The Greatest Works of Otis Adelbert Kline - 18 Books in One Edition. Otis Adelbert Kline
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toward those great gaping jaws, and although he knew Oro would not be ready, he took careful aim at the hideous head.
Just as he was ready to press the button the form of a man appeared on a direct line between mattork and target. Grandon lifted his tripod, intending to try a shot from another position, when he saw the man who had momentarily saved the fanta’s life hurl a huge rock fragment straight for its ugly head. The missile struck the mark squarely, and the great soft-bodied monster, after a convulsive shudder, sank over on its side, stone dead.
Once more Grandon put his clip of explosive bullets in the mattork. He saw the man turn and dodge among `the snapping sabits; he succeeded in breaking through the line and in keeping a short distance ahead of his pursuers.
Training his weapon on those sabits immediately behind the fugitive, the Earthman opened fire. The exploding missile tore a great gap in the ranks of the monsters, killing a half dozen and disabling as many more, whereupon the others paused, running this way and that in their endeavor to locate the unseen attacker.
Suddenly Grandon leaped up on the surface root behind him and, turning his pocket flashlight on himself, shouted defiance to the sabits in the tone- language. The king sabit saw him almost immediately, and vibrated his antennae excitedly, whereupon all but a dozen soldier sabits who remained to guard the slaves charged down on Grandon. As he leaped back to the ground and made his mattork ready, the man who had broken through the sabit guards arrived, panting heavily.
“Give me a weapon,” cried the strange, “and I will fight with you.”
Grandon handed him the spiked club. “Hit them between the eyes,” he said. “It is the only vulnerable spot. If you are as skillful with a club as you are at hurling stones, I am sure you will account for a few of them.”
The newcomer smiled slightly. He was evidently not a marsh-man, for his features were clean-cut, his hair was a light golden yellow. He walked with the carriage of a soldier.
“It was a lucky hit,” he replied. “Throwing stones is not my specialty. I could do much better with that weapon.”
Grandon fired the signal for the second attack.
“Where did you learn to use the mattork?” Grandon asked his ally.
I was captain in the armies of Mernerum for several years, and was credited with being a fairly good marksman.”
“Here, then, take the weapon. Let me see what you can do with it. The next shot will be the final signal for my men. See if you can stop the charge of these soldier sabits.”
The newcomer grasped the weapon with the assurance of a master musician taking up his instrument. The first shot was a direct hit in the foremost ranks of the sabits, and thereafter he fired with unerring accuracy. It was but one weapon against an army, however, and both men knew that in a few seconds they would be overwhelmed.
Grandon saw one crew of armored men struggling to fetter the king sabit, while another group struck down the guards surrounding the girls. Before the last two details had come to blows with the other guards, the mattork-tripod was knocked over by the charging monsters, and both men were fighting with their backs against the thick surface root, Grandon swinging his heavy axe while his new-found ally used the spiked club almost as skillfully as he had used the mattork.
Closer and closer pressed the sabits, snapping their mighty forceps which were easily capable of cutting the unarmored man in two at one nip. The newcomer knew this, yet he laughed as he fought, and at times taunted the furious attackers in the tone-language.
“You jest with death, yet fight with the fury of a cornered lion,” said Grandon. “What is your name?”
“I am called Joto, which in the language of Mernerum means The Merry One: Take that!” crushing the skull of a huge sabit, “thou self-styled master of men! Names matter but little now, for we have not long to live; yet I would not die without knowing the name of the mighty fighter to whom I owe the few moments of life I have remaining.”
“I am Grandon of Terra,” answered the Earthman, cleaving the head of an antagonist and leaping back to avoid the snap of another. He tried to wrench the axe free, but it stuck, and the next moment powerful forceps encircled him.
With a final tug at the handle of his weapon, he was jerked from the side of his companion and mauled about by a dozen sabits who alternately shook him, crunched him with their mandibles, and tried to pull him to pieces. The armor held, but the man inside it was swiftly lapsing into unconsciousness.
A powerful sabit, more cunning than its comrades, seized Grandon by the ankles and beat him against the hard surface root. At the second terrific shock the thread of consciousness snapped asunder.
Chapter 13
Returning consciousness brought numerous twinges of pain to Grandon. He stirred uneasily. A soft hand pressed his fevered brow, and a sweet voice said: “Speak not so loudly, Rotha. You will awaken him and he needs rest—much rest and quiet.”
Slowly he opened his eyes. He was lying on a sleeping shelf that projected in a half-moon shape from the wall like the nest of a cave-swallow. At the foot of his couch, which was of stone but lined with soft moss, Rotha, the slave girl, held a golden vessel in which was a pasty compound of aromatic herbs, while Vernia occupied a place at the head. His armor had been removed and his bruises covered with the sweet-smelling ointment.
In the center of the room a guard stood stiffly erect, holding a sputtering’ torch, by the light of which he could see grotesquely carved figures on the walls, a queer table shaped like a great tortoise, and chairs that were human figures seated on round pedestals, the body forming the back, the lap the seat, and outstretched arms with hands bent downward and finger- tips touching the thighs forming the arm rests.
The furniture was all cut from hard wood of a reddish purple color and highly polished. The floor was of hexagonal blocks of varicolored stone and presented a smooth, glossy surface.
He saw all these things at a glance, then his eyes sought those of the girl at his bedside. “It is indeed an honor to be nursed by the greatest ruler in all Zarovia,” he said, smiling feebly.
“I’m afraid it is but small recompense for your services,” she replied. “Besides, I am a ruler no longer, nor is it probable that I ever will be again. Within fifty-eight days my cousin, Prince Destho, will assume the crown. I am sure he must have been the instigator of my abduction. My legal right to the throne will have been forever forfeited. I will have been away from the capital for a year, and such is the inexorable law.”
“Surely you must be mistaken in your calculations. I am `‘positive’ you have not been away from Reabon for over half a year at most.”
“You forget that you are on Zarovia, where the years are much shorter than on your planet. Our world is closer to the sun than yours, consequently our year is only two hundred and twenty-five days in length.”
“That’s true. Then we must start for Reabon at once.”
“But how? The marsh-men say there is no way out of this valley but a secret tunnel, known only to the sabits; and this is said to be guarded night and day by a huge army of soldier sabits, recruited from all the communities in the valley.”
But does not the river cut through the surrounding cliffs on its way to the sea?”
“I am told that the river ends in a great whirlpool a few miles from here. They say it falls into a bottomless pit, for the pit has never been known to fill up or the river to overflow its banks.”
“Then, we have the alternative of scaling the cliffs, or finding the secret passageway of the sabits and fighting our way through,” said Grandon. “In either event we must start quickly, for the time is short.”
Despite her protests Grandon arose, gritting his teeth as pain