnessing our death.”

“But, where can we go?” she asked.

“We may at least choose our own manner of death,” I replied, “far from

Laythe and far from the eyes of an enemy who would gloat over our

undoing.”

“You are right, Julian. We still have a little time, for I doubt if

Orthis or his Kalkars can quickly find the stairway leading to this

terrace.” And then she led me quickly to one of the many towers that

rise above the palace. Entering it, we ascended a spiral staircase to a

large chamber at the summit of the tower. Here were kept the imperial

wings. I fastened Nah-ee-lah’s to her and she helped me with mine, and

then from the pinnacle of the tower we arose above the burning city of

Laythe and flew rapidly toward the distant lowlands and the sea. It was

in my mind to search out, if possible, the location of _The Barsoom_,

for I still entertained the mad hope that my companions yet lived—if I

did, why not they?

The heat above the city was almost unendurable and the smoke

suffocating, yet we passed through it, so that almost immediately we

were hidden from the view of that portion of the palace from which we

had arisen, with the result that when Orthis and his Kalkars finally

found their way to the upper terrace, as I have no doubt they did, we

had disappeared—whither they could not know.

We flew and drifted with the wind across the mountainous country toward

the plains and the sea, it being my intention upon reaching the latter

to follow the coast line until I came to a river marked by an island at

its mouth. From that point I knew that I could reach the spot where _The

Barsoom_ had landed.

Our long flight must have covered a considerable period of time, since

it was necessary for us to alight and rest many times and to search for

food. We met, fortunately, with no mishaps, and upon the several

occasions when we were discovered by roving bands of Va-gas we were able

to soar far aloft and escape them easily. We came at length, however, to

the sea, the coast of which I followed to the left, but though we passed

the mouths of many rivers, I discovered none that precisely answered the

description of that which I sought.

It was borne in upon me at last that our quest was futile, but where we

were to find a haven of safety neither of us could guess. The gas in our

bags was losing its buoyancy and we had no means wherewith to replenish

it. It would still maintain us for a short time, but how long neither of

us knew, other than that it had not nearly the buoyancy that it

originally possessed.

Off the coast we had seen islands almost continuously and I suggested to

Nah-ee-lah that we try to discover one upon which grew the fruits and

nuts and vegetables necessary for our subsistence, and where we might

also have a constant supply of fresh water.

I discovered that Nah-ee-lah knew little about these islands,

practically nothing in fact, not even as to whether they were inhabited;

but we determined to explore one, and to this end we selected an island

of considerable extent that lay about ten miles off shore. We reached it

without difficulty and circled slowly above it, scrutinizing its entire

area carefully. About half of it was quite hilly, but the balance was

rolling and comparatively level. We discovered three streams and two

small lakes upon it, and an almost riotous profusion of vegetable

growth, but nowhere did we discern the slightest indication that it was

inhabited. And so at last, feeling secure, we made our landing upon the

plain, close to the beach.

It was a beautiful spot, a veritable Garden of Eden, where we two might

have passed the remainder of our lives in peace and security, for though

we later explored it carefully, we found not the slightest evidence that

it had ever known the foot of man.

Together we built a snug shelter against the storms. Together we hunted

for food, and during our long periods of idleness we lay upon the soft

sward beside the beach, and to pass the time away, I taught Nah-ee-lah

my own language.

It was a lazy, indolent, happy life that we spent upon this enchanted

isle, and yet, though we were happy in our love, each of us felt the

futility of our existence, where our lives must be spent in useless

idleness.

We had, however, given up definitely hope for any other form of

existence. And thus we were lying one time, as was our wont after

eating, stretched in luxurious ease upon our backs on the soft lunar

grasses, I with my eyes closed, when Nah-ee-lah suddenly grasped me by

the arm.

“Julian,” she cried, “what is it? Look!”

I opened my eyes, to find her sitting up and gazing into the sky toward

the mainland, a slim forefinger indicating the direction of the object

that had attracted her attention and aroused her surprised interest.

As my eyes rested upon the thing her pointing finger indicated, I leaped

to my feet with an exclamation of incredulity, for there, sailing

parallel with the coast at an altitude of not more than a thousand feet,

was a ship, the lines of which I knew as I had known my mother’s face.

It was _The Barsoom_.

Grasping Nah-ee-lah by the arm, I dragged her to her feet. “Come, quick,

Nah-ee-lah!” I cried, and urged her rapidly toward our hut, where we had

stored the wings and the gas bags which we had never thought to use

again, yet protected carefully, though why we knew not.

There was still gas in the bags—enough to support us in the air, with

the assistance of our wings, but to fly thus for long distances would

have been most fatiguing, and there was even a question as to whether we

could cross the ten miles of sea that lay between us and the mainland;

yet I was determined to attempt it. Hastily we donned the wings and

bags, and rising together, flapped slowly in the direction of the

mainland.

_The Barsoom_ was cruising slowly along a line that would cross ours

before we could reach the shore, but I hoped that they would sight us

and investigate.

We flew as rapidly as I dared, for I could take no chances upon

exhausting Nah-ee-lah, knowing that it would be absolutely impossible

for me to support her weight and my own, with our depleted gas bags.

There was no way in which I could signal to _The Barsoom_. We must

simply fly toward her. That was the best that we could do, and finally,

try though we would, I realized that we should be too late to intercept

her and that unless they saw us and changed their course, we should not

come close enough to hail them. To see my friends passing so near, and

yet to be unable to apprise them of my presence filled me with

melancholy. Not one of the many vicissitudes and dangers through which I

had passed since I left Earth depressed me more than the sight of _The

Barsoom_ forging slowly past us without speaking. I saw her change her

course then and move inland still further from us, and I could not but

dwell upon our unhappy condition, since now we might never again be able

to reach the safety of our island, there being even a question as to

whether the gas bags would support us to the mainland.

They did, however, and there we alighted and rested, while _The Barsoom_

sailed out of sight toward the mountains.

“I shall not give it up, Nah-ee-lah,” I cried. “I am going to follow

_The Barsoom_ until we find it, or until we die in the attempt. I doubt

if we ever can reach the island again, but we can make short flights

here on land, and by so doing, we may overtake my ship and my

companions.”

After resting for a short time, we arose again, and when we were above

the trees I saw _The Barsoom_ far in the distance, and again it was

circling, this time toward the left, so we altered our course and flew

after it. But presently we realized that it was making a great circle

and hope renewed within our breasts, giving us the strength to fly on

and on, though we were forced to come down often for brief rests. As we

neared the ship we saw that the circles were growing smaller, but it was

not until we were within about three miles of her that I realized that

she was circling the mouth of a great crater, the walls of which rose

several hundred feet above the surrounding country. We had been forced

to land again to rest, when there flashed upon my mind a sudden

realization of the purpose of the maneuvers of _The Barsoom_—she was

investigating the crater, preparatory to an attempt to pass through it

into outer space and seek to return to Earth again.

As this thought impinged upon my brain, a wave of almost hopeless horror

overwhelmed me as I thought of being definitely left forever by my

companions and that by but a few brief minutes Nah-ee-lah was to be

robbed of life and happiness and peace, for at that instant the hull of

_The Barsoom_ dropped beneath the rim of the crater and disappeared from

our view.

Rising quickly with Nah-ee-lah, I flew as rapidly as my tired muscles

and exhausted gas bag would permit toward the rim of the crater. In my

heart of hearts I knew that I should be too late, for once they had

decided to make the attempt, the ship would drop like a plummet into the

depths, and by the time I reached the mouth of the abyss it would be

lost to my view forever.

And yet I struggled on, my lungs almost bursting from the exertion of my

mad efforts toward speed. Nah-ee-lah trailed far behind, for if either

of us could reach _The Barsoom_ in time we should both be saved, and I

could fly faster than Nah-ee-lah; otherwise, I should never have

separated myself from her by so much as a hundred yards.

Though my lungs were pumping like bellows, I venture to say that my

heart stood still for several seconds before I topped the crater’s rim.

At the same instant that I expected the last vestige of my hopes to be

dashed to pieces irrevocably and forever, I crossed the rim and beheld

_The Barsoom_ not twenty feet below me, just over the edge of the abyss,

and upon her deck stood West and Jay and Norton.

As I came into view directly above them, West whipped out his revolver

and leveled it at me, but the instant that his finger pressed the

trigger Norton sprang forward and struck his hand aside.

“My God, sir!” I heard the boy cry, “it is the Captain.” And then they

all recognized me, and an instant later I almost collapsed as I fell to

the deck of my beloved ship.

My first thought was of Nah-ee-lah, and at my direction _The Barsoom_

rose swiftly and moved to meet her.

* * * * *

“Great Scott!” cried my guest, leaping to his feet and looking out of

the stateroom window, “I had no idea that I had kept you up all night.

Here we are in Paris already.”

“But the rest of your story,” I cried. “You have not finished it, I

know. Last night, as you were watching them celebrating in the Blue

Room, you made a remark which led me to believe that some terrible

calamity threatened the world.”

“It does,” he said, “and that was what I meant to tell you about, but

this story of the third incarnation of which I am conscious was

necessary to an understanding of how the great catastrophe overwhelmed

the people of the Earth.”

“But, did you reach Earth again?” I demanded.

“Yes,” he said, “in the year 2036. I had been ten years within Va-nah,

but did not know whether it was ten months or a century until we landed

upon Earth.”

He smiled then. “You notice that I still say I. It is sometimes

difficult for me to recall which incarnation I am in. Perhaps it will be

clearer to you if I say Julian 5th returned to earth in 2036, and in the

same year his son, Julian 6th, was born to his wife, Nah-ee-lah the Moon

Maid.”

“But how could he return to Earth in the disabled _Barsoom_?”

“Ah,” he said, “that raises a point that was of great interest to Julian

5th. After he regained _The Barsoom_, naturally one of the first

questions he asked was as to the condition of the ship and their

intentions, and when he learned that they had, in reality, been

intending to pass through the crater toward the Earth he questioned them

further and discovered that it was the young ensign, Norton, who had

repaired the engine, having been able to do it by information that he

had gleaned from Orthis, after winning the latter’s friendship. Thus was

explained the intimacy between the two, which Julian 5th had so

deplored, but which he now saw that young Norton had encouraged for a

patriotic purpose.”

“We are docked now and I must be going. Thank you for your hospitality

and for your generous interest,” and he held out his hand toward me.

“But the story of Julian 9th,” I insisted, “am I never to hear that?”

“If we meet again, yes,” he promised, with a smile.

“I shall hold you to it,” I told him.

“If we meet again,” he repeated, and departed, closing the stateroom

door after him.

PART II

THE MOON MEN

_Being the Story of Julian 9th_

PROLOGUE

THE CONQUEST

It was two years after I had first met him aboard the liner _Harding_

that I came across him again. I had just been appointed Secretary of

Commerce. He came to my office in Washington on official business during

March, 1969. I invited him to my home for dinner and it was later in the

evening that I importuned him for the promised story of Julian 9th.

He laughed good naturedly. “Very well,” he exclaimed, “here goes!”

* * * * *

Let me preface this story, as I did the other that I told you on board

the liner _Harding_ two years ago, with the urgent request that you

attempt to keep constantly in mind the theory that there is no such

thing as time—that there is no past and no future—that there is only

_now_, there never has been anything but _now_, and there never will be

anything but _now_. It is a theory analogous to that which stipulates

that there is no such thing as space.

I have told you of the attempt made to reach Mars in _The Barsoom_ and

of how it was thwarted by Lieutenant Commander Orthis. That was in the

year 2026.

The son that was born to Julian 5th and the Princess Nah-ee-lah in 2036

was the great-grandfather of Julian 9th for whose story you have asked

me, and in whom I lived again in the twenty-second century.

For some reason no further attempts were made to reach Mars with whom we

had been in radio communication for seventy years. Possibly it was due

to the rise of a religious cult which preached against all forms of

scientific progress and which by political pressure was able to mold and

influence several successive weak administrations of a notoriously weak

party that had had its origin nearly a century before in a group of

peace-at-any-price men.

In the year 2050 the blow fell. Lieutenant Commander Orthis, after

twenty-four years upon the Moon, returned to Earth with one hundred

thousand Kalkars and a thousand Va-gas. In a thousand great ships they

came, bearing arms and ammunition and strange, new engines of

destruction fashioned by the brilliant mind of the arch villain of the

universe. No one but Orthis could have done it. No one but Orthis would

have done it. It had been he who had perfected the engines that had made

_The Barsoom_ possible, and after he had become the dominant force among

the Kalkars of the Moon and had aroused their imaginations with tales of

the great, rich world lying ready and unarmed within easy striking

distance of them, it had been an easy thing to enlist their labor in the

building of the ships and the manufacture of the countless accessories

necessary to the successful accomplishment of the great adventure. The

Moon furnished all the needed materials, the Kalkars furnished the

labor, and Orthis the knowledge, the brains and the leadership. Ten

years had been devoted to the spreading of his propaganda and the

winning over of The Thinkers, or Kalkars, and then fourteen years were

required to build and outfit the fleet.

Five days before they arrived astronomers detected the fleet as minute

specks upon the eye-pieces of their telescopes. There was much

speculation, but it was Julian 5th alone who guessed the truth. He

warned the governments at London and Washington, but though he was then

in command of the International Peace Fleet, his appeals were treated

with levity and ridicule. He knew Orthis and so he knew that it was

easily within the man’s ability to construct a fleet, and he also knew

that only for one purpose would Orthis return to Earth with so great a

number of ships. It meant war, and the Earth had nothing but a handful

of cruisers wherewith to defend herself—there were not available in all

the world twenty-five thousand organized fighting men, nor equipment for

more than half again that number.

The inevitable occurred. Orthis seized London and Washington

simultaneously. His well-armed forces met with practically no

resistance. There could be no resistance, for there was nothing

wherewith to resist. It was a criminal offense to possess firearms. Even

edged weapons with blades over six inches long were barred by law.

Military training, except for the chosen few of the International Peace

Fleet, had been banned for years. And against this pitiable state of

disarmament and unpreparedness was brought a force of a hundred thousand

well-armed, seasoned warriors with engines of destruction that were

unknown to Earth Men. A description of one alone will suffice to explain

the utter hopelessness of the cause of the Earth Men.

This instrument, of which the invaders brought but one, was mounted upon

the deck of their flag ship and was operated by Orthis in person. It was

an invention of his own which no Kalkar understood or could operate.

Briefly, it was a device for the generation of radio-activity at any

desired vibratory rate and for the directing of the resultant emanations

upon any given object within its effective range. We do not know what

Orthis called it, but the Earth Men of that day knew it as an electronic

rifle.

It was quite evidently a recent invention, and therefore in some

respects crude, but be that as it may, its effects were sufficiently

deadly to permit Orthis to practically wipe out the entire International

Peace Fleet in less than thirty days, as rapidly as the various ships

came within range of the electronic rifle. To the layman, the visual

effects induced by this weird weapon were appalling and nerve

shattering. A mighty cruiser vibrant with life and power might sail

majestically to engage the flag ship of the Kalkars, when, as by magic,

every aluminum part of the cruiser would vanish as mist before the sun,

and as nearly ninety percent of a Peace Fleet cruiser, including the

hull, was constructed of aluminum, the result may be imagined—one

moment there was a great ship forging through the air, her flags and

pennants flying in the wind, her band playing, her officers and men at

their quarters—the next a mass of engines, polished wood, cordage,

flags and human beings hurtling earthward to extinction.

It was Julian 5th who discovered the secret of this deadly weapon and

that it accomplished its destruction by projecting upon the ships of the

Peace Fleet the vibratory rate of radio-activity identical with that of

aluminum, with the result that, thus excited, the electrons of the

attacked substance increased their own vibratory rate to a point that

they became dissipated again into their elemental and invisible

state—in other words, aluminum was transmuted into something else that

was as invisible and intangible as ether. Perhaps it was ether.

Assured of the correctness of his theory, Julian 5th withdrew in his own

flag ship to a remote part of the world, taking with him the few

remaining cruisers of the Fleet. Orthis searched for them for months,

but it was not until the close of the year 2050 that the two fleets met

again and for the last time. Julian 5th had by this time perfected the

plan for which he had gone into hiding, and he now faced the Kalkar

fleet and his old enemy, Orthis, with some assurance of success. His

flag ship moved at the head of the short column that contained the

remaining hope of a world and Julian 5th stood upon her deck beside a

small and innocent looking box mounted upon a stout tripod.

Orthis moved to meet him—he would destroy the ships one by one as he

approached them. He gloated at the easy victory that lay before him. He

directed the electronic rifle at the flag ship of his enemy and touched

a button. Suddenly his brows knitted. What was this? He examined the

rifle. He held a piece of aluminum before its muzzle and saw the metal

disappear. The mechanism was operating, but the ships of the enemy did

not disappear. Then he guessed the truth, for his own ship was now but a

short distance from that of Julian 5th, and he could see that the hull

of the latter was entirely coated with a grayish substance that he

sensed at once for what it was—an insulating material that rendered the

aluminum parts of the enemy’s fleet immune from the invisible fire of

his rifle.

Orthis’ scowl changed to a grim smile. He turned two dials upon a

control box connected with the weapon and again pressed the button.

Instantly the bronze propellers of the Earth Man’s flag ship vanished in

thin air, together with numerous fittings and parts above decks.

Similarly went the exposed bronze parts of the balance of The

International Peace Fleet, leaving a squadron of drifting derelicts at

the mercy of the foe.

Julian 5th’s flag ship was at that time but a few fathoms from that of

Orthis. The two men could plainly see one another’s features. Orthis’

expression was savage and gloating, that of Julian 5th sober and

dignified.

“You thought to beat me, then!” jeered Orthis. “God, but I have waited

and labored and sweated for this day. I have wrecked a world to best

you, Julian 5th, to best you and to kill you, but to let you know first

that I am going to kill you—to kill you in such a way that man was

never before killed, as no other brain than mine could conceive of

killing. You insulated your aluminum parts, thinking thus to thwart me,

but you did not know—your feeble intellect could not know—that as

easily as I destroyed aluminum I can, by the simplest of adjustments,

attune this weapon to destroy any one of a hundred different substances

and among them human flesh or human bone. That is what I am going to do

now, Julian 5th. First I am going to dissipate the bony structure of

your frame. It will be done painlessly—it may not even result in

instant death, and I am hoping that it will not. For I want you to know

the power of a real intellect—the intellect from which you stole the

fruits of its efforts for a life time; but not again, Julian 5th, for

today you die—first your bones, then your flesh, and after you, your

men, and after them your spawn, the son that the woman I loved bore you;

but she—she shall belong to me! Take that memory to hell with you!” and

he turned toward the dials beside his lethal weapon.

But Julian 5th placed a hand upon the little box resting upon the strong

tripod before him, and he it was who touched a button before Orthis had

touched his. Instantly the electronic rifle vanished beneath the very

eyes of Orthis, and at the same time the two ships touched and Julian

5th had leaped the rail to the enemy deck and was running toward his

arch enemy.

Orthis stood gazing horrified, at the spot where the greatest invention

of his giant intellect had stood but an instant before, and then he

looked up at Julian 5th approaching him and cried out horribly.

“Stop!” he screamed. “Always, all our lives you have robbed me of the

fruits of my efforts. Somehow you have stolen the secret of this, my

greatest invention, and now you have destroyed it. May God in

heaven——”

“Yes,” cried Julian 5th, “and I am going to destroy you, unless you

surrender to me with all your force.”

“Never!” almost screamed the man, who seemed veritably demented, so

hideous was his rage. “Never! This is the end, Julian 5th, for both of

us.” Even as he uttered the last word, he threw a lever mounted upon a

controlboard before him. There was a terrific explosion, and both ships,

bursting into flame, plunged meteor-like into the ocean beneath.

Thus went Julian 5th and Orthis to their deaths, carrying with them the

secret of the terrible destructive force that the latter had brought

with him from the Moon; but the Earth was already undone. It lay

helpless before its conquerors. What the outcome might have been had

Orthis lived, may only remain conjecture. Possibly he would have brought

order out of the chaos he had created and instituted a reign of reason.

Earth Men would at least have had the advantage of his wonderful

intellect and his power to rule the ignorant Kalkars that he had

transported from the Moon.

There might even have been some hope had the Earth Men banded together

against the common enemy, but this they did not do. Elements who had

been discontented with this or that phase of government joined issues

with the invaders. The lazy, the inefficient, the defective, who ever

place the blame for their failures upon the shoulders of the successful,

swarmed to the banners of the Kalkars in whom they sensed kindred souls.

Political factions, labor and capital each saw, or thought they saw, an

opportunity for advantage to themselves in one way or another that was

inimical to the interests of the others. The Kalkar fleets returned to

the Moon for more Kalkars until it was estimated that seven millions of

them were being transported to Earth each year.

Julian 6th, with Nah-ee-lah, his Moon Maid mother, lived, as did Or-tis,

the son of Orthis, but my story is not to be of them, but of Julian 9th,

who was born just a century after the birth of Julian 5th.

Julian 9th will tell his own story.

CHAPTER I

THE FLAG

I was born in the teivos of Chicago, January 1, 2100, to Julian 8th and

Elizabeth James. My father and mother were not married, as marriages had

long since become illegal. I was called Julian 9th. My parents were of

the rapidly diminishing intellectual class and could both read and

write. This learning they imparted to me, although it was very useless

learning—it was their religion. Printing was a lost art, and the last

of the public libraries had been destroyed almost a hundred years before

I reached maturity, so there was little or nothing to read, while to

have a book in one’s possession was to brand one as of the hated

intellectuals, arousing the scorn and derision of the Kalkar rabble and

the suspicion and persecution of the lunar authorities who ruled us.

The first twenty years of my life were uneventful. As a boy I played

among the crumbling ruins of what must once have been a magnificent

city. Pillaged, looted and burned half a hundred times, Chicago still

reared the skeletons of some mighty edifices above the ashes of her

former greatness. As a youth, I regretted the departed romance of the

long-gone days of my forefathers when the Earth Men still retained

sufficient strength to battle for existence. I deplored the quiet

stagnation of my own time with only an occasional murder to break the

monotony of our black existence. Even the Kalkar Guard, stationed on the

shore of the great lake, seldom harassed us, unless there came an urgent

call from higher authorities for an additional tax collection, for we

fed them well and they had the pick of our women and young

girls—almost, but not quite, as you shall see.

The commander of the guard had been stationed here for years, and we

considered ourselves very fortunate in that he was too lazy and indolent

to be cruel or oppressive. His tax collectors were always with us on

market days; but they did not exact so much that we had nothing left for

ourselves, as refugees from Milwaukee told us was the case there. I

recall one poor devil from Milwaukee who staggered into our market place

of a Saturday. He was nothing more than a bag of bones, and he told us

that fully ten thousand people had died of starvation the preceding

month in his teivos. The word teivos is applied impartially to a

district and to the administrative body that mis-administers its

affairs. No one knows what the word really means, though my mother has

told me that her grandfather said that it came from another world, the

Moon, like Kash Guard, which also means nothing in particular—one

soldier is a Kash Guard, ten thousand soldiers are a Kash Guard. If a

man comes with a piece of paper upon which something is written that you

are not supposed to be able to read and kills your grandmother or

carries off your sister, you say: “The Kash Guard did it.”

Three Saturdays a month, the tax collectors were in the market places

appraising our wares, and on the last Saturday they collected one per

cent of all we had bought or sold during the month. Nothing had any

fixed value—today you might haggle half an hour in trading a pint of

beans for a goat skin, and next week if you wanted beans the chances

were more than excellent that you would have to give four or five goat

skins for a pint, and the tax collectors took advantage of that—they

appraised on the basis of the highest market values for the month.

My father had a few long-haired goats—they were called Montana goats;

but he said they really were Angoras, and Mother used to make cloth from

their fleece. With the cloth, the milk, and the flesh from our goats we

lived very well, having also a small vegetable garden beside our house;

but there were some necessities that we must purchase in the market

place, it being against the law to barter in private, as the tax

collectors would then have known nothing about a man’s income.

After supper one night Father and I went out and milked the goats and

saw that the sheds were secured for the night against the dogs. It seems

as though they become more numerous and more bold each year. They run in

packs now where there were only individuals when I was a little boy, and

it is scarce safe for a grown man to travel an unfrequented locality at

night. We are not permitted to have firearms in our possession, nor even

bows and arrows, so we cannot exterminate them, and they seem to realize

our weakness, coming close in among the houses and pens at night. They

are large brutes—fearless and powerful. There is one pack more

formidable than the others which Father says appears to carry a strong

strain of collie and Airedale blood—the members of this pack are large,

cunning, and ferocious, and are becoming a terror to the city—we call

them the hellhounds.

After we returned to the house with the milk, Jim Thompson and his

woman, Mollie Sheehan, came over. They live up the river about half a

mile, on the next farm, and are our best friends. They are the only

people that Father and Mother really trust, so when we are all together

alone we speak our minds very freely. It seemed strange to me, even as a

boy, that such big, strong men as Father and Jim should be afraid to

express their real views to anyone, and though I was born and reared in

an atmosphere of suspicion and terror, I could never quite reconcile

myself to the attitude of servility and cowardice which marked us all.

And yet I knew that my father was no coward. He was a fine looking man,

tall and wonderfully muscled, and I have seen him fight with men and

with dogs. Once he defended Mother against a Kash Guard, and with his

bare hands he killed the armed soldier. He lies in the center of the

goat pen now, his rifle, bayonet, and ammunition wrapped in many

thicknesses of oiled cloth beside him. We left no trace and were never

even suspected; but we know where there is a rifle, a bayonet, and

ammunition.

Jim had had trouble with Soor, the new tax collector, and was very

angry. Jim was a big man, and like Father, was always smooth shaven as

were nearly all Americans, as we called those whose people had lived

here long before the Great War. The others—the true Kalkars—grew no

beards. Their ancestors had come from the Moon many years before. They

had come in strange ships year after year, but finally, one by one,

their ships had been lost, and as none of them knew how to build others

or the engines that operated them, the time came when no more Kalkars

could come from the Moon to Earth.

Jim was terribly mad. He said that he couldn’t stand it much

longer—that he would rather be dead than live in such an awful world;

but I was accustomed to such talk—I had heard it since infancy. Life

was a hard thing—just work, work, work for a scant existence over and

above the income tax. No pleasures—few conveniences or comforts;

absolutely no luxuries—and worst of all, no hope. It was seldom that

anyone smiled—anyone in our class—and the grown-ups never laughed. As

children we laughed—a little; not much. It is hard to kill the spirit

of childhood; but the brotherhood of man had almost done it.

Father placed his hand upon Jim’s shoulder.

“We must not weaken, my friend,” he said. “I often feel the same way,”

and then he walked quickly across the room to the fireplace and removed

a stone above the rough, wooden mantel. Reaching his hand into the

aperture behind, he turned toward us. “But cowed and degraded as I have

become,” he cried, “thank God I still have a spark of manhood left—I

have had the strength to defy them as my fathers defied them—I have

kept this that has been handed down to me—kept it for my son to hand

down to his son—and I have taught him to die for it as his forefathers

died for it and as I would die for it, gladly.”

He drew forth a small bundle of fabric, and holding the upper corners

between the fingers of his two hands he let it unfold before us—an

oblong cloth of alternate red and white stripes with a blue square in

one corner, upon which were sewn many little white stars.

Jim and Mollie and Mother rose to their feet and I saw Mother cast an

apprehensive glance toward the doorway. For a moment they stood thus in

silence, looking with wide eyes upon the thing that Father held, and

then Jim walked slowly toward it, and kneeling, took the edge of it in

his great, horny fingers and pressed it to his lips. The candle upon the

rough table, sputtering in the spring wind that waved the goat skin at

the window, cast its feeble rays upon them.

“It is The Flag, my son,” said Father to me. “It is Old Glory—the flag

of your fathers—the flag that made the world a decent place to live in.

It is death to possess it; but when I am gone, take it and guard it as

our family has guarded it since the regiment that carried it came back

from the Argonne.”

I felt tears filling my eyes—why, I could not have told them—and I

turned away to hide them—turned toward the window and there, beyond the

waving goat skin, I saw a face in the outer darkness. I have always been

quick of thought and of action; but I never thought or moved more

quickly in my life than I did in the instant following my discovery of

the face in the window. With a single movement I swept the candle from

the table, plunging the room into utter darkness, and leaping to my

father’s side I tore The Flag from his hands and thrust it back into the

aperture above the mantel. The stone lay upon the mantel itself, nor did

it take me but a moment to grope for it and find it in the dark—an

instant more and it was replaced in its niche.

So ingrained were apprehension and suspicion in the human mind that the

four in the room with me sensed intuitively something of the cause of my

act, and when I had hunted for the candle, found it and relighted it

they were standing, tense and motionless, where I had last seen them.

They did not ask me a question, for if they suspicioned correctly they

knew that we must not talk upon the subject. Father was the first to

speak.

“You were very careless and clumsy, Julian,” he said. “If you wanted the

candle, why did you not pick it up carefully instead of rushing at it

so? But that is always your way—you are constantly knocking things

over.” He raised his voice a trifle as he spoke; but it was a lame

attempt at deception and he knew it, as did we. If the man who owned the

face in the dark heard his words he must have known it as well.

As soon as I had relighted the candle I went into the kitchen and out

the back door and then, keeping close in the black shadow of the house,

I crept around toward the front, for I wanted to learn, if I could, who

it was who had looked in upon that scene of high treason. The night was

moonless but clear, and I could see quite a distance in every direction

as our house stood in a fair sized clearing close to the river.

Southeast of us the path wound upward across the approach to an ancient

bridge, long since destroyed by raging mobs or rotted away—I do not

know which—and presently I saw the figure of a man silhouetted against

the starlit sky as he topped the approach. The man carried a laden sack

upon his back. This fact was to some extent reassuring, as it suggested

that the eavesdropper was himself upon some illegal mission and that he

could ill afford to be too particular of the actions of others. I have

seen many men carrying sacks and bundles at night—I have carried them

myself. It is the only way often, in which a man may save enough from

the tax collector on which to live and support his family.

I did not follow the man, being sure that he was one of our own class;

but turned back toward the house where I found the four talking in low

whispers, nor did any of us raise his voice again that evening.

It must have been three-quarters of an hour later, as Jim and Mollie

were preparing to leave, that there came a knock upon the door, which

immediately swung open before an invitation to enter could be given. We

looked up to see Peter Johansen smiling at us. I never liked Peter. He

was a long, lanky man who smiled with his mouth; but never with his

eyes. I didn’t like the way he used to look at Mother when he thought no

one was observing him, nor his habit of changing women every year or

two—that was too much like the Kalkars. I always felt toward Peter as I

had as a child when, barefooted, I stepped unknowingly upon a snake in

the deep grass.

Father greeted the newcomer with a pleasant “Welcome, Brother Johansen”;

but Jim only nodded his head and scowled, for Peter had a habit of

looking at Mollie as he did at Mother, and both women were beautiful. I

think I never saw a more beautiful woman than my mother, and as I grew

older and learned more of men and the world I marveled that Father had

been able to keep her, and too, I understood why she never went abroad,

but stayed always closely about the house and farm. I never knew her to

go to the market place as did most of the other women. But I was twenty

now and worldly wise and so I knew what I had not known as a little

child.

“What brings you out so late, Brother Johansen?” I asked. We always used

the prescribed “Brother” to those of whom we were not sure. I hated the

word—to me a brother meant an enemy as it did to all our class and I

guess to every class—even the Kalkars.

“I followed a stray pig,” replied Peter to my question. “He went in that

direction,” and he waved a hand toward the market place. As he did so

something tumbled from beneath his coat—something that his arm had held

there. It was an empty sack. Immediately I knew who it was who owned the

face in the dark beyond our goat skin hanging. Peter snatched the sack

from the floor in ill-concealed confusion, and then I saw the expression

of his cunning face change as he held it toward Father.

“Is this yours, Brother Julian?” he asked. “I found it just before your

door and thought that I would stop and ask.”

“No,” said I, not waiting for Father to speak, “it is not ours—it must

belong to the man I saw carrying it full, a short time since. He went by

the path beside The Old Bridge.” I looked straight into Peter’s eyes. He

flushed and then went white.

“I did not see him,” he said presently; “but if the sack is not yours I

will keep it—_at least it is not high treason to have it in my

possession_,” and then without another word, he turned and left the

house.

We all knew then that Peter had seen the episode of The Flag. Father

said that we need not fear, that Peter was all right; but Jim thought

differently and so did Mollie and Mother. I agreed with them. I did not

like Peter. Jim and Mollie went home shortly after Peter left, and we

prepared for bed.

CHAPTER II

THE HELLHOUNDS

I had just slipped off my tunic when I heard the baying of the

hellhounds close by. I thought they might be getting into the goat pen,

so I waited a moment, listening, and then I heard a scream—the scream

of a woman in terror. It sounded down by the river near the goat pens,

and mingled with it was the vicious growling and barking of the

hellhounds. I did not wait to listen longer; but seized my knife and a

long staff.

I ran out the front door, which was closest, and turned toward the pens

in the direction of the hellhounds’ deep growlings and the screams of

the woman, which were repeated twice.

As I neared the pens and my eyes became accustomed to the outer darkness

I made out what appeared to be a human figure resting partially upon the

top of one of the sheds that formed a portion of the pen wall. The legs

and lower body dangled over the edge of the roof and I could see three

or four hellhounds leaping for it, while another, that had evidently

gotten a hold, was hanging to one leg and attempting to drag the figure

down.

As I ran forward I shouted at the beasts, and those that were leaping

for the figure stopped and turned toward me. I knew something of the

temper of these animals and that I might expect them to charge, for they

were quite fearless of man ordinarily; but I ran forward toward them so

swiftly and with such determination that they turned, growling, and ran

off before I reached them; but not far.

The one that had hold of the figure succeeded in dragging it to earth

just before I reached them and then it discovered me and turned,

standing over its prey, with wide jaws and terrific fangs menacing me.

It was a huge beast, almost as large as a full grown goat, and easily a

match for several men as poorly armed as I. Under ordinary circumstances

I should have given it plenty of room; but what was I to do when the

life of a woman was at stake? I am an American, not a Kalkar—those

swine would throw a woman to the hellhounds to save their own skins—and

I had been brought up to revere woman in a world that considered her on

a par with the cow, the nanny and the sow, only less valuable since the

latter were not the common property of the state.

I knew then that death stood very near as I faced that frightful beast,

and from the corner of an eye I could see its mates creeping closer.

There was no time to think, even, and so I rushed in upon the hellhound

with my staff and blade. As I did so, I saw the wide and terrified eyes

of a young girl looking up at me from beneath the beast of prey. I had

not thought to desert her to her fate before; but after that single

glance I could not have done so had a thousand deaths confronted me.

As I was almost upon the beast it sprang for my throat, rising high upon

its hind feet and leaping straight as an arrow. My staff was useless and

so I dropped it, meeting the charge with my knife and a bare hand. By

luck the fingers of my left hand found the creature’s throat at the

first clutch; but the impact of his body against mine hurled me to the

ground beneath him and there, growling and struggling, he sought to

close those snapping fangs upon me. Holding his jaws at arm’s length I

struck at his breast with my blade, nor did I miss him once. The pain of

the wounds turned him crazy and yet, to my utter surprise, I found I

still could hold him and not that alone; but that I could also struggle

to my knees and then to my feet—still holding him at arm’s length in my

left hand.

I had always known that I was muscular; but until that moment I had

never dreamed of the great strength that Nature had given me, for never

before had I had occasion to exert the full measure of my powerful

thews. It was like a revelation from above, and of a sudden I found

myself smiling and in the instant a miracle occurred—all fear of these

hideous beasts dissolved from my brain like thin air and with it fear of

man as well. I, who had been brought out of a womb of fear into a world

of terror, who had been suckled and nurtured upon apprehension and

timidity—I, Julian 9th, at the age of twenty years, became in the

fraction of a second utterly fearless of man or beast. It was the

knowledge of my great power that did it—that and, perhaps, those two

liquid eyes that I knew to be watching me.

The other hounds were closing in upon me when the creature in my grasp

went suddenly limp. My blade must have found its heart. And then the

others charged and I saw the girl upon her feet beside me, my staff in

her hands, ready to battle with them.

“To the roof!” I shouted to her; but she did not heed. Instead, she

stood her ground, striking a vicious blow at the leader as he came

within range.

Swinging the dead beast above my head I hurled the carcass at the others

so that they scattered and retreated again, and then I turned to the

girl and without more parley lifted her in my arms and tossed her

lightly to the roof of the goat shed. I could easily have followed to

her side and safety had not something filled my brain with an effect

similar to that which I imagine must be produced by the vile concoction

brewed by the Kalkars and which they drink to excess, while it would

mean imprisonment for us to be apprehended with it in our possession. At

least, I know that I felt a sudden exhilaration—a strange desire to

accomplish wonders before the eyes of this stranger, and so I turned

upon the four remaining hellhounds who had now bunched to renew the

attack and without waiting for them, I rushed toward them. They did not

flee, but stood their ground, growling hideously, their hair bristling

upon their necks and along their spines, their great fangs bared and

slavering; but among them I tore and by the very impetuosity of my

attack I overthrew them. The first sprang to meet me and him I seized by

the neck and clamping his body between my knees I twisted his head

entirely around until I heard the vertebrae snap. The other three were

upon me then, leaping and tearing; but I felt no fear. One by one I took

them in my mighty hands and lifting them high above my head hurled them

violently from me. Two only of the hellhounds returned to the attack,

and these I vanquished with my bare hands, disdaining to use my blade

upon such carrion.

It was then that I saw a man running toward me from up the river and

another from our house. The first was Jim, who had heard the commotion

and the girl’s screams, and the other was my father. Both had seen the

last part of the battle and neither could believe that it was I, Julian,

who had done this thing. Father was very proud of me and Jim was, too,

for he had always said that having no son of his own, Father must share

me with him.

And then I turned toward the girl who had slipped from the roof and was

approaching us. She moved with the same graceful dignity that was

Mother’s—not at all like the clumsy clods that belonged to the Kalkars,

and she came straight to me and laid a hand upon my arm.

“Thank you,” she said, “and God bless you! Only a very brave and

powerful man could have done what you have done.”

And then, all of a sudden, I did not feel brave at all, but very weak

and silly, for all I could do was finger my blade and look at the

ground. It was Father who spoke and the interruption helped to dispel my

embarrassment.

“Who are you?” he asked, “and from where do you come? It is strange to

find a young woman wandering about alone at night; but stranger still to

hear one who dares invoke the forbidden Deity.”

I had not realized until then that she had used His name; but when I did

recall it I could not but glance apprehensively about to see if any

others might be around who could have heard. Father and Jim I knew to be

safe; for there was a common tie between our families that lay in the

secret religious rites we held once each month. Since that hideous day

that had befallen even before my father’s birth—that day, which none

dared mention above a whisper, when the clergy of every denomination, to

the last man, had been murdered by order of The Twentyfour, it had been

a capital crime to worship God in any form, whatsoever.

We took the girl to the house, and when my mother saw her and how young

and beautiful she was and took her in her arms, the child broke down and

sobbed and clung to Mother, nor could either speak for some time. In the

light of the candle I saw that the stranger was of wondrous beauty. I

have said that my mother was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,

and such is the truth; but this girl who had come so suddenly among us

was the most beautiful girl. She was about nineteen, delicately molded

and yet without weakness. There were strength and vitality apparent in

every move she made as well as in the expression of her face, her

gestures and her manner of speech. She was girlish, and at the same time

filled one with an impression of great reserve strength of mind and

character. She was very brown, showing exposure to the sun, yet her skin

was clear—almost translucent. Her garb was similar to mine—the common

garmenture of people of our class, both men and women. She wore the

tunic and breeches and boots just as Mother and Mollie and the rest of

us did; but somehow there was a difference—I had never before realized

what a really beautiful costume it was. The band about her forehead was

wider than was generally worn and upon it were sewn numerous tiny

shells, set close together and forming a pattern—it was her only

attempt at ornamentation; but even so it was quite noticeable in a world

where women strove to make themselves plain rather than beautiful—some

going even so far as to permanently disfigure their faces and those of

their female offspring, while others, many, many others, killed the

latter in infancy. Mollie had done so with two. No wonder that grown-ups

never laughed and seldom smiled!

When the girl had quieted her sobs on Mother’s breast, Father renewed

his questioning; but Mother said to wait until morning, that the girl

was tired and unstrung and needed sleep, and then came the question of

where she was to sleep. Father said that he would sleep in the living

room with me and that the stranger could sleep with Mother; but Jim

suggested that she come home with him as he and Mollie had three rooms,

as did we, and no one to occupy his living room; and so it was arranged,

although I would rather have had her remain with us.

At first she rather shrank from going, until Mother told her that Jim

and Mollie were good, kind-hearted people and that she would be as safe

with them as with her own father and mother. At mention of her parents

the tears came to her eyes and she turned impulsively toward my mother

and kissed her, after which she told Jim that she was ready to accompany

him.

She started to say good-bye to me and to thank me again; but, having

found my tongue at last, I told her that I would go with them as far as

Jim’s house. This appeared to please her and so we set forth. Jim walked

ahead and I followed with the girl, and on the way I discovered a very

strange thing. Father had shown me a piece of iron once that pulled

smaller bits of iron to it. He said that it was a magnet. This slender,

stranger girl was certainly no piece of iron, nor was I a smaller bit of

anything; but nevertheless, I could not keep away from her. I cannot

explain it—however wide the way was, I was always drawn over close to

her, so that our arms touched and once our hands swung together and the

strangest and most delicious thrill ran through me that I had ever

experienced.

I used to think that Jim’s house was a long way from ours—when I had to

carry things over there as a boy; but that night it was far too

close—just a step or two and we were there.

Mollie heard us coming and was at the door, full of questionings, and

when she saw the girl and heard a part of our story she reached out and

took the girl to her bosom, just as Mother had. Before they took her in,

the stranger turned and held out her hand to me.

“Good night,” she said, “and thank you again, and once more, may God,

our Father, bless and preserve you.”

And I heard Mollie murmur: “The Saints be praised!” And then I turned

homeward, treading on air.

CHAPTER III

BROTHER GENERAL OR-TIS

The next day I set out as usual to peddle goat’s milk. We were permitted

to trade in perishable things on other than market days, though we had

to make a strict accounting for all such bartering. I usually left

Mollie until the last as Jim had a deep, cold well on his place where I

liked to quench my thirst after my morning trip; but today Mollie got

her milk fresh and first and early—about half an hour earlier than I

was wont to start out.

When I knocked and she had bade me enter and saw who it was, she looked

surprised at first, for just an instant, and then a strange expression

came into her eyes—half amusement, half pity—and she rose and went

into the kitchen for the milk jar. I saw her wipe the corners of her

eyes with the back of one finger; but I did not understand why—not

then.

The stranger girl had been in the kitchen helping Mollie, and the latter

must have told her I was there, for she came right in and greeted me. It

was the first good look I had had of her, for candle light is not

brilliant at best. If I had been enthralled the evening before, there is

no word in my limited vocabulary to express the effect she had on me by

daylight. She—but it is useless, I cannot describe her!

It took Mollie a long time to find the milk jar, bless her, though it

seemed short enough to me, and while she was finding it the stranger

girl and I were getting acquainted. First she asked after Father and

Mother and then she asked our names. When I told her mine she repeated

it several times to herself in a low voice. “Julian 9th,” she said,

“Julian 9th!” and then she smiled up at me. “It is a nice name, I like

it.”

“And what is your name?” I asked.

“Juana,” she said—she pronounced it Whanna; “Juana St. John.”

“I am glad,” I said, “that you like my name; but I like yours better.”

It was a very foolish speech, and it made me feel silly; but she did not

seem to think it foolish, or if she did, she was too nice to let me know

it. I have known many girls; but mostly they were homely and stupid. The

pretty girls were seldom allowed in the market place—that is, the

pretty girls of our class. The Kalkars permitted their girls to go

abroad for they did not care who got them, as long as someone got them;

but American fathers and mothers would rather slay their girls than send

them to the market place, and the former often was done. The Kalkar

girls, even those born of American mothers, were coarse and brutal in

appearance—low-browed, vulgar, bovine. No stock can be improved, or

even kept to its normal plane, unless high grade males are used.

This girl was so entirely different from any other that I had ever seen

that I marveled that such a glorious creature could exist. I wanted to

know all about her. It seemed to me that in some way I had been robbed

of my right for many years that she should have lived and breathed and

talked and gone her way without my ever knowing it, or her. I wanted to

make up for lost time and so I asked her many questions.

She told me that she had been born and raised in the teivos just west of

Chicago, which extended along the Desplaines River and embraced a

considerable area of unpopulated country and scattered farms.

“My father’s home is in a district called Oak Park,” she said, “and our

house was one of the few that remained from ancient times. It was of

solid concrete and stood upon the corner of two roads—once it must have

been a very beautiful place, and even time and war have been unable

entirely to erase its charm. Three great poplar trees rose to the north

of it beside the ruins of what my father said was once a place where

motor cars were kept by the long dead owner. To the south of the house

were many roses, growing wild and luxuriant, while the concrete walls,

from which the plaster had fallen in great patches, were almost entirely

concealed by the clinging ivy that reached to the very eaves.

“It was my home and so I loved it; but now it is lost to me forever. The

Kash Guard and the tax collector came seldom—we were too far from the

station and the market place, which lay southwest of us, on Salt Creek.

But recently the new Jemadar Jarth appointed another commandant and a

new tax collector. They did not like the station at Salt Creek and so

they sought for a better location, and after inspecting the district

they chose Oak Park, and my father’s home being the most comfortable and

substantial, they ordered him to sell it to The Twentyfour. You know

what that means. They appraised it at a high figure—$50,000.00 it was,

and paid him in paper money. There was nothing to do, and so we prepared

to move. Whenever they had come to look at the house my mother had

hidden me in a little cubby-hole on the landing between the second and

third floors, placing a pile of rubbish in front of me; but the day that

we were leaving to take a place on the banks of the Desplaines, where

Father thought that we might live without being disturbed, the new

commandant came unexpectedly and saw me.

“How old is the girl?” he asked my mother.

“Fifteen,” she replied, sullenly.

“You lie, you sow!” he cried angrily; “she is eighteen if she is a day.”

“Father was standing there beside us and when the commandant spoke as he

did to Mother I saw Father go very white and then, without a word, he

hurled himself upon the swine and before the Kash Guard who accompanied

him could prevent, Father had almost killed the commandant with his bare

hands.

“You know what happened—I do not need to tell you. They killed my

father before my eyes. Then the commandant gave my mother to one of his

Kash Guard; but she snatched his bayonet from his belt and ran it

through her heart before they could prevent. I tried to follow her

example; but they seized me.

“I was carried to my own bedroom on the second floor of my father’s

house and locked there. The commandant said that he would come and see

me in the evening and that everything would be all right with me. I knew

what he meant and I made up my mind that he would find me dead.

“My heart was breaking for the loss of my father and mother and yet the

desire to live was strong within me. I did not want to die—something

urged me to live, and in addition was the teaching of my father and

mother. They were both from Quaker stock and very religious. They

educated me to fear God and to do no wrong by thought or violence to

another, and yet I had seen my father attempt to kill a man and I had

seen my mother slay herself. My world was all upset. I was almost crazed

by grief and fear and uncertainty as to what was the right thing for me

to do.

“And then darkness came and I heard someone ascending the stairway. The

windows of the second story are too far from the ground for one to risk

a leap; but the ivy is old and strong. The commandant was not

sufficiently familiar with the place to have taken the ivy into

consideration, and before the footsteps reached my door I had swung out

of the window and clinging to the ivy made my way to the ground down the

rough and strong old stem.

“That was three days ago. I hid and wandered—I did not know in what

direction I went. Once an old woman took me in over night and fed me and

gave me food to carry for the next day. I think that I must have been

almost mad, for mostly the happenings of the past three days are only

indistinct and jumbled fragments of memory in my mind. And then the

hellhounds! Oh, how frightened I was! And then—you!”

I don’t know what there was about the way she said it; but it seemed to

me as though it meant a great deal more than she knew herself. Almost

like a prayer of thanksgiving, it was, that she had at last found a safe

haven of refuge—safe and permanent. Anyway I liked the idea.

And then Mollie came in and as I was leaving she asked me if I would

come that evening, and Juana cried: “Oh, yes, do!” and I said that I

would.

When I had finished delivering the goats’ milk I started for home, and

on the way I met old Samuels, the Jew. He made his living, and a scant

one it was, by tanning hides. He was a most excellent tanner; but as

nearly everyone else knew how to tan there were not many customers; but

some of the Kalkars used to bring him hides to tan. They knew nothing of

how to do any useful thing, for they were descended from a long line of

the most ignorant and illiterate people in the Moon, and the moment they

obtained a little power they would not even work at what small trades

their fathers once had learned, so that after a generation or two they

were able to live only off the labor of others. They created nothing,

they produced nothing, they became the most burdensome class of

parasites the world ever has endured.

The rich non-producers of olden times were a blessing to the world by

comparison with these, for the former at least had intelligence and

imagination—they could direct others and they could transmit to their

offspring the qualities of mind that are essential to any culture,

progress or happiness that the world ever may hope to attain.

So the Kalkars patronized Samuels for their tanned hides, and if they

had paid him for them the old Jew would have waxed rich; but they either

did not pay him at all or else mostly in paper money that did not even

burn well, as Samuels used to say.

“Good morning, Julian,” he called as we met. “I shall be needing some

hides soon, for the new commander of the Kash Guard has heard of old

Samuels and has sent for me and ordered five hides tanned the finest

that can be. Have you seen this Or-tis, Julian?” He lowered his voice.

I shook my head negatively.

“Heaven help us!” whispered the old man. “Heaven help us!”

“Is he as bad as that, Moses?” I asked.

The old man wrung his hands. “Bad times are ahead, my son,” he said.

“Old Samuels knows his kind. He is not lazy like the last one, and he is

more cruel and more lustful; but about the hides. I have not paid you

for the last—they paid me in paper money; but that I would not offer to

a friend in payment for a last year’s bird’s nest. Maybe that I shall

not be able to pay you for these new hides for a long time—it depends

upon how Or-tis pays me. Sometimes they are liberal—as they can afford

to be with the property of others; but if he is a half-breed, as I hear

he is, he will hate a Jew and I shall get nothing. However, if he is

pure Kalkar it may be different—the pure Kalkars do not hate a Jew more

than they hate other Earth Men, though there is one Jew who hates a

Kalkar.”

That night we had our first introduction to Or-tis. He came in person;

but I will tell how it all happened. After supper I went over to Jim’s.

Juana was standing in the little doorway as I came up the path. She

looked rested now and almost happy. The hunted expression had left her

eyes and she smiled as I approached. It was almost dusk, for the spring

evenings were still short; but the air was balmy and so we stood

outside, talking.

I recited the little gossip of our district that I had picked up during

my day’s work—The Twentyfour had raised the local tax on farm

products—Andrew Wright’s woman had given birth to twins, a boy and a

girl; but the girl had died (no need of comment here as most girl babies

die)—Soor had said that he would tax this district until we all died of

starvation (pleasant fellow, Soor)—one of the Kash Guard had taken

Nellie Levy—Hoffmeyer had said that next winter we would have to pay

more for coal—Dennis Corrigan had been sent to the mines for ten years

because he had been caught trading at night. It was all alike, this

gossip of ours—all sordid, or sad, or tragic; but then life was a

tragedy with us.

After awhile I took Juana over to our house to see my mother. She liked

the house very much. My father’s father built it with his own hands. It

is constructed of stone taken from the ruins of the old city—stone and

brick. Father says that he thinks the bricks are from an old pavement as

we still see patches of these ancient bricks in various localities.

Nearly all our houses are of this construction, for timber is scarce.

The foundation and the walls above the ground for about three feet are

of rough stones of various sizes and above this are the bricks. The

stones are laid so that some project farther than others and the effect

is odd and rather nice. The eaves are low and overhanging and the roof

is thatched. It is a nice house and Mother keeps it scrupulously clean

and meticulously neat within.

We had been talking for perhaps an hour, sitting in our living

room—Father, Mother, Juana, and I—when the door was suddenly thrust

open without warning and we looked up to see a man in the uniform of a

Kash Guard confronting us. Behind him were others. We all rose and stood

in silence. Two entered and took posts on either side of the doorway and

then a third came in—a tall, dark man in the uniform of a commander and

we knew at once that it was Or-tis. At his heels were six more.

Or-tis looked at each of us and then singling out Father he said: “You

are Brother Julian 8th.”

Father nodded. Or-tis eyed him for a moment and then his gaze wandered

to Mother and Juana and I saw a new expression lessen the fierce scowl

that had clouded his face from the moment of his entry. He was a large

man, his nose was thin and rather fine, his eyes cold, gray and

piercing. He was very different from the fat swine that had preceded

him—very different and more dangerous; even I could see that. I could

see a thin, cruel upper lip and a full and sensuous lower. If the other

had been a pig, this one was a wolf and he had the nervous restlessness

of the wolf—and the vitality to carry out any wolfish designs his

crafty brain might entertain.

“So you are Brother Julian 8th!” he repeated. “I do not have good

reports of you. I have come for two reasons tonight. One is to warn you

that the Kash Guard is commanded by a different sort of man from him

whom I relieved. I will stand no trifling and no treason. There must be

unquestioned loyalty to the Jemadar at Washington—every national and

local law will be enforced. Trouble makers and traitors will get short

shift. A manifesto will be read in each market place Saturday—a

manifesto that I have just received from Washington. Our great Jemadar

has conferred greater powers upon the commanders of the Kash Guard. You

will come to me with all your grievances. Where justice miscarries I

shall be the court of last resort. The judgment of any court may be

appealed to me.

“On the other hand, let wrongdoers beware, as under the new law any

cause may be tried before a summary military court over which the

commander of the Kash Guard must preside.

“And,” continued Or-tis, “I have come for another reason—a reason that

looks bad for you, Brother Julian; but we shall see what we shall see,”

and turning to the men behind him he issued a curt command: “Search the

place!” That was all; but I saw, in memory, another man standing in this

same living room—a man from beneath whose coat fell an empty sack when

he raised an arm.

For an hour they searched that little three room house. For an hour they

tumbled our few belongings over and over; but mostly they searched the

living room and especially about the fireplace did they hunt for a

hidden nook. A dozen times my heart stood still as I saw them feeling of

the stones above the mantel.

We all knew what they sought—all but Juana—and we knew what it would

mean if they found it. Death for Father and for me, too, perhaps, and

worse for Mother and the girl. And to think that Johansen had done this

awful thing to curry favor for himself with the new commander! I knew it

was he—I knew it as surely as though Or-tis had told me. To curry favor

with the commander! I thought that that was the reason then. God, had I

but known his real reason!

Well, they searched for an hour and found nothing; but I knew that

Or-tis was not satisfied that the thing he sought was not there, and

toward the end of the search I could see that he was losing patience. He

took direct charge at last and then when they had no better success

under his direction he became very angry.

“Yankee swine!” he cried suddenly, turning upon Father; “you will find

that you cannot fool a descendant of the great Jemadar Orthis as you

have fooled the others—not for long. I have a nose for traitors—I can

smell a Yank farther than most men can see one. Take a warning, take a

warning to your kind—it will be death or the mines for every traitor in

the teivos.”

He stood then, in silence for a moment, glaring at Father and then his

gaze moved to Juana, where she stood just behind my shoulder at the far

side of the room.

“Who are you, girl?” he demanded. “Where do you live and what do you

that adds to the prosperity of the community?”

“Adds to the prosperity of the community!” It was a phrase often on

their lips, and it was always directed at us—a meaningless phrase, as

there was no prosperity. We supported the Kalkars and that was their

idea of prosperity. I suppose ours was to get barely sufficient to

sustain life and strength to enable us to continue slaving for them.

“I live with Mollie Sheehan,” replied Juana, “and help her care for the

chickens and the little pigs, also I help with the house work.”

“Mm-m,” ejaculated Or-tis; “house work! That is good—I shall be needing

someone to keep my quarters tidy. How about it, my girl? It will be easy

work and I will pay you well—no pigs or chickens to slave for. Eh?”

“But I love the little pigs and chickens, I like to care for them,” she

pleaded, “and I am happy with Mollie—I do not wish to change.”

“Do not wish to change, eh?” he mimicked her. She had drawn farther

behind me now, as though for protection, and closer—I could feel her

body touching mine. “Mollie can doubtless take care of her own pigs and

chickens without help. If she has so many she cannot do it alone then

she has too many, and we will see why it is that she is more prosperous

than the rest of us—probably she should pay a larger income tax—we

shall see.”

“Oh, no!” cried Juana, frightened now on Mollie’s account; “please, she

has only a few, scarcely enough that she and her man may live after the

taxes are paid.”

“Then she does not need you to help her,” said Or-tis with finality, a

nasty sneer upon his lip. “You will come and work for me, girl!”

And then Juana surprised me—she surprised us all, and particularly

Or-tis. Before, she had been rather pleading and seemingly a little

frightened; but now she drew herself to her full height and with her

chin in air looked Or-tis straight in the eye.

“I will not come,” she said, haughtily; “I do not wish to.” That was

all.

Or-tis looked surprised. His soldiers, shocked. For a moment no one

spoke. I glanced at Mother. She was not trembling as I had expected. Her

head was up, too, and she was openly looking her scorn of the man.

Father stood as he usually did before them, with his head bowed; but I

saw that he was watching Or-tis out of the corners of his eyes and that

his fingers were moving as might the fingers of hands fixed upon a hated

throat.

“You will come,” said Or-tis, a little red in the face now at this

defiance. “There are ways,” and he looked straight at me—and then he

turned upon his heel and followed by his Kash Guard left the house.

CHAPTER IV

A FIGHT ON MARKET DAY

When the door had closed upon them, Juana buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, what misery I bring everywhere,” she sobbed. “To my father and

mother I brought death and now to you all and to Jim and Mollie I am

bringing ruin and perhaps death also. But it shall not be—you shall not

suffer for me! He looked straight at you, Julian, when he made his

threat. What could he mean to do? You have done nothing. But you need

not fear. I know how I may undo the harm I have so innocently done.”

We tried to assure her that we did not care—that we would protect her

as best we could and that she must not feel that she had brought any

greater burden upon us than we already carried; but she only shook her

head and at last asked me to take her home to Mollie’s.

She was very quiet all the way back, though I did my best to cheer her

up.

“He cannot make you work for him,” I insisted. “Even The Twentyfour,

rotten as it is, would never dare enforce such an order. We are not yet

entirely slaves.”

“But I am afraid that he will find a way,” she replied, “through you, my

friend. I saw him look at you and it was a very ugly look.”

“I do not fear,” I said.

“I fear for you. No, it shall not be!” She spoke with such vehement

finality that she almost startled me, and then she bade me good night

and went in to Mollie’s house and closed the door.

All the way back home I was much worried about her, for I did not like

to see her unhappy.

As I approached the house I saw that the candle was still burning in the

living room—I had left so hurriedly that I had given it no thought—and

as I came closer I saw something else, too. I was walking very slowly,

and in the soft dust of the pathway my soft boots made no sound, or I

might not have seen what I did see—two figures, close in the shadow of

the wall, peering through one of our little windows into the living

room.

I crept stealthily forward until I was close enough to see that one was

in the uniform of a Kash Guard while the other was clothed as are those

of my class, and in the latter I recognized the stoop-shouldered, lanky

figure of Peter Johansen. I was not at all surprised at this

confirmation of my suspicions.

I knew what they were there for—hoping to learn the secret hiding place

of The Flag—but I also knew that unless they already knew it, there was

no danger of their discovering it from the outside since The Flag had

been removed from its hiding place. So I hid and watched them for

awhile, and then circled the house and entered from the front as though

I did not know they were there, for it would never do to let them know

that they had been discovered.

Taking off my clothes I went to bed, after putting out the candle. I do

not know how long they remained—it was enough to know that we were

being watched, and though it was not pleasant I was glad that we were

forewarned. In the morning I told Father and Mother what I had seen.

Mother sighed and shook her head.

“It is coming,” she said. “I always knew that sooner or later it would

come. One by one they get us—now it is our turn.”

It was market day, and I went in with a few wethers, some hides and

cheese. Father did not come along—in fact, I advised him not to as Soor

would be there and also Hoffmeyer. One cheese I took as tribute to Soor.

God, how I hated to do it! But both Mother and Father thought it best to

propitiate the fellow, and I suppose they were right. A lifetime of

suffering does not incline one to seek further trouble.

The market place was full, for I was a little late. There were many Kash

Guards in evidence—more than usual. It was a warm day—the first really

warm day we had had—and a number of men were sitting beneath a canopy

at one side of the market place in front of Hoffmeyer’s office. As I

approached I saw that Or-tis was there, as well as Pthav the coal baron,

and Hoffmeyer of course, with several others, including some Kalkar

women and children. I recognized Pthav’s woman—a renegade Yank who had

gone to him willingly—and their little child, a girl of about six. The

latter was playing in the dust in front of the canopy some hundred feet

from the group, and I had scarcely recognized her when I saw that which

made my heart almost stop beating for an instant.

Two men were driving a small bunch of cattle into the market place upon

the other side of the canopy when suddenly I saw one of the creatures, a

great bull, break away from the herd and with lowered head charge toward

the tiny figure playing, unconscious of danger, in the dust. The men

tried to head the beast off but their efforts were futile. Those under

the canopy saw the child’s danger at the same time that I did, and they

rose and cried aloud in warning. Pthav’s woman shrieked and Or-tis

yelled lustily for the Kash Guard; but none hastened in the path of the

infuriated beast to the rescue of the child.

I was the closest to her and the moment that I saw her danger I started

forward; but even as I ran, there passed through my brain some terrible

thoughts. She is Kalkar! She is the spawn of the beast Pthav and of the

woman who turned traitor to her kind to win ease and comfort and safety!

Many a little life has been snuffed out because of her father and his

class! Would they save a sister or a daughter of mine!

I thought all these things as I ran; but I did not stop

running—something within impelled me to her aid. It must have been

simply that she was a little child and I the descendant of American

gentlemen. No, I kept right on in the face of the fact that my sense of

justice cried out that I let the child die.

I reached her just a moment before the bull did and when he saw me there

between him and the child he stopped, and with his head down he pawed

the earth, throwing clouds of dust about, and bellowed—and then he came

for me; but I met him half way, determined to hold him off until the

child escaped, if it were humanly possible for me to do so. He was a

huge beast and quite evidently a vicious one, which possibly explained

the reason for bringing him to market, and altogether it seemed to me

that he would make short work of me; but I meant to die fighting.

I called to the little girl to run and then the bull and I came

together. I seized his horns as he attempted to toss me and I exerted

all the strength in my young body. I had thought that I had let the

hellhounds feel it all that other night; but now I knew that I had yet

more in reserve, for to my astonishment I held that great beast and

slowly, very slowly, I commenced to twist his head to the left.

He struggled and fought and bellowed—I could feel the muscles of my

back and arms and legs hardening to the strain that was put upon them;

but almost from the first instant I knew that I was master. The Kash

Guards were coming now, on the run and I could hear Or-tis shouting to

them to shoot the bull; but before they reached me I gave the animal a

final mighty wrench so that he went down first upon one knee and then

over on his side and there I held him until a sergeant came and put a

bullet through his head.

When he was quite dead Or-tis and Pthav and the others approached—I saw

them coming as I was returning to my wethers, my skins and my cheese.

Or-tis called to me, and I turned and stood looking at him, as I had no

mind to have any business with any of them that I could avoid.

“Come here, my man,” he called.

I moved sullenly toward him a few paces and stopped again.

“What do you want of me?” I asked.

“Who are you?” He was eyeing me closely now. “I never saw such strength

in any man. You should be in the Kash Guard. How would you like that?”

“I would not like it,” I replied. It was about then, I guess, that he

recognized me, for his eyes hardened. “No,” he said, “we do not want

such as you among loyal men.” He turned upon his heel; but immediately

wheeled toward me again. “See to it, young man,” he snapped, “that you

use that strength of yours wisely and in good causes.”

“I shall use it wisely,” I replied, “and in the best of causes.”

I think Pthav’s woman had intended to thank me for saving her child, and

perhaps Pthav had, too, for they had both come toward me; but when they

saw Or-tis’ evident hostility toward me, they turned away, for which I

was thankful. I saw Soor looking on with a sneer on his lips and

Hoffmeyer eyeing me with that cunning expression of his.

I gathered up my produce and proceeded to that part of the market place

where we habitually showed that which we had to sell, only to find that

a man named Vonbulen was there ahead of me. Now there is an unwritten

law that each family has its own place in the market. I was the third

generation of Julians who had brought produce to this spot—formerly

horses mostly, for we were a family of horsemen; but more recently

goats, since the government had taken over the horse industry. Though

Father and I still broke horses occasionally for The Twentyfour, we did

not own or raise them any more.

Vonbulen had had a little pen in a far corner, where trade was not so

brisk as it usually was in our section, and I could not understand what

he was doing in ours, where he had three or four scrub pigs and a few

sacks of grain. Approaching, I asked him why he was there.

“This is my pen now,” he said. “Tax collector Soor told me to use it.”

“You will get out of it,” I replied. “You know that it is ours—everyone

in the teivos knows that it is and has been for many years. My

grandfather built it and my family have kept it in repair. You will get

out!”

“I will not get out,” he replied truculently. He was a very large man

and when he was angry he looked quite fierce, as he had large mustaches

which he brushed upward on either side of his nose—like the tusks of

one of his boars.

“You will get out or be thrown out,” I told him; but he put his hand on

the gate and attempted to bar my entrance.

Knowing him to be heavy minded and stupid I thought to take him by

surprise, nor did I fail, as, with a hand upon the topmost rail, I

vaulted the gate full in his face and letting my knees strike his chest

I sent him tumbling backward into the filth of his swine. So hard I

struck him that he turned a complete back somersault, and as he

scrambled to his feet, his lips foul with oaths, I saw murder in his

eye. And how he charged me! It was for all the world like the charge of

the great bull I had just vanquished, except that I think that Vonbulen

was angrier than the bull and not so good looking.

His great fists were flailing about in a most terrifying manner, and his

mouth was open just as though he intended eating me alive; but for some

reason I felt no fear. In fact, I had to smile to see his face and his

fierce mustache smeared with soft hog dung.

I parried his first wild blows and then stepping in close I struck him

lightly in the face—I am sure I did not strike him hard, for I did not

mean to—I wanted to play with him; but the result was as astonishing to

me as it must have been to him, though not so painful. He rebounded from

my fist fully three feet and then went over on his back again, spitting

blood and teeth from his mouth.

And then I picked him up by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his

breeches and lifting him high above my head I hurled him out of the pen

into the market place, where, for the first time, I saw a large crowd of

interested spectators.

Vonbulen was not a popular character in the teivos, and many were the

broad smiles I saw on the faces of those of my class; but there were

others who did not smile. They were Kalkars and half-breeds.

I saw all this in a single glance and then I returned to my work, for I

was not through. Vonbulen lay where he had alighted and after him and

onto him, one by one, I threw his sacks of grain and his scrub pigs and

then I opened the gate and started out to bring in my own produce and

livestock. As I did so, I almost ran into Soor, standing there eyeing me

with a most malignant expression upon his face.

“What does this mean?” he fairly screamed at me.

“It means,” I replied, “that no one can steal the place of a Julian as

easily as Vonbulen thought.”

“He did not steal it,” yelled Soor. “I gave it to him. Get out! It is

his.”

“It is not yours to give,” I replied. “I know my rights and no man shall

take them from me without a fight. Do you understand me?” And then I

brushed by him without another glance and drove my wethers into the pen.

As I did so, I saw that no one was smiling any more—my friends looked

very glum and very frightened; but a man came up from my right and stood

by my side, facing Soor, and when I turned my eyes in his direction I

saw that it was Jim.