The Venus Trilogy - Complete Sci-Fi Series: The Planet of Peril, The Prince of Peril & The Port of Peril. Otis Adelbert Kline
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on the bottom terrace all morning, but were ordered to the top in the afternoon to reinforce the laborers in that section who, for some reason, had not kept up their quota. He and a fellow slave were removing one of the heavy blocks by means of levers when his end slipped and fell on another block, breaking off a large fragment. The driver raised his whip and struck Grandon a stinging blow across the shoulders.
Quickly wheeling, Grandon landed a tremendous right hook on the point of the man’s jaw. It was a clean knock-out. Another driver came running with whip upraised, but Grandon bowled him over with a marble fragment and ran through the group of startled slaves toward the brow of the hill. Some one raised the alarm and a half dozen torks were immediately pointed toward the fugitive. Several slaves fell, struck by the missiles intended for him, as he disappeared over the hilltop.
Before him stretched a dense, waving forest of tree ferns into which he plunged without slackening his speed, his pursuers close behind. As he dodged in and out among the tree trunks he could hear their halloos growing fainter and fainter; finally no sound was audible except the rustling of the countless, wind-shaken fern leaves.
He slackened his pace and, after proceeding about a mile, farther, stopped and looked about him.
Huge tree ferns with rough trunks and foliage growing out of the tops like that of palm trees, some of them over seventy feet in height, towered above the shorter, more bushy varieties which were themselves giants. Then there were climbing ferns hanging in tangled masses, creeping ferns and dwarf, low-growing kinds, barely raising their fronds above the thick carpet of moss which everywhere covered the forest floor.
Grandon noticed that the ground slanted slightly toward his right, and intuition told him that this might lead to a valley and water. He changed his course accordingly. He hoped also to find some fruits, berries or nuts with which to satisfy his hunger.
As he trudged wearily forward, sunset was succeeded by twilight, and before he realized it, the black, moonless Zarovian night had spread its impenetrable mantle about him.
Suddenly, from out the darkness behind him, came a peal of horrible, demoniac laughter.
As he wheeled, two glowing phosphorescent orbs were slowly advancing as if something were creeping or slinking toward him. Then, without warning, the hideous noise was repeated at his left.
He turned to face another pair of menacing eyes, then leaped for the trunk of the nearest tree-fern and climbed it barely in time to escape the snapping jaws that yawned beneath him.
Not until he had reached the leaf-crown, fifty feet above the ground, did he pause or look downward. Then he saw, not two, but a dozen pairs of eyes glancing toward him, while peal after peal of the nerve-racking laughter smote his ears.
Time dragged along. What manner of things were these? Evidently they were unable to climb, or they would have followed him ere this. The fact that they did not leave, even after several more hours had elapsed, made it evident that they expected to get him.
He had been hearing a peculiar crunching sound some time before he located it and guessed the terrible truth.
They were gnawing through the base of the tree trunk!
When morning came, it looked as if Grandon’s luck was running out. He’d made a desperate leap when the first tree started to fall and landed on another. The beasts followed and started to work on his new refuge. He’d found what felt like a coarse thick rope, and recognized it as the stem of one of the large climbing ferns he’d seen the day before. That led him to the crown of another tree twice the size of the one he left. But now the beasts had felled that one and were patiently gnawing at his. third refuge.
Now he could see them below—twelve of the most fearsome creatures he’d ever seen. They looked like hyenas, but were twice as large, their bodies covered with thick scales, black and mottled with orange spots. Each beast had three horns, one projecting from either temple, and one sprouting out between the eyes. Six of them were gnawing at the base of his tree while the other six rested. Apparently they were working in shifts.
Then he saw a man about two hundred yards away, walking with his eyes on the ground as if following a trail. He was armed with scarbo, tork, and knife, and carried a long bundle strapped to his back. Someone sent out to trail the fugitive slave, no doubt, Grandon thought. Well, he’d have a surprise soon.
A moment later, one of the beasts scented the newcomer, and uttered the laugh with which Grandon was now familiar. All work on Grandon’s tree stopped and the pack charged the stranger.
Now the Earthman witnessed the power of the tork. The leader of the pack fell a full fifty feet from his quarry; seven more met a similar fate in as many seconds. The rest turned and fled. Then the man drew his knife and coolly and deliberately cut the throat of each animal. He glanced at the two fallen trees, then walked over to the one in which Grandon was perched.
“Come down, Robert Grandon,” he said, in English.
Grandon was so surprised he nearly fell out of the tree.
“Who are you,” he asked, “and where did you learn my language?”
“Come down and I will explain.”
“You might come up,” suggested Grandon. “I don’t fancy the climate down there. I suppose you have instructions to bring me back dead or alive. I won’t go back alive.”
“You are mistaken, Robert Grandon. I have come to your aid. To prove this, I need only mention that I have communicated with Dr. Morgan of your planet for several years. Now will you come?”
Grandon slid down the rough tree trunk. When he reached the ground, the stranger advanced. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Vorn Vangal, and my home is in the distant country of Olba.”
“How do you do, Mr. Vangal,” replied Grandon, extending his hand.
Vorn Vangal looked puzzled. “What is it you wish?”
“Why—nothing at all. I forgot that our custom of shaking hands might be unknown here.”
“I have never heard of it,” said Vangal. “I hope you will pardon the ignorance which kept me from returning your proffered salute. Show me how you do it, please.”
Grandon explained, and for the first time in the history of that planet, two men shook hands on Zarovia.
“A very pretty custom,” Vangal said. “I shall introduce it in Olba on my return. I will explain the various forms of salutes used on Zarovia. When one is presented to a stranger he merely bows slightly and acknowledges with words. Two intimate friends on meeting sometimes press their foreheads together. Then there are the military salutes, the salutes to royalty, et cetera. For instance, the reigning Torrogina of Reabon—or princess as you would call her—would be saluted thus.” He made a low bow and extended his hand as Grandon had seen the slaves do the day before in front of the shrine.
“In the company with my fellow slaves, I bowed thus before a picture of a beautiful young woman yesterday,” said Grandon. “Can it be that this is the Amazon princess of whom Dr. Morgan spoke?”
“She can be none other than Vernia, Princess of Reabon, who has ruled that country since the death of her father, Margo, who made Reabon the largest and mightiest empire in all Zarovia.”
“I should like to meet her,” said Grandon.
“To say that you should like to meet her is equivalent to saying that you should like to die. Thaddor, Prince of Uxpo, whose body you now inhabit on Zarovia, had the temerity to make love to her. She sentenced him to work in the quarries for life; and to run away after such sentence has been passed is equivalent to signing your own death warrant, in Reabon.”
“Nevertheless, I hope some day to meet her. By the way, friend Vangal, I suspect that you have food and drink in that long bundle you are carrying, and I have tasted neither since yesterday morning.”
“Can it be possible?” ejaculated Vangal. “But of course! You are not familiar with the fern forests of Zarovia. No one carries