The Greatest Works of Otis Adelbert Kline - 18 Books in One Edition. Otis Adelbert Kline

killed two of his guards and ran away into the fern forest.”

      Vernia was greatly surprised. That Prince Thaddor had found courage to escape seemed incredible to her; but that he had nearly killed two of his guards in the process seemed little short of miraculous.

      “You have sent soldiers after him, I presume.”

      “Men are scouring the forests and mountains in search of him, but up to the time of my departure, no trace had been found. There is another matter of which my commander bids me speak. It has been prophesied by some unknown soothsayer that a great fighter is coming from another world to lead Uxpo to victory and independence. This ridiculous prediction has spread throughout the kingdom, and as a result it is seething with unrest. The Fighting Traveks of Uxpo make nightly raids on our soldiers, and even the women and children have grown rebellious.”

      Vernia frowned slightly. “This mutiny must be put down, once and for all. Orthad: assemble an army of ten thousand men at once—I will lead them in person. Bonal: my palanquin-bearers. Postpone all further hearings until my return from Uxpo.”

      A half hour later two men stood on one of the smaller balconies of the imperial palace in whispered conversation. One wore the scarlet of royalty, the other the purple of the nobility and the trappings and insignia of an imperial commander.

      The one in scarlet, a youth of twenty, whispered hoarsely: “Have a care, my worthy Zueppa. I hear quite well, you know. Are you sure the four men who are to constitute her personal bodyguard will not fail us?”

      “Their loyalty to your highness, Prince Destho, is beyond question. If they fail they will die, rather than betray us.

      “They must not fail. After all, the task is not too difficult. They have only to hide her in the northern mountains for a year—a short year, mind you—then none will dare to question my title to the throne. And you, my faithful Zueppa: Second only to myself, you will hold the greatest office in Zarovia.”

      “May I not again remind your highness that there is a much easier and simpler way to attain our ends?”

      “Stop, fool! Do you take me for an assassin? My ambition is great, but my desire for this woman is greater. You must detain her for a year; then return her to me unharmed.”

      Within half an hour of his capture by these men who called themselves the Fighting Traveks, Robert Ellsmore Grandon learned how quickly a man’s status could change in Zarovia. They were impressed by the fact that he wore the color of royalty and seemed baked when he identified himself as Grandon of Earth.

      After a brief consultation amongst themselves, the stranger was given a choice. He could go his way in peace, or remain with the Fighting Traveks once he demonstrated his fitness—which meant overcoming whichever of them he chose to encounter in a duel. Since the alternative would be to face the Venusian beasts alone and unarmed, Grandon challenged the leader of this band.

      The man was a good fighter, but the art of fencing was unknown here. Once Grandon adjusted himself to the scarbo, and his opponent’s manner of fighting —which was roughly comparable to scimitar or broadsword technique —a well-directed lunge stretched the leader of the Fighting Traveks at the Earthman’s feet.

      Then came the surprise. The band now greeted Grandon as their mojak; he had beaten the leader—he was now in command. When his second-in-command came up for orders, Grandon told him to carry on as before.

      The lieutenant saluted. “Did you say your name was Grandon of Urgg? I cannot pronounce it.”

      “Well, you may call me Grandon of Terra,” he suggested.

      “Grandon of Terra!” the lieutenant repeated. “We salute you.”

      The men prepared shelter and the evening meal; soon after, all retired. Grandon drifted off to slumber with difficulty, still marveling at the swift events; it seemed that he had slept but a moment or two when a deafening din assailed his ears. All about him men were fighting, cursing, shouting, and groaning.

      “What is up?” he asked the man nearest him.

      “It’s the Reabonians,” replied the man, staunching the blood from a cut in his shoulder. “We are surrounded by the soldiers of the princess.”

      Chapter 6

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      The instant Grandon learned they were being attacked by Reabonians, he was on his feet directing the fighting. First at one point, then another, he momentarily filled a gap where a man had been cut down. The little circle of Traveks was narrowing swiftly. They fought bravely, but the odds were in favor of the Reabonians.

      The battle cry of the attackers was “For Vernia, for Vernia!”

      “For Grandon of Terra!” answered the Traveks, defiantly.

      Suddenly a cry came from one of the leaders of the. Reabonians.

      “Truce!”

      Instantly the fighting ceased. Grandon’s men lowered their weapons as the soldiers of Vernia withdrew a little way.

      “Where is your captain?” shouted the Reabonian commander.

      “Here,” replied Grandon.

      “I offer you the alternative of surrender or complete annihilation, Grandon of Terra,” said the officer. “Two-thirds of your command lie bleeding on the ground. You can save the others from a like fate by laying down your arms.”

      “What say you, men?” asked Grandon, looking around.

      “We are Fighting Traveks!”

      A surge of pride swept over him. If there were only some way—he racked his brain for a feasible plan. Like a flash there came to his mind a vision of old football days. He lowered his voice and issued a few swift orders. The men formed a circle once more, and Grandon shouted defiance to the Reabonian commander.

      The fighting had all taken place by the flickering light of the campfires. Each Travek, as he took up his position, pushed a quantity of loose moss before him with his feet. The soldiers of the princess were closing in on them when Grandon issued a sharp command. Simultaneously every fire was smothered under a heap of moss.

      Another command, and the men had formed a flying wedge with Grandon at the apex. Straight through the circle of attackers they smashed in compact formation, cutting right and left. As they ran through the forest lanes they could hear the Reabonians fighting each other in the darkness.

      When they had attained some little distance from the scene of battle the smoldering fire flared up once more, and they heard a shout of bated rage go up from the Torrogina’s men.

      Grandon had lain down to sleep with a command of sixty-five men. They numbered now but nineteen, and the lieutenant was missing. Grandon turned to the man nearest him. “Are there other bands of Fighting Traveks near by?”

      “A number of them rove these woods, but as none tarry long in one place we might hope to find them only by accident. Bordeen, the great commander of all the bands, is encamped with three hundred men in a valley only twelve miles from here.

      “Can you find the place to-night?”

      “Unless we run into Reabonians.”

      “Then lead the way, and let us be off at once.” They were halted by a sentry at some distance from the camp; at a sign from the guide, they were allowed to proceed without interruption.

      The camp consisted of a half dozen circular huts similar to the one Grandon’s men had constructed, surrounding a much larger but which he took to be the headquarters of the commander. The guide led him straight to this structure and, before he realized it, he found himself in the presence of Bordeen.

      There was no light within the inclosure except the flickering rays cast by the campfires surrounding the camp, and Grandon