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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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
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 could only imperfectly discern the features of Bordeen and those who stood about him.
The guide saluted with drawn scarbo held pointing at an angle of forty- five degrees, and the Earthman did likewise.
“Mightiest of commanders,” the Travek said, “if it is your pleasure, our new captain, Grandon of Terra, will make his report.”
“A new captain!” exclaimed Bordeen. “This is indeed strange. Thelpo was a mighty fighter. Report, Grandon of Terra.”
Grandon modestly described the duel that followed his chance meeting with the Fighting Traveks, how they had been surrounded by a large body of Reabon soldiers and all but annihilated. He expected a reprimand for losing two-thirds of his command, but Bordeen commended his generalship in effecting an escape when escape seemed hopeless.
His report concluded, he was conducted to the hut where his men were quartered, and was soon asleep on his mossy couch. The guide, however, remained by order of the commander, who asked: “What know you of this Grandon of Terra?”
“Nothing he has not told you for himself, other than that he is from a far-distant country which he calls Terra, and is a most extraordinary fighter with the scarbo as well as an exceedingly able commander. No doubt you noticed that he wore the color of royalty.”
“Hardly. In this dim light I cannot tell scarlet from any other color. I fear my eyes are failing me. However, it seemed to me as he stood there, that there was something strangely familiar about him.”
A man at Bordeen’s right spoke up. “Was it not of Prince Thaddor that he reminded you?”
“Yes—now that you mention it, he did. Could it be that cruel treatment has changed our gentle prince into a fighting man? Bring me a flashlight. There is a mark on Prince Thaddor’s foot that few know of, and it could not be simulated. Should it be he, we must dispatch runners to gather in all our scattered bands, for then a great feast will be in order.”
The long-suppressed hope in Bordeen’s heart was making him plan before examining the evidence. But when he and the others emerged from the sleeping Grandon’s shelter, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind.
Grandon’s awakening on the following morning, was perhaps as much of a surprise as was the memorable morning when he first opened his eyes in the quarry-slaves’ sleeping quarters.
The rude but in which he slept had been draped with curtains of shimmering scarlet cloth, and the interior hung with wreaths, festoons and shields on