Chapter 13

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      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 shot through his body. While he donned his armor with the assistance of the two girls he learned that all of the slaves had been rescued and the king and queen sabits were prisoners.

      Joto had escaped his pursuers and personally led a party to the rescue of Grandon. They took him to Vernia, who had him conveyed to this bedchamber of an ancient Albine ruler, where she and Rotha nursed him all through the night.

      Grandon was drawing on his gauntlets when Oro entered. At sight of his commander, Oro saluted smartly, after the style of soldiers of Zarovian empires.

      “Where did you learn the military salute, and why are you here instead of guarding the yoga-sabit as instructed?” asked Grandon.

      “We have been taught many things by Joto, who has assumed temporary command of your army,” replied Oro. “He has set the other captains you appointed to the tasks of guarding the king and queen sabits of the two communities, drilling, and learning the meaning of military orders. In addition he has been training a crew of thirty men to handle the mattorks. We are in grave danger, for the sabits of all the communities, realizing that we menace their safety, have united with the common purpose of annihilating us. Our scouts report the marshaling of a mighty force in the red-mouthed community which they have made their base of operations. Joto thinks they will attack us before nightfall.”

      “Joto has commendable initiative and ability to match it,” said Grandon. “Let us go and see what he has accomplished.”

      Accompanied by the two girls, they made their way to the place where Grandon had fallen into the passageway; the hole had been widened and a broad stairway constructed. Two guards saluted stiffly as they passed.

      They found Joto outside the structure, supervising the practice of the mattork crew, who used empty bullets and gas clips but went through the motions of loading, aiming and firing with surprising speed and precision, while four units of a hundred men each were being drilled by their officers. He turned and raised his visor with a welcoming salute as Grandon and the others approached.

      “I see that you have considerable military genius,” said Grandon.

      “Having trained men in the art of warfare for some time I should be proficient,” said Joto. “However, I bow to you as a superior strategist. The attack you planned against the brown-mouthed sabits was marvelously conceived and executed. We await your orders.”

      “How many sabits do you expect will attack us?”

      “Twenty thousand, at the very least.