The Greatest Works of Otis Adelbert Kline - 18 Books in One Edition. Otis Adelbert Kline
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“You three,” I said, addressing the men who had been aloft, “hoist the sails. And you,” pointing to the two guards, “heave the anchor.”
I sent the cook and his helper back to their pots and pans under guard of two apes. Then I took the helm with Loralie at my side and as the sails filled, steered for the open sea.
We had nearly passed the point of the promontory when the boom of a mattork and the sing of its shell through our rigging announced that we had been discovered.
“Can you steer?” I asked Loralie.
“Better than you, landsman,” she answered laughingly. “Give me the helm.”
Her father ruled the greatest maritime nation on Zarovia.
“Make for the open sea,” I said, “and I’ll see if my marksmanship is better than my steering.” The mattork, which was nothing but an oversized tork mounted on a tripod, stood nearby swathed in its water-proof covering. Beside it was the case which contained the clips of projectiles with their various designations printed in Patoa: Solid, Paralyzing, Deadly, Explosive.
Stripping the cover from the weapon, I chose a clip of explosive projectiles and inserted it in the breech. By this time two mattorks on each of the anchored ships had opened fire, and shells were screaming around us. One snapped a shroud, and I ordered a sailor up to replace it. Another burst against our hull. And still others, ricocheting from the surface of the water, whined plaintively as they sped on their way.
I took careful aim at the rear mattork on the nearest ship and pressed the button. But the weapon was strange to me, and equally strange was the experience of firing a projectile from a ship. I saw my shell strike the water far behind the mark.
Again I took aim, this time allowing for the rocking of the ship. To my surprise, my shell burst just beneath my target, tearing the gunner to shreds and knocking the weapon from its tripod.
I tried another shot at the forward mattork, but it went wild. Then both boats slipped from our view as we rounded the promontory.
“My marksmanship is as wretched as my handling of a boat,” I said. “But they cannot harry us for a time, at least. Where to now, my princess?”
With one hand she reached for my own, drew my arm around her slender waist. The other still skillfully managed the helm.
“Whither you will, beloved,” she replied. “Shall it be Olba or Tyrhana —north or south?”
“Which is nearer?”
“They are about equally distant from here.”
“Then let us try for Olba, for there I am sure Gadrimel dare not follow us.”
Gently she brought the boat about until its prow pointed directly north. “It will not be long before Gadrimel sets out after us.”
“He may have been slain by Borg and his apes.”
“Not he,” replied Loralie. “I was watching from the ship, and saw that he was the first to run for the beach when they were attacked. Standing beside a boat and ready to put off at a sign of a turn in the tide of battle, he used his tork, but did not get into the thick of the fight. A cautious youth, my cousin.”
It was not long before her prediction was fulfilled. One of the ships nosed around the promontory and came after us with all sails up.
I sprang to the mattork and fired. It was a bad miss. Again I fired. This time my projectile struck the water close to the target. I was getting the range. But when I would have fired a third time there was an explosion in the breech. The projectile had jammed and the safety plug had blown out.
Frantically I worked with the recalcitrant weapon, momentarily expecting a volley from our pursuers. But none came. Evidently the prince had forbidden the use of mattorks because of the presence of Loralie on our vessel.
Suddenly a terrific explosion from the front of our vessel knocked me flat. Half dazed, I gripped a leg of the tripod for support just as the deck gave a violent lurch forward.
My prostrate body swung halfway over, and I saw with horror that the front end of the ship had been completely blown away and she was plunging into the waves, nose down. I have never learned the cause of that explosion, but believe that the cook or his helper found a way to outwit their ape guards and destroy the vessel.
My gaze flashed to the wheel, but the princess was nowhere in sight, then I heard a shout from the water behind me. Loralie was swimming in the wake of the swiftly sinking vessel. “Jump!” she cried. “Jump quickly, or you will be dragged down with the ship!”
I sprang to the rail and leaped over. A moment later I was swimming beside her as we both strained every muscle in our endeavor to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the stricken vessel before she went down.
But try as we would, we could not escape the mighty suction of the boat as it plunged beneath the waves. Like tossing corks we were dragged back in spite of our utmost efforts. But by the time we reached the center of the whirlpool it had so far subsided that the water was comparatively calm and we were not drawn under.
Presently bits of wreckage began to come up around us. A huge timber suddenly popped to the surface. We swam to it and found it amply buoyant to sustain our combined weight in the water.
As we topped the crest of a wave I glanced back. The first ship was within a quarter of a mile of us, and I caught a glimpse of a scarlet-clad figure in the bow, eagerly scanning the water with a glass.
I was still looking back when a cry from Loralie attracted my attention in another direction. “A killer norgal! The scourge of the Ropok has seen us! We are doomed!”
Bearing down on us at terrific speed, I saw an enormous fish. Its body, fully thirty feet in length, was blue in color, and bristled with sharp spines of a deep crimson shade. Its huge jaws, large enough to have swallowed ten men at a gulp, were open, revealing row on row of sharp, back-curved teeth.
“Better that than Gadrimel,” said Loralie with a shudder, “for we can die together. One last kiss, beloved, for it is the end.”
Our lips met and clung, across the timber. Then I drew my sword, puny weapon indeed with which to meet such an enemy.
Chapter 13
As we clung to the timber there in the tossing waves, Loralie and I, the killer norgal swiftly surged closer and closer. There was no mistaking its purpose. It had seen us and singled us out for its prey.
Suddenly a dark shadow fell on us from above. A shot rang out, followed by a muffled explosion. Where the gaping mouth of the fish had been was only a bloody mass of flesh and bone. The mighty carcass lurched, flopped about for a moment, and then turned belly upward.
Above us loomed the great bulk of an aerial battleship, swiftly descending. It hovered only a short distance above our heads. A door opened in the side and a flexible metal ladder was lowered to us. I helped Loralie to mount, then went up after, hand over hand.
An officer in the uniform of Olba helped me into the ship. He was the mojak, or captain of the vessel.
Then he bowed low with right hand extended palm downward, as did every other man in sight. “Your name, officer,” I said.
“Lotar,” he answered, “at your highness’s service.”
“Lotar, you will find quarters for Her Highness Loralie of Tyrhana, then start immediately for the Imperial Palace at Olba.”
“I hear and obey,” he replied, and dashed off to give the necessary orders.
We mounted to the rear turret, the princess and I, and watched the two ships of Gadrimel fast disappearing from view. Why he did not fire at us I have never learned.